Monday, March 22, 2010
Breathe. Breathe again.
Can you smell it? Spring's in the air. Yes, it might be raining outside again and everyone isn't sure if they have hayfever or a chest infection but either way, that goo goes so very well with the crocuses, doesn't it?
After a little moment on Friday of waking up from lucid dreams about very specific job offers for Ilmar and the London Eye melting into a Starbucks cinnamon whirl, I wondered if I was mixing my anti migraine drugs for something from the back of the cupboard again, but then I coughed and brought the MacBook Air through to the bathroom, checked the Pantone reference in InDesign and then booked myself in with the GP to get antibiotics.
Nothing says Spring like an ear infection, does it?
Well, nothing apart from there suddenly being a rash (I say that fully aware of the implication) of furtive and not so furtive eye contact when you're out for a run by the river or when you're on the bus or when you're accidentally logging in on websited of a more specilialised nature.
Of course, there may be some who happily gambol over to the house of a stranger or ask someone round to celebrate all that's vernal and good, but me, I get that little rush of excitement when someone gives me a look and then a sense of abject dread sets in and all I can think about is that I haven't washed the upholstery all winter and that The carpets are looking a bit grubby.
Obviously, I know that with all the running I do, people wouldn't likely be worrying about the state of the surfaces but for now, rest assured my moral superiority isn't maintained by any sense of duty to monogamy or fidelity but the memory of that view I got when I opened the curtains to that lovely spring sunshine on Sunday.
So, for now, Howard Hardiman is in a complicated relationship with Henry the Hoover.