Behold the New Overlords

Today, around 7:30 a.m., as I was walking in the half-light, around our site on my way to my office, a rat the approximate size of a German Shepherd, shot out from behind some pallets, scurried over my foot in its haste to scare me to death, and made me emit a sound like a 1940s' horror movie victim as she opens her velvet drapes to find a glowering Dracula hovering there in mid-air, like a vampiric, satanic fart.  I honestly don't know who got the bigger fright, but I'd wager it was me.

I don't know what's going on in our place, lately. The creatures that frequent it are like colossal mutants, full of food plant leftovers and homicidal intent.

One early morning, I was walking down the thin, paved path, at the back of the factory, when I found my way blocked by the Orson Welles of birds - a giant, rotund thing with a scowl like Kiefer Sutherland when he finds out his car's broken down in a dry town.  The avian Tony Soprano was blocking the entire path (and possibly the sun!) with its fearsome aura of malice.  He was clearly sizing me up before turning into one of those crows in Hitchcock's "The Birds" and mowing me down in a bloody pool on the paving.

Now technically it was a seagull, but like no seagull you've ever seen this side of Hades.  Eyes like tiny, black currants, if currants can be straight from the depths of Hell. It had a body the size of a milk cow, a hooked beak you could moor a boat on. He was a gargantuan, murderous beast of a thing. And he would NOT BUDGE.  Most seagulls see a human approach and they sigh and reluctantly fly off while maybe weighing up the options of spitefully shitting on your head.  Not this guy. He sat perfectly still, like he was stuffed, and he stared me out with his beady, Danny de Vito, death eyes.  I swear he was smirking.  When I got almost all the way up to him he came right out and said, "I hope you don't think I'm going anywhere, human. And you even THINK about walking around me and I will eat your eyeballs."

Oddly enough he sounded a lot like Nathan Lane, which I DID NOT EXPECT.

Man, that bird owned that path. Damn thing sat there and had a Mexican stand off with me for about five minutes before I distracted him with half of my lunch, and ran like the wind towards my office door.

Things are afoot in creatureland, that's all I'm saying.

Well...

"What's a really fun thing to do on a Saturday night, Veg?" I hear you cry (or it could have been the wind)  Well. How about drink some wine and write a blog entry, because what could possibly go wrong with that?  Nothing!

The wind is really howling outside.  Sounds like Kanye West sat on a kitten, only less offensive. I decided a night at home with wine sounded pleasant because, doesn't it? I'm too happily introverted to give much of a hot damn about going out and doing social things when I like being home because I have a recliner, some candles, wine and some Swedish TV shows on Netfix and what could beat that?

Oh, oh! Is it wrong that I'm stoked because I bought six pairs of obnoxiously loud stripey socks today? I'm talking socks so bright that Stevie Wonder would probably swear and put on some stronger sunglasses.  They are FANTASTIC.

Sorry about the Stevie joke, was that too much?  And also sorry that I'm excited for socks. I just saw my life from the outside for a second and it was a whole big pile of WTF, so I poured another glass of wine and figured I might as well just go for it.

But it's the weekend. God, I love the weekend. When I wake up at six am, instead of having to drag myself out of bed, dripping curse words from my lady-mouth, I can cheerfully roll over and go back to sleep. Especially since it's dark till about 8 a.m now although the clocks go back tonight.  An extra hour in bed?  SIGN ME UP!

In other news, my big toe is weird.

Remembering the Magic

Autumn has arrived complete with blazing orange leaves and sharp cold and even the occasional blue sky.  I like it. The contrast is breathtaking. It's not at that place where you curse when you touch a metal object with your bare skin or scrunch up your toes in your boots to keep the blood from freezing, but it's slowly getting there.  Winter is always on the horizon.

I loved Halloween as a kid, and a few days later, if you were in the UK, Guy Fawkes night. In my memories the nights were brisk with cold, dark with a scattering of stars and our breath suspended in the air while the darkness became illuminated by fireworks and bonfires.

One of my earliest memories, harks back to when I was about three years old, sitting on a step in the back garden of the old tenement flats where we lived, with Slow Sandra, a little girl my own age who was mentally impaired. I didn't know it at the time, though.  We rode tricycles together and played with dolls. Then I grew up while she stayed a child.  Slow Sandra had a much older brother who would set off fireworks for us to watch while we sat in our winter coats and clapped.

Nowadays, all I clap for is people falling over on ice and when someone offers to refill my wine glass.  Where is the magic now? Do we just grow up, grow old and nothing is special any more?

I spent some time in the desert, fairly recently. The wonder of the colours, the heat, the vast, open expanse of hot, sandy nothing and the clear blue skies, made me feel alive. It made me remember the magic and I realized that it is, in fact, still present, you just have to know where YOUR magic lies.

And that's the corniest thing I've said in a long time.