The black hit of space

[WEDNESDAY 25 FEBRUARY 2009]
After a couple of (essential) phone calls, I made it to the coalface by twenty-past-nine.

If anything, this blog has at least made me keen and punctual – if only so that I can report my clocking-in without any sense of guilt.

I could be lying of course. But you’ll just have to take my word for it. I’m a good catholic boy, I don’t tell fibs.

At present, I am valiantly fending off a shitty cold which has been lurking since last Thursday. Current symptoms include that horrid burning catarrh sensation you get in your nose; my brain has apparently been replaced by cotton wool; and my taste buds have deserted me (which somewhat marred pancake day).

No doubt it will erupt into something really nasty as soon as the weekend (and my birthday) arrives…

I just spent my tea break composing an overwrought dirge on the piano. I find my fingers and ears are always drawn to the lower keys, seeking out those deep, dark, leaden tones.

Then I wasted a fruitless hour searching for something elusive on the internet - Procrastination by any other name.

I should probably have some lunch now, so I can have a long uninterrupted stretch of activity this afternoon.

------------------------LUNCH BREAK------------------------

…Eeek, I just typed that ellipsis and the computer started emitting a high-pitched whine, as if it had had enough. I am aware that in composing prose I am all too easily tempted into using this tool to string together disparate trains of thought.

Perhaps I should keep an ellipsis count…

Then again, perhaps it would make my writing too considered…

Having this stinking cold allows me to at least feed my trio of minor addictions: Olbas oil, Halls extra strong, and Ribena. Indeed, if I could smell anything, I’ve no doubt I would smell like a giant menthol. And it’s merely a matter of time before my teeth fall out from all the sugar.

Eureka! I’ve just discovered that Ivory Black gives a deep and almost impenetrable black – the kind of black you find in the shadows of a Francis Bacon painting.

Goodbye Lamp Black…

I spend the remainder of the afternoon over-painting black spaces, to render them deeper and darker – a thoroughly therapeutic exercise.