You know you haven’t had had a very intersting life lately when you only remember your plattforms login because of an ironclad reminder – which might or might not be permanently written upon a part of your person you aren’t showing regularly to people (except if your a pornstar, prisoner or priest).
Well, but why I saddled the old horse? I just finished a book, and had a little grabby-grabby with one of the best cameras oin the market today. The former is „It’s Not Me, It’s You!: Impossible perfectionist, 27, seeks very very very tidy woman“ by Jon Richardson, the latter is the Nikon D800e. Too give you a sample of the book, here’s some quoting, first on the subject of recipes in magazines, which is, sadly, spot on.
Weekend magazines are filled with what are, in reality, middle-class lifestyle pornographic photographs rather than recipes.
The main theme is the slighty unnerving battlefiled of relationsships – not romance or love, but relationships. This is unnerving because you know Richardson, his voice and stage persona. Makes it funny, though.
Staying single is simply a matter of playing the odds. In all my life, including my family, friends, the families of my friends and so on, I would say that I am aware of one couple who have been together all their lives and who I am almost certain are happier for it. Just one. The rest consists of relationships which have not yet had the chance to fail, couples who have stayed together against their will through obligation or responsibility or those who consider the back and forth of rowing and making up to be a sign of a passionate relationship. I would think that if you cannot get along with the person you live with at least most of the time, then there is probably some sort of problem.
In a concealed section at the back of my wallet I keep one ten-pound note and one ten-euro note, in case of emergencies. I used to keep a condom in here, but I got so tired of transferring the same one across each time I bought a new wallet that the gesture began to depress me too much, in much the same way that it might upset disabled people if wheelchairs had a compartment for storing skis. How could it be long enough to perish leather since I last had call to use this condom? As a man I am required to carry a condom with me at all times, as if the possibility for sex could occur at any moment and with little or no warning. You think you are just nipping to the shop for some bread, but really should accept that you are probably going to end up sleeping with the girl on the checkout and maybe someone else too. Best always to travel tooled up.
I am unable to understand how it is that people gain any enjoyment from swimming, or how they could find it in any sense relaxing. There is a distinct difference between exercising and avoiding death by drowning. I have never been good at swimming, because there is no incentive beyond not drowning. If I fall out of a boat, I will survive, but I refuse to start a process of devolution by working my way back into the water. We began life aquatically and then developed over time the necessary limbs and body parts to live on land. As far as I am concerned if you are a good swimmer then that means simply that you have not yet evolved far enough.
And those pictures are obviously from the camera – even the botanical garden is closed, and it’s to dark outside to do a proper test, I utilised the poor mans aviary – a potted herb with some flies.
More to follow.