There is a reason why I haven’t written anything on the blog for a couple of days, and the reason is that Mark and I have been impulsive this weekend. On Friday after school he appeared in the car park outside school, and sat on the bonnet of the car when I emerged, and then we drove off into the sunset with a picnic bag to the coast where we spent hours staring at the thin line on the horizon that is France and walked on the beach in the sunset before heading back to our B&B that he had also arranged.
Impulsive and impulsive by the way. Mark is never impulsive about anything, so I’m sure this little surprise activity has been planned in meticulous detail for weeks, down to way point plans on the GPS so that our drive to the coast would have the most scenic impact.
But we came home yesterday, and then did another run across the country-side today, and tomorrow will be our day of rest, except I’m so rested and relaxed now that my little bouts of insomnia that strike me sometimes is bothering me now at nearly two in the morning.
We have been naughty and haven’t done any revision or home work or anything like that. This weekend is ours, and we will not do one constructive or instructive thing during it. There will be enough of that as we approach The Tests later on.
Our cat has pretty much conquered his initial shyness, and has now taken over the house. This meant that the little ball of fur gave Watson a clawed wallop today on the nose, which sent the dog yapping across the house in outrage. The silly bugger should avoid trying to eat the cat’s food in the future. Things will go much easier once he learns that lesson, and that the cat may be a tenth of the size of him, but the cat has built-in switch-blades.
It also means that the little blighter has taken over my spot in the sofa, and trying to lift him off means that the already mentioned claws first emerge into the cloth so that he’s like an irksome Velcro, and then the claws penetrate my hand as he protests his inevitable indignity in being removed from the new spot.
Tomorrow (or rather later today since it’s after midnight) will be an utterly lazy day, and I’ve decided to spend it reading and writing, and maybe I’ll try to replay Bioshock Infinite. Yes, it will be a good day.
And the title of today’s post is from a wonderful, if a bit eerie book, from the 1950s. It’s a post-apocalyptic book called “The Long loud silence” by Wilson Tucker, but it’s not like the regular pulp science fiction of that era. It is actually quite modern. It is a very postmodern book about a morally neutral, or maybe morally broken, character that wakes up one day after a nuclear war.
The United States west of the Mississippi River has been destroyed and everyone is dead or infected with a plague. The goal of the main character is to reach the Mississippi River, and to cross into the part of the country that hasn’t been destroyed. Except, that border is heavily guarded now because of the plague and people who try to cross are shot on sight. The book deals with survival and the choices that Gary, the main character, makes in order to do that – for example slowly decimating an army patrol that come from the clean parts in the west by stealth murders in order to steal a truck. The book is about a man becoming a monster, basically, in order to survive.
I’ve read this book before because I seem fated to run into copies that I do not own myself, while being unable to find someone who would sell me a copy because it has been so long out of print.