where art collides philosoperontap

Classic Sunday afternoon in January. The wind is howling out there and it will soon be dark accompanied by plummeting temperatures. When I was a kid this would have meant watching a cowboy movie on the TV or perhaps playing a game of Monopoly with my sisters. Just trying to survive Sunday afternoon until the week reset itself and Monday came again.

To some extent very little has changed even though the choice of entertainment has increased massively. It doesn’t feel right sitting in front of the TV all afternoon though. Most of it is rubbish anyway. My alternative is to sit at the table the conservatory looking out at the weather and write.

It will gradually get darker and at some point I will decide I need to turn on the wall lights, dim as they are. The day will have morphed into night. Life will change. Life takes on a different complexion at night in winter. Cosier. As long as you are indoors and warm and the curtains are drawn.

Watching the TV in the evening seems more acceptable.

I’m glad I’m not a plant.

Offline again. Eurostar. Only have a partial Spotify library since I switched SD Cards in my phone. On the plus side I haven’t noticed videos being unresponsive anymore, or at least slow to respond. On the minus side I forgot that I needed to download all my songs. Started doing this but got a long way to go. At least I have a Satchmo album to keep me entertained until connectivity returns.

It has now but bandwidth is normally rubbish so I’m going to type a bit and then post these random ramblings. As I head for the border the clouds seem to be returning to England. Don’t know about Wales and Scotland but experience suggests that the likelihood is they will be the same.

Strumming a bit of Edith Piaf right now. I found out about EP when I first moved to Lincoln. I remember it was a beautiful weekend and I’d bought a bottle of red from the Portuguese guy in the Grapevine off license on Burton Road. He told me to let it breathe for an hour or so. There was nobody else around that day so I fixed myself some steak and chips and consumed the bottle of red to the accompaniment of Edith Piaf and Louis Armstrong. Perfect laid back summer.

Thats where we need to get to. The no responsibility chilled out plateau of youth.

I can’t believe how pants the mobile connectivity is along the UK section of the Eurostar line.

Woman sat opposite has just put a coat on over shirt and cardigan. I’m sat here in a t-shirt.

I keep looking at the mifi to see if any bars have appeared. A forlorn hope.

Summertime is on. The ultimate in laid back cool. I feel as if I want to shut my eyes and float out of my seat

Woman opposite looking bored now. Daughter is engrossed in her iPad and the husband is buried in Auto Gids car magazine looking at listings.

Now onto mood indigo. Serious class.

Can’t quite see what sort of car he’s looking at. It’s all in Flemish, or Dutch anyway. Might as well be Greek. I’d work on today’s greenhouse vid but it doesn’t need anything doing to it. I’ve even left the bit in where I was making Darren move back away from the camera. Just waiting to get to sensible connectivity at the hotel.

Just noticed he has a matching blue coat to hers. He’s put the mag down and is trying to nod off. She’s picked it up. Nice to have mutual interests like that…

Have switched off mini and trying the train wifi. It uses cellular connections so unlikely to be much better. Especially in the tunnel. Might succumb and head to the bar for something to do.

Have moved to something livelier – Summertime Throwbacks album.

Just declined the standard onboard fare in favour of a can of Kronenbourg. It is a Bank Holiday in Belgium after all. Meeting Andrea at the hotel at 7.30pm to go for a meal. No point in filling myself with cardboard quiche and rice salad and spilling the modules frites, or whatever lies in store.

I’m staying at the Hilton Grande Place. It’s about the cheapest I’ve ever seen it – the EC lot are all away on holidays or similar. As a Hilton Diamond member they have already upgraded me to a King Exec Junior Suite. Makes life easier.

Interesting speeding through the flat countryside en route to Brussels. Big WW1 battleground of course. You do occasionally get a glimpse of a cluster of war graves. Symmetrical. Orderly in death and quite unlike the chaos that was almost certainly the environment in which they died. We don’t know how lucky we are. Live life to the full. It’s the appropriate way to honour the war dead. I look out of the window and imagine ranks of soldiers marching to the front.

This offline state has meant that I can’t do any work. Was sort of thinking of preparing for tomorrow’s meeting. Already done most of it but you can never do too much preparation innit.

Spotify is slowly downloading. There is a trickle to mobile dat making it through. As if it was escaping through enemy lines:)

The country side is full of greens and browns about to become greens. The cows are sat down. Cmon ladies, up you get. Can’t having this pessimism.

Bit of Abba on now. I accidentally clicked on my fave’s playlist when checking how many songs had downloaded.

About to arrive at Lille. I think it’s only 30 mins or so after that.

Little ole Lille. Underground station. Not particularly memorable or grand. Crap really. Maybe there is a grand old station above us. Lille Centrale.

She is now doing her lipstick. Occasional bursts of connectivity coming through. One or two Facebook Messages and Slack.

Very industrial agricultural landscape around us. Large scale stuff. Huge fields.

I think I may soon be able to upload this.

The hot topic at the moment is whether to delete your Facebook presence. In my mind I’ve extended this to the idea of all online trace of you being deleted.

It’s a strange concept for someone who has spent much of his adult life building up an online presence (ok being able to “go online” hasn’t existed for that much of my adult life!). 3,000 or so blog posts on trefor.net and maybe 1,500 on philosopherontap.com. All my Facebook posts. It is all part of me. An extension of me. It’s an online diary. Autobiography. A means by which people will be able to look back and get a picture of Tref.

I’m not sure how I would feel if all this was deleted. It doesn’t really matter in the great scheme of things. We are all destined for oblivion anyway.

I guess my philosophy is that life is one big work of participation art. I try to participate. If one avenue was blocked off I’d have to find another route whatever that route was.

That’s all.

My specs need a clean. It is surely the work of seconds to whip them off and wipe with my shirt. In fact I’ve just done it. Much better now. I’m sure you understand. Clarity.

Anne is in the kitchen. I assume so anyway. I am sat in the TV room with the TV switched off. Nothing on worth watching. Rarely is tbh. Anne always keeps herself busy.

A red light flashes on the cordless phone  by the settee. I’m not sure the phone works any more or at least it needs a new battery. I’ll stick it on the jobs list.

Over on the settee there is a dress, black with red, pink and grey tulips. Pretty sure they are tulips. I think it’s going on eBay. Anne wears them a few times and moves them on.

The weather forecast for Easter weekend is not good. Easter is still over a week away but here in Lincoln we feel that Spring can happily now enter into our lives. Existence.

I have been reading Mussolini, His Part in My Downfall by Spike Milligan. This is volume IV. I’ve just finished vols 1 – 3. Note inconsistent numbering conventions there. Reb.

Been moving some books around. Need more space in the big bookcase in the living room where all my history books and the Welsh and Manx interest stuff resides. Book demotion.

The printer is silent. It sits there patiently, waiting to spew forth. Maybe it’s watching me. We ignore it most of the time but it is connected, hackable. The answer lies in the socket.

The featured image is a random photograph just taken for the very purpose. Felt a change was needed from the philosopherontap logo, excellent that it is. Specs have been cleaned.