Sinister: Curmudgeonly homonculi.

[Ruvi Simmons]

Although it is hardly philosophical, I can't help thinking that there are
two sorts of days. One where nothing can go wrong, and the other where
everything falls apart in one's hands. Perhaps it is just the result of
complacency that it seems as if these diurnal patterns are irreversible.
Once the trend is there for the day, nothing can be done. Or maybe there is
some whimsical homonculus bestowing good days and bad days on people,
keeping his little accounts sheets like a demonised accountant. A week good.
A week bad. This person has had far too long feeling bad. Today the sun will
seem to shine even if it is overcast.

No, not very philosophical at all. I should be ashamed really. But would it
have been more interesting if I had of written that it was all down to
chemicals and that we're really organic machines? Since it seems the style
of the 21st century to sacrifice beauty for economics, I prefer to sacrifice
philosophy to being interesting. The point of this, however, was that it
seemed as if today was a bad one for me. Everything started off badly. But
it has all been reversed, not least because, in the same day, people have
mentioned Iron Maiden and Confessions... films. I have had a bit of a
fondness for Robin Askwith ever since I saw one of his film on Channel 5 at
some ungodly hour of the night when I no doubt should have been doing
something more productive than watching saucy British comedies.
Nevertheless, I can't help but smile when I recall all those scenes when his
pale arse is bobbing up and down on top of some buxom English wench, only to
be interrupted by some old biddy barging in, setting off a fire extinguisher
or any number of other hilarious calamities.

And as for Iron Maiden, well, I can't help but raise a smile about them,
too. Especially the trousers. And the screeching. I think, if I were to do
karoake again (which is unlikely after the rendition of Jailhouse Rock I
gave in Las Vegas), I think I would do Run to the Hills. Just to try and
scream like Bruce Dickinson. My voice would probably give up and crack,
though. I could always try and cover up by saying I was really singing it in
the style of Emily Dickinson.

In addition to these joys, I bought a record of the Sound of Music today,
for 50 pence. I feel a little bit of glee at how I managed to come away so
cheaply with something so wonderful. It is as if a little bit of joy slipped
through the net of capitalism, directly into my hands. I even had money left
over to buy a Wispa in the Underground.

And, since everything is going so well, I should stop to bask a while. Then
I can sleep and, with all the luck in the world, when I wake up it will be a
sunny Spring day and not this cold weather which seems to be doggedly
clinging on, quite disinterested in the time of the month or the fact that I
am sick to death of grey skies and tedious, soporific rain.

I wish everyone well, and hope that the aforementioned homonculus is kind to
them.

Ruvi.



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