A Special Place

I idle where I'm at. Mostly I idle at work, I'm doing it now in fact.

I also idle at work. I am busy and industrious the rest of the time. jude "Cacoethes scribendi" http://www.judesworld.net

Chris Donald must have piles! Unless he's sitting on the lid of the toilet with his pants on... I once had a flatmate whose collection of Viz-es was in the loo - there is a definite Viz-loo connection. We used to hear Pete in the toilet, laughing, pooing and smoking for hours, as we held our wee in and seethed.

PS. I mostly do my idling in front of the computer...

I sit in the bog for hours. It saves getting disturbed.

I go early to pick my children up from school. I can sit in the car for an hour, classic fm and a book, cosy and undisturbed. Sometimes I write there too.

Anywhere, anytime. Mainly outdoors, in the back yard at night, smoking and fretting under the immeasurable cosmic glare of stars. In the shed, sorting out washing from the dryer at midnight. Just me, a few moths, a couple of spiders and a thin whistle. In the lounge during the evening while my wife is scrapbooking or chatting on the net. A book, a nice cup of tea and a little notebook and pen just in case I learn something about myself that I don't ever want to forget. In the bedroom, pants up or down, either napping, staring at the ceiling forming entoptic constructs from the terrain of the artex, or satisfying a ripened sexuality. In the kitchen, dancing privately across the tiles whilst waiting for the pan to boil. In the conservatory, hyptonised by the expert parental guidance offered by blackbirds to their babes. Here too, losing myself in the honey of words as Jack, my English springer spaniel snores beside me. There's nothing more mind-teasing than the incomprehensible eagerly avowed - Dennett