how mysterious

My ticket to my own Twilight Zone

Something a little odd seemed to happen to me on Thursday.  I am currently reading this very ‘other’ book which is really good (I’ll review once I’ve finished) but deals with the weird, mysterious things that happen to a guy who is cabbing in Brighton.

Firstly, I have started playing an online war game (yes, I know – geek!) and om Wednesday I joined an alliance called Myrmidons – I am not ashamed to say that I have no idea what that is, I have never heard the word before, but due to the type of game, I’m assuming it’s something linked to the Greeks, a little like Sparta.

Anyway, I picked the book up on Thursday and the first thing that I noticed was that the publisher was Myrmidon Publishing…”How strange”, I thought.  I also noticed that the book is signed by the author (I assume it’s really his signature anyway!) and I hadn’t noticed that before. (Unless The Man has been pretend-signing all of my books and trying to sell them on eBay without me knowing).   To be quite honest, I don’t even know where I got the book from.  I’ve seen it in my bookcase for ages, and thought it was The Man’s but he said it isn’t his kind of thing, and anyway, it was published in 2008 and *I* have bought all of his books since then.

That’s not SO unusual though – I’ve been through my bookcases recently and pulled out 3 or 4 books that i don’t remember buying and definitely haven’t read yet.  But this one hasn’t even come from a charity shop (which the others usually have) – there’s no penciled price, sticker etc and the spine isn’t broken.  Odd.

So, I read it on the Tube on the way to work on Thursday, and then on my way home again, I got it out of my bag and went to read it again.  now, I love reading but don’t treat my books with much respect…I break the spines, I read them in the bath and most importantly, I don’t use a bookmark – I turn the corners over (shock, horror!).

So, I looked for the turned over corner, and there wasn’t one.  “How strange” I thought.  So I tried to find the page I was on.  Which I found…with a train ticket in it.  “How strange”  thought.  Then I looked at the ticket – Surbiton to Vauxhall.  A journey I have never made.  “How strange” I thought.  And then I looked at the date.  4 Jun 08  “How strange” I thought.

Now – how the hell did it get there.  if it had already been n the book, i would have seen it in the morning as it was on the right page.  It hadn’t been in my handbag as I’ve only had that bag for a year. Where did it dome from!!!

As you can tell, this little mystery has got to me a bit, LOL

Oh yes, and when I put it a few pages backward to carry on reading the book, I got to the exact page I’d put it in when I got off the train.  I think the ticket is some kind of personal magical bookmark.  Eek!

space…the final frontier?

Tranquility

I have a dream.  Well, I had a dream.  It wasn’t an outrageous dream.  my dreams are never really unachievable, otherwise I’d always feel like the world was dangling something just beyond my reach, and get the feeling that life is unfair (much as the Girl’s dad does – he always feels like life owes him something, and that it should all be handed to him on a plate.)

Anyway – this wasn’t about him, this was about me.  and my silly little dream.

Well, since The Man has been out of work (almost 3 years), I’ve not really had any time at home on my own.  Either he, The Girl or both of them have always been there.  So I feel like I don’t have any space.  We live in a little flat in London, so you can imagine that space isn’t exactly abundant…we’re all hoarders too, which I know we could do something about, but is a personality trait I guess, and almost impossible to shake.

The Girl has her own room that she spends a lot of time in doing her own thing (which lately seems to consist of counting her money in her money box 4 times a day – maybe she thinks we’re stealing from her!), and obviously The Man is here by himself from 9-3 every weekday.  For me, nothing.  And I think that this could be one of the reasons that I’ve stopped reading as much over the past couple of years too.  I can’t read when there’s stuff going on around me.  I’m OK with the radio on, or music, but not the TV or ‘sounds’.  And The Man has the TV on a lot – because, if I turn it off, or if I’m not watching it, even if I have the radio on, he’ll play the XBox.  which annoys the hell out of ma.  i can’t read a story about Georgian Britain’s Worst Husband (Wedlock, that I’m reading now) if there are the sounds of air raids, bombs, and general shouting, shooting and fighting in the form of MW2 full blast to my left!!

So.  I had a dream.  It was a chair.  A winged, chintzy, Queen Anne style chair.  Squeezed into my tiny bedroom, in the bay window which has the best natural light in the whole flat.  So I could shut myself away for a few hours a week, have some me time, read undisturbed with the radio on.  Maybe even start writing again, who knows.  If course, a chintzy winged chair in a bay window also threw up dreams of tea and biscuits and a cat curled up.

So…I have now made this entry from my bay window, in natural light, in a wing-backed chair, whilst listening to 6Music (Cerys is back, and there was just a wonderful live session with a harp that I need to look up), sipping tea, eating the biscuits that I made on Friday, and  have been reading my book in peace.  Even the cat is curled up on the bed in front of me!  The only difference to my dream is that my chair isn’t chintzy…it’s just moss green.  but it’s oh so comfy, and was just £35 from the sally army charity shop at the bottom of my road – and is pristene.  no wear, no tear, no scratches, no stains!

I am so happy.  So, so happy.  Because of a chair.

save me, save me!

Yes - upstairs from the Indian takeaway is the answer to all my problems!

On my way to the station this morning, I was happily minding my own business, humming a little tune to myself  and pondering on my plans for the day (lunch with a lovely guy, and off to see a friend in a play tonight!).

I was one of MANY people wandering along the street in silent reverie when this guy walked up to me, looked me straight in the eye and pressed the above leaflet into my hand.  I just looked at him, carried on and started reading.

“Expert in face reading”…OK, so WHY did he pick me out from all of the other people walking down the road?  There were quite a few of them, and he didn’t give leaflets to anyone else.  What did he see in my face?  If he’s an expert face reader it could be anything!  Am I going to die soon?  Am I going to be unlucky in love?  Is there a huge disaster showing all over my ugly mug (or is it just chocolate as usual – I guess the two could be mistaken for each other!).  I’m almost tempted to go.  If it wasn’t for the appalling grammar used on the leaflet, I might be booking myself a session straight away out of fear, worry and general something-elseness!

The thing is, this isn’t the first time I’ve had this happen.  There have been a couple of times that ‘god-botherers’ have seemed to feel that I need saving from something or other.  I was standing on the platform at Holborn once, and this woman came marching halfway down the platform to me and said “You need to find the Lord!!” at the top of her voice.  Scared the hell out of me, I can tell you.  But (in one of those rare moments when you actually DO think of a retort at the right time) I just calmly said “Why?  Have you lost him?  That’s a little careless you know”…and then luckily the tube arrived.

Another time in the street, this woman came up to me (again, ignoring everyone else between me and her) and said “Your life may be hard, but it WILL get better.  You have a good heart, and good things will come to you – as you deserve.” and then she walked off.  I assume that she did that randomly just to freak the hell out of people – and it certainly worked.

But why me?  Do I look like I need saving?  Am I radiating the aura of some kind of fallen hussy?  I don’t exactly dress sluttily or anything, or wear too much make-up, or too much bling, and I don’t glare at people, meet too many people’s eyes or shout randomly.  I do have fantastic boobs though – so perhaps that’s what it is.

why don’t I read at home any more?

Because of the ‘festive season’, I haven’t been into the office for a week now, and wont actually be returning for another week (as I have a few days off).  For some reason, this means that I haven’t read a single page of my book for more than a week!

I actually think this is quite disgraceful of me – I’m a huge reader, and tend to get through books pretty quickly, but these days I only ever seem to read on the Tube.  I no longer seem to read at home at all.  Whenever I pick a book up at home, it sends me straight to sleep.  I will be reading it, go to turn over the page and realise that although my eyes have been scanning, I haven’t taken a single word in, and have no idea what I just read!

I am currently reading The Secrets of the Lazarus Club by Tony Pollard but it has sat by the side of my bed, untouched and probably starting to collect dust and cat hairs.  I also have a huge mountain of books to get through by the side of my bed once I have finished this one, and at the moment that is looking totally daunting.

Perhaps I will aim to make 2010 the year that I start reading at home again!