Monday July 16th 2012 Tim
A three an a half minute silence
from the electric supply around supper time was long enough to send me
through many of the more aggressive stages of mourning, which for me at
least always begins with the smell of wet charcoal. It's perhaps
necessary for such an enfeebled being, to think seriously about
introducing 'Power Cut Day.' Easier in Springtime, or maybe in the
middle of October. A twenty four hour period without the electric
or running water. Emergency planning, I'll pretend, and raft on
about preparedness and the great unknown that spirals into an oblivion
dreamers call an afterlife. Or I could call it a test of character
and that spirit of frontier our unfortunate Ancestors so regularly had
foisted upon them and maybe our turn soon. Or I could call it
poetry and sing to the changes.
There have been, through no
choice of mine, 'Power Cut Days' in the past. Quite a lot of them.
They have occurred randomly, at no particular time of day or season. Always
they are inconvenient and absolutely they are out of the blue. Sometimes
even, they have continued well beyond a twenty four hour period.
There's the blank television screen, an empty radio, an instinct to
drive around so as to make certain others are without power and equally bad
tempered. So better perhaps to think of it as 'Isolation Day,' and put
it somewhere around Saint Swithun's Day. Which would have been
yesterday, when it rained a little.