Day 24

5.02: Some things I’m simply not nostalgic for, and one of them is waking up in the night with my calf muscles contorted into some terrible shape like a bunch of pick-up sticks haphazardly strewn to spell a rude word. Cramp attacks like a malevolent Batman, in the Gotham City of my legs, sneaking about in the dark and only appearing when it’s so late you start think it’s taken early retirement and is dwindling out its twilight years crocheting bobble hats in the Bat cave. This is a bulletin from the acutely underslept’s legs. Don’t expect it to make sense.

The good news this morning is that some scientists have discovered a new type of blue. My friend Keith who’s a colour theorist would doubtless say this isn’t true: and that, being a particular concatenation of light reflecting from objects, all types of blue have always existed and we should all be happy about that. But for those of us whose primary interest in blue is in its use for colouring in, our hobby has been newly enriched. Pity Nick Drake‘s dead, otherwise those people from Oregon State University could have answered his plea, “Won’t you come and say, if you know the way to blue?”

6.49: The young liberal’s intellectual idol of the moment Roberto Bolaño would have preferred to have been a homicide detective instead of a writer. “I’d have been someone who could come back to the scene of the crime alone, by night and not be afraid of ghosts,” he said once. Noble stuff, Roberto. When I was a child, I had the opposite instinct: I used to want to be a convicted fraudster. I watched a programme about them once, all living in a sort of lovely Butlins of a prison for the criminally money-grabbing. But I didn’t have the head for figures you need to come up with a plausible fraud to be convicted of. Another promising career cruelly cut down.

Jesus Christ, my leg hurts.

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~ by David Thorley on November 26, 2009.

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