An English In Kentucky


















Monday July 16th 2012    Tim Candler

    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.

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