A good weekend.  Why good?  Because I spent a lot of it laughing.  Not at anything sophisticated, in fact, the level was about Carry On film (American Pie for anyone reading in America).  But what that means is you shed any pretension and laugh so that every bone shakes.  And when that shaking is over, you feel a whole lot looser and other things start working better too.

Gutters cling to roofs or skirt roads.  High or low, they get rid of rubbish and the flow is cleansing.  As she laughed, things started flowing.

I went for what I thought would be a quiet drink on Thursday and ended up on the end of a rant.  It came from someone who described himself as a vegan anarcho-socialist and, supported by an ex-hippie, proceeded to tell me what was wrong with the world and how redistribution of wealth, instantly, would fix it. Call me cynical (I prefer pragmatic), but some practical guidance on this would have been good, rather than just 'well we need to think differently.'  Then he called me a victim.  At that point, amused tolerance rather departed.  

“You’re stupid because you don’t see that the world’s all wrong and you just ignore it.” Stupid then, as I change only what I can reach.

There have been a number of important(ish) people telling other groups of people (not their own) what they can and cannot do recently and it has upset a lot of people.  It would be sad if we lost all ability to express opinions through fear, even if those opinions are not what we want to hear.

“You must do what I say.” “Why should I?” “Because I know better than you.” “I won’t listen to you anymore.” Repeat, until everywhere is silent.

We are supposed to grow up and lay aside childish things, as the phrase goes.  To which I answer, yes, but they are so much fun...

On the final leg of the commute, bag digging into shoulders.  By the main road, she picked the wild blackberries, each stained finger chasing away years.

A weekend of sloth, interspersed with eating, drinking and wallowing in nostalgia, which is not a bad way to do things.  One of these was a secular naming ceremony, which was a new one.  I rather admired it: it was a relaxed affair for family and friends and, most importantly, it reflected what they believed.

A child, name proclaimed into the open air. The angel's share of malt whisky was brushed across his sparse hair. Life, started hopefully, without heaven's intervention.

A change is in the air...

The evenings were darkening and with it the mood.  The first rain for a week jammed a broken flag stalk in the drain.  The mood dampened.

A couple of things happened today, small in themselves, but designed to lift the mood.  Someone listened to me and acted on it.  I was able to make someone laugh when they were about to cry.  And someone said 'good job'.  Feeling a little reckless now...

She deliberately stepped on a crack in the pavement waiting for the apocalypse.  Silence.  In the train ahead, a full can teetered away from the vertical.

OK, can anyone spot the difference today?  Getting onto the train this morning felt like the first day back at school.  People no longer had an all day, rolling parade of excitement to follow and suddenly had to focus on  'other news'.  Added to that the relief that London had not just not messed up, but triumphed.  There was a sense that people had discovered emotions they were not aware of and were wondering what to do with them.  For me with my writer's head on, lots of stories start here...

There was an air of something missing, lost but within fingertip distance.  People groped blindly, because they did not yet want to admit it had gone.

I haven't blogged for a few days, because there has been nothing on my mind.  I am worrying that this is the first sign of everything slipping...

Her mind was a blank canvas, untroubled by thoughts.  Previously this state had been elusive, requiring pursuit.  Now it beckoned, leading her on into gentle apathy.

Story genesis: I love it when a story suggests itself from everyday life.  I was on the train, when sitting opposite me was a large chap who had a woman's diamond engagement ring on his little finger.  He saw that I had noticed it and appeared uncomfortable.  It wasn't clear whether he was going to a situation where he would need it or coming away from something where it had been thrown away and he was looking after it.  I wonder...

Broad shoulders with muscles visible under the t-shirt, taut against the train’s motion.  A woman’s engagement ring gleamed on his smallest finger.  He twitched it, sweating.

The occupants of the carriage stared into their individual spaces, in wilful ignorance of their surroundings and each other.  A toddler broke the rules and laughed.

Caring sharing: How do you respond when someone seems to be in trouble?  There seem to be three types of trouble: obviously genuine when people generally rise above themselves to help.  Then there are the regular small things we all do to ease people along, like making up the change for someone's fare.  Then there is when the problem is very small but the amount of attention someone wants for it is out of all proportion.  Is that caring or is that pandering?  And, once you realise the difference, when do you say 'sort yourself out' or let it pass, to no doubt get bigger next time.

She packed the remainder of the small pile.  The bag closed easily.  It would be an easy, quick escape.  A phone rang, at the bag’s bottom.

Supportive or supporter? I read yesterday that Clint Eastwood, the actor and director, has endorsed Mitt Romney for US president.  I find this rather odd, not because one thinks of actors as traditionally Democrats, but more because of how odd it would be the other way around.  We would think it ridiculous if Obama told a director that he preferred Meryl Streep to Glenn Close for the next lead role or David Cameron told Simon Cowell who should win his next talent competition.  So why does this happen?  Are people so incapable of making up their mind that they will only do what someone else tells them?  It does lead on to the question of what is support?  Athletes have talked about the support from the crowd in London pushing them on, but is it always productive?  And do we recognise the boundary when support becomes a crutch?

“You never support me.”  The voice rose to a shrill keening, words emphasised by flailing arms.  “You expect me to cope with everything.” “And you do.”

Eyes have it: It is quite hard to find non-Olympic stories around at the moment, but one that I heard was that kids who get less sunlight as they grow up are more likely to be short-sighted.  Cue the usual moans re lack of exercise, computer games etc, but this is just the latest reason to confirm that going outside is good for you.  I defy anyone not to feel better for going outside and feeling the wind in their hair, clearing the gap between the ears.

They walked by the estuary on a blustery Saturday, letting problems blow away with the scudding clouds.  Laughing, we hid from the rain to eat chips.

Mission to Mars: so we are going to land the most sophisticated rover yet on Mars.  The radio described it as the 'size of a Mini' - I have this wonderful vision of the 'Italian Job' around the craters.  By contrast, the UN resolution to condemn the violence in Syria has again been watered down.  Why are we so keen to push into the unknown when we seem to ignore the the problems under our noses?

At the office, he was known as a sympathetic boss, always asking after your welfare.  At home, the rubbish was spilling out of the unemptied bin.

I have been working from home because of the Olympics. Advantages: I can get a lot done.  Disadvantages: you miss your sights of the world that are the nuggets that stories spring from.  The overheard phrase on the train; the glimpse of an interaction as you walk past, all of which can cause a chain of creativity to spark.  Instead, I am quite mechanistic and efficient.  Need to rebalance.

The fourth day of working from home.  The world came in through the radio, packed, prepared and pre-sliced.  It tasted bland, without the sauce of individualism.