Another Sunday comes near its end and my mind is empty. I wore it out emoting today and there is little left once darkness falls and my plate of badly cooked leftovers rots inside. It started the usual way, I spent several minutes wondering if I was awake or still dreaming. The voices in my head turned out to be some plonker of 'Talksport' discussing fishing with a man on a mobile phone. As is normal with such calls he was either talking from inside a cardboard box or speaking Chittagonian, I know not which. Either way this did not interest and I scrambled wearily for the remote on the pillow, it being to far to reach out from under the blankets to the wireless, and changed to the early Radio 4, here the weather forecast threatened me. This ended and offered me uninteresting news so I moved to Radio 5's childish news service and quickly amended that to Radio 3. At last something that did not prattle or irritate the early morning mind.
'Choice' is one of those buzzwords politicians use when lying through their teeth, choice in hospitals, choice in schools, choice here there and everywhere, however the choice is limited and often unavailable. Radio and TV offer choice, you can tale what they offer or lump it!
Early morning radio is poor and I spend more time on Radio 3 with the music filling the space between my ears than the wool mill like noise that emanates from the morning news hubs. One lying MP is up against another misinforming the nation or perhaps a supporter of Black faces a White fan and the debate gets nowhere much to some smug BBC voice's satisfaction (and £2-300,000 a year is satisfying!). The mind was awake during the wee talk by the minister in the Kirk at ten, or half past when he got around to speaking. The week I had was not good, much was going wrong and this bugged me all week. The reminder of what we live for, or indeed who we live for was important. How we respond to his call, opening ourselves to him personally and living it out all rang bells in me. I made a list of things to amend, it's about eight feet long, and have already added to it. Tsk! If I believed him whom I believe strangely enough difficulties might increase but I would cope better with them. Life will always have problems. He has never failed me yet, so I had better up my game I say.
I spent some time around noon searching the fifty or so TV channels on offer for something to fill half an hour. The set works fine, good picture, acceptable sound, colour OK. The programmes consisted of mind blowing pap and little else! Soaps, forty year old episodes of 'Columbo,' or comedies unwatched in the 70's. Did you watch 'On the Buses' more than once? How come this is a favourite of so many? Why is it repeated I ask? PC stops some being repeated, usually those that had wit and humour, why is 'pap' allowed? The shopping channels had more talent than that exposed elsewhere, and I do not mean the films so old their colour was fading. Now there are millions of decent old documentaries hidden away somewhere in this world, some occasionally coming into view, but far too few for me. Modern documentaries are too concerned to constantly keep moving, 'Locomotion' was so bad at this that to show speed Dan Snow chose to run frequently, why? The cartoons were not allowed to be themselves, they were animated so that they too were constantly on the move! What sort of 13 year old mind produces this tripe? Why not stand still and tell the story?
I was so glad when the football arrived!
However the Edinburgh Derby, when the Heart of Midlothian defeat Hibernian is an exciting gripping affair and this dilutes the feeble English efforts at this type of contest. Watching Manchester City defeating weakened Manchester United was so boring I fell asleep for ten minutes in the second half. My snoring woke me up and must have annoyed the rest of the house! Later it was a much more interesting contest, Villa v Spurs, and while not as enjoyable as Spartans versus Clyde it kept my attention from sleep.
However these games take away all my emotion. The mind is worn out with stress and rest is required. You will guess that Bach is playing in the background. Yes indeed Bach is my favourite Welsh composer. Typically the music ends as I write that, innit a game eh? We now have Handel to use care on. (Geddit? handle with care? oh forget it.)
See, I told you I had nothing to say and nothing has been said. Tomorrows list of things to do lies awaiting being ignored by my side, rain clouds gather above waiting for my early morn dash to Tesco to unleash their contents while others suffer sunburn and have the audacity to complain about the heat! I had better go and prepare myself by having some beauty sleep, not that I require that of course....
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