Feedback Friday :: We’ve Got a Water Fight

I'm waiting for a special delivery. Which is why I'm sitting at the front window as I type these words. It's very distracting. Here's some blindingly obvious advice for would-be writers or indeed serious workers of any kind whatsoever: never try to work whilst sitting at a window that looks out over a reasonably busy street. It's impossible. I live right next to a school and a female-only gym too, but to be honest, it's the workmen that prove most distracting. Bloody workmen. Here is my week...

:: 12st 9. I blame the German restaurant I went to last night. 
dinners :: 2
rehearsals :: 1
alcohol consumed :: around 3.5 pints of lager, maybe three glasses of wine and a Jägermeister
days without alcohol :: 3 
days I got to sleep before 1am :: 2
days I started work before 9am :: 6 
days I worked more than 10 hours :: Oh, I don't know. This is increasingly difficult to figure out. Can't think why. 
days I smoked marijuana before 6pm :: 5. Maybe 6.  
days I smoked marijuana before 3pm :: 2. Maybe 3. I do worry about this. I don't want to be that person. I may have to stop for a month in an attempt to prove something to myself.
copywriting jobs completed :: 3
other writing jobs completed :: 1
potential new clients approached :: 0. This must change. 
back sessions :: 1. This too must change. 
physical gym visits :: 1. And this. 
metaphysical gym visits :: 0. Well, yeah, this too ideally. But it's not top of the list. It's rarely top of the list, and I think I probably wish it were. I lack metaphysical discipline. 
approximate number of hours spent learning Dutch :: 3. Poor.
cinema visits :: 2. Poor.
reviews written :: none finished
reviews pending :: 5. Uh-oh. The overload klaxon is bleating. 
slightly overdue haircuts :: 1
complementary unrequested head massages :: 1
punctures :: 1
plants kept alive :: 6
money owed to Donald Trump :: none
routine adhesion :: 32%
week 10/52 overall rating :: 7.5. The week was fine, an 8 or a 9, but I'm marking down because there is some creeping dissatisfaction with my lack of progress in certain departments that cannot and will not be denied. 

So, the package when it arrives will contain toiletries. It's essentially a care package from a friend in Italy whose family business is making creams and soaps and gels and smells. But my front door bell doesn't work and for complicated reasons I'd rather not go into, I'm very keen to catch the box before it goes elsewhere.

So I've been sitting here since 8.30, working on things, watching the world and being forced by workmen to think about how it might end.

There's an apartment block on the corner of a confluence of two wide tree-lined streets. My living room window looks out on it. The block is six floors high and ordinarily, somewhere between reasonably charmless and distinctly inoffensive. As of a few days ago, however, it was covered in scaffolding. The next day the scaffolding was covered in green netting. Today a cleaning company has turned up and it looks like the whole building is to be jetwashed. Wholly — I would suggest — unnecessarily.

The clouds being quick to anger, push the sun to its knees and sit on it.

painters & parakeets

If you're reading this message under a parakeet, then we can assume that there are insurmountable time and/or motivation issues. Don't worry about it. Enjoy the parakeet. Some say it's a parrot. I don't know for sure. Just enjoy it.

The jetwash is being operated by a man who has clearly never seriously considered the disturbing ramifications for humankind of the impending water crisis. He is a sharp-faced bald man. He's currently washing Luton van number two while a colleague stands to one side, watching, revelling in his own impotence.

They'll both probably be dead before the Dry Age starts claiming lives in earnest.

Now they've got electric cables that are hanging down from the scaffolding all tangled up with the hose of the jetwash. They're like a slightly less animated Laurel and Hardy.

Ah, they're going home now. It's almost 3pm and they've had enough for the week.

Me too.

Have a great one. 

Turn off your taps. 


Still no sign of that package. 

About the Author

I am Karl Webster. I wrote these words. If you liked them, you'll be overjoyed to know that there are plenty more where they came from. So you should definitely sign up to my newsletter if you haven't already.

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