I may have been a little late in jumping on the Mac bandwagon, but every so often when trying out something new, I am completely astounded by the sheer brilliance of it. Even a creatively-stunted novice like me can conjure up something passable.
I’m all about football lately, the Champions League match broke my heart a little this week, but hopefully it’s just the sort of injustice that will spur my Redmen on to bigger and better things. Plus, smug git Ronaldo missed a penalty, so it’s all good really.
I seem to fall out of habits all too quickly – this blog is abandoned as regularly as everything else. Hopefully I can get back on track as life stabilises again. The biggest obstacle to that at the moment is my impending house move – all of about a mile down the road, but a big change nonetheless.
This morning everything is sort of fine though. The sun is slowly rising over in Canary Wharf direction, I’ve spent the majority of my shift chimping around on the Macbook, and I’m on my eighth shift in a row without feeling any ill effects and haven’t considered chucking a sickie or anything.
Most of my beloved books are packed away (in McDonalds boxes, which amuses me for no good reason. McDonalds is just over the back of our garden, so it’s easy to go begging for boxes!) but I’ve just finished Philip Roth’s American Pastoral. I may do a proper review, but my initial reaction is that I love his characters, they’re so very real. But the jumpiness of the narrative left my head swirling about whether it was 1968 or 1973, and argh! I do like that I was so engrossed in the story that I forgot the initial premise, that the author-narrator is really just conjuring up the details of an old school buddy/hero. Well played, Mr Roth.