Pip Pip to Pip

Listening to Rain, Glorious Rain from the Cloud Appreciation Society

This contains deep, sustained booming sounds which I am sure are not allowed before 09:30 but whatever. It is actually raining here at the moment though not quite as strongly as in these recordings and without any thunder. However, the emergency lighting test in the office has resulted in a few flashes which I have mistaken for lightning. There is also a remote spaceship-type hum in the office which for some reason is made more noticeable by a continuous stream of white noise in my ear.

Daughter is apparently trying to write a novel with five of her classmates. They only have a few minutes each day to collaborate so she has asked if they can come round to work on this story-by-committee. I'm not sure I ever wanted to work with other people on a novel but I did once request and get my dad's typewriter on which I tried to write a play. I am afraid that simple spelling mistakes frustrated me so much that I gave up after the Dramatis Personae. Should have kept a notebook then I suppose. Thinking about it, it was around then that I started carrying small police-style notebooks though looking back on them the single word reminders I put down in them fail entirely to remind me of anything at all.

I so love Transformational Grammar! It seeps into my mind at night and soothes me to sleep. I seem to have worked out what it actually is without any formal training - not even reading that Wikipedia article up there. It is simply an accompaniment to this wonderful music. We have moved on from the rain to Kristin Hersh and other free music. The rain still falls outside, sideways slanted in gusty wind and no summer slouch but rather autumnal and getting into any slight gap in these inappropriate summer clothes. Did you hear about Pip Davenport and how he invented the Carousel? I'm not sure if Pip is real but he seems to exist on myspace. If it was not for having seen the actual handwriting of the two essays I would be thinking that the whole furore was a hoax. Of course it just makes me realise that all this rubbish which I write is not quite as bad as I think. I sleep it seems while the world turns round under me - like the Earth being snatched away as we stand her protected in space by our own thoughts. There ain't no medication is there. Oh that I was Christopher Wren or that there Newton who couldn't really understand the science bit that comes in the middle. Not sure I would like to be Robert Hooke though. Easily bored.