mogilino

We drnak a lot of whiskey.

don’t lisen to me/

(errors inyentionally-ish)

x

Molly

The Village Internet

There’s about a half foot of snow on the ground so far.  It’s still snowing and the power’s only just come back on after cutting out last night.  We had candles and a wood fire and two dogs keeping us warm, and Karen brought the sheep’s wool-stuffed duvet down from Batishnitsa.  Everything has a coating of ice round it.  Every branch and leaf and rose-hip.  It’s really pretty, and I’d post some pictures, but I don’t know how to work this computer.

I ran down the hill to the village this morning, hoping to catch the man who sells internet from his truck.  There was no-one around, and the shop was all locked up.  So, I guess we might not have internet much longer.  If I’m incommunicado, that’s why.

Christine’s throat hurts.  Her tonsils were so swollen, they were touching.  We’re going to Veliko Turnovo today, to drop Karen off for the bus.  There’s a supermarket there and we’re going to buy a lot of ginger and lemons.

Went

London to Sofia on one hour’s sleep.  It can be done.  Sleep punched me in the face so hard as soon as I sat down and fastened my safety belt.  I passed out and came to about four times during takeoff and can remember the 2-minute segments of the flight in which I repeatedly awoke with my face resting against various seats and passengers and occasionally with my entire torso hanging out in to the aisle and the stewardesses manouvering the trolley past me.  Then I’d be KO’d by the sandman again. *Biff*  Out.  And then I was stepping out on to the cold tarmac of Sofia’a airport.

My dad sent me a video that I’m pretty excited about.

And there’s this one too.

and this one

which reminds me of Rosencrantz discovering the Law of Buoyancy.

Yesterday’s News

It’s past my deadline.  It’s well past my bedtime.

We got out of London just to see that the out was still there.

And we holed up in a house where we’ve got ALL the spaces.

And the most ladylike bowels, thankyou.

Faeries

She’s back in my life for a month.  I’m being visited by my memories, my past, my forgotten loves.  And it’s all connecting.  Stories being told.  Places and people recaptured.  There are encounters that my heart will not ever forget.

Drunk Wins Day

I witnessed a truly stellar argument on the bus today.  It was between a massive drunk man in a union-jack shirt, swigging whiskey, and the actual bus itself.

Finlay and I sat down opposide the guy, who was occupying most of the wheelchair area.  I hadn’t noticed him when we sat down.  I noticed him shortly after the bus started moving.  Big.  Bat-shit crazy drunk loud.

The bus announcement recording lady kept politely telling us all that the consumption of alcohol on London’s busses is not allowed.  And each time she repeated herself in the exact same wording and intonation, the drunk man would lift his middle finger to the scrolling sign, saying “mmmotherfuckerarrghmmm…” and then spit a thick gob on the floor for emphasis.  Eventually, the bus voice came to her senses, and shut up about the whole thing.  He also leaned over the lady by the door on his way out and spat in to her hair, then slid out on to the pavement and turned to the driver, opening his arms in a conclusion of decided unconcern.

Finlay seemed apalled at the whole scene, but we didn’t talk about it.

Rough

The roof slid off and a door fell open as I balanced the mansion on my knee and fished in my pocket for my phone.

-Hello?

-Hello Molly.  I’ve got a man for you.  What are you doing right now?  Do you have time to talk?

-I’m carrying a large wooden doll-house down the street.  I’ll put it down.  Hold on.

A blind date?  Weird. 

I’ve been comissioned to paint an entire doll-sized house.

This is me today. 

Roughly.  Very roughly.  On roughly two hours’ sleep.  My internal organs hurt.  My hair hurts.  But tomorrow is coming.  And then Friday will be on it’s way and airplanes will touch down and there she will be.  Here in London.

The Inside of My Nose

Wave

Fish Face