18th december

18th decemberWell, today is Saturday and you know what that means – 8am BBC world service day! The skies have remained steel grey since the beginning of the week – just a blanket of pale sameness stretching in all directions, raining steadily and persistently. My world has been drained of all colour and the monochrome sky has become the insidious enemy– no dark or fluffy clouds, no patches of blue sky, no milky sunlight straining to breaking through – just the same shade of grey, featureless cloud without definition or edge. For all I know, the sun has had a week off and has buggered off to Alpha Centauri to visit a cousin in midst of a supernova and who is therefore terminally ill. At least they tell me that December is supposed to be the wettest month here so it’s not supposed to be blazing sun – that would really hurt. I imagine this is what it would be like after Armageddon or before the universe was created, just loads of sameness. That’s the most soul-destroying thing about it all.
I’m happy at my table upstairs, overlooking my lush estate, making sure the swamp stays wet, the trees remain as erect as they need to be and there is a majority rule of green as opposed to the luminous polka pink contingent who, I know, have their eyes on the place. I’m in charge. I drink coffee and have my writing pad open, selection of one single two-coloured-fine-nibbed pen on the table. I also have a fly splatter-er that I use on the tiny black, biting flies. They seem to come and go sporadically and then come back again and they can really be a nuisance when they are hungry and landing on me. It’s when the secretly navigate their way to just above my forehead and then drop to two inches in front of my eye that they annoy me the most. I have frenzied periods of random thrashing around to take as many as I can out of the equation but they’re sneaky, flitting their sly way behind my back and at my shoulder where they know I have a blind spot. Damn, they’re cunning.
Having a real problem with laundry now. The clothes I washed on Wednesday are still wet and the clothes I didn’t wash are steadily getting damper!
Negra is chasing flies – guess she’s bored too. In fact, I’m pretty sure the fly appreciates the extra excitement as well.
Dave Sr. and Dave Jr. turned up at about 2pm. They want the pig that Over has in his barn. It’s an interesting job getting the pig across two footbridges and into the back of the jeep – it really isn’t having any of it, even with three of us dragging it and lifting its legs up to stop them from being used as anchors. By no means fully-grown and yet a little too heavy to lift, the makeshift collar around its neck leaves nasty red welts as it digs its hooves into the soil in protest. It’s for slaughter tomorrow and I think it probably knows. The strange thing is that from time to time, we stop and get our breath, or have a moment’s contemplation and the pig immediately begins snuffling around in the grass or soil, hunting for things and seems quite happy. Is it like the fish? With a ridiculously short memory span? We are the ones trying to take you to the abattoir – don’t you hate us? Aren’t you scared? I think it would have objected whichever way we tried to lead it. It just objected to being lead. It objected to us.
We finally manage to get it across the swamp footbridges and up the rise to the house and lift it into the back of the jeep, tethering it to the stanchion. Have a nice Christmas guys. Don’t think of me…

Dave Sr. had made a fuss of Negra while he was here, as he always does. “Gee, is she getting fat? I think she is. Who’s feeding her?”
I looked at Negra. I had been feeding her most of the time lately. It had occurred to me that sometimes I was feeding her in the evening and there were leftovers still there from the morning. “I’ve been feeding her.”
“How much?”
“Just one tin full in the morning and the same in the evening?”
“In the evening too? Just one tinful a day is enough.”
“Oh really?” I’m sure my dad used to feed his black Labradors twice a day. One meal per day doesn’t seem much. But then, she was certainly getting fatter, and she wasn’t eating everything so I guess he’s probably right.

Antony had a dream today. Well, it’s only fair – I have so many…

‘He dreamt then. He dreamt of foraging for food with his beloved Princess before she became so fat. They were foraging and they were happy. Then he saw her holding the hands of lots of smaller, pale ants and she didn't have time for him any more. Then all the members of the hive surrounded them and they were marching together. They all started turning round and getting confused - they didn't know where they were marching to, and then it began to rain. Just a little at first and then incessantly and then everybody was drenched through and struggling against the raindrops. The rain turned black and sharp and cut right through the leaves and the members of the hive ran for cover wherever they could find it, losing themselves and each other. The leaves on the trees began to disintegrate and the trees wilted and started to die. The black rain was turning the forest into a barren wasteland.
Antony looked at the beehive and saw that it too was disintegrating, cut to ribbons by the sharp rain. He watched as the rain fell to the ground in sheets, reducing visibility to less than a few yards. He saw Hercules thumping away the raindrops until he sank deeper and deeper into the mud and Antony couldn’t see him any more. When Antony turned around he was alone and the rest of his collective had gone.’

What to do with my laundry? I decide to rig up some sort of system to dry my clothes using the stove. Bearing in mind what happened when my sock melted on the kettle, I decide very early on that physical contact between said clothes and said stove is out. I find some twine and hang it across the beams above the stove, dangling my wet stuff from it. I can pull it across to circulate the clothes, or lower or raise it as I need to for long things like towels or short things like my boxers. Caveman-ism again but I have my doubts, I suppose it just makes me feel like I’m doing something positive. The problem is that the dampness is so pervasive; it permeates everything so thoroughly. I’m not sure this will achieve too much.