Autumn is a-coming in, Loud Shriek Seagull

So I looked out of my window this morning and was hit by a ray of sunshine. That was a nice surprise. What wasn’t so nice was the fact that the beautiful solar ray was accompanied by a blast of exceedingly cold air and the yell of an equally surprised seagull. It can’t be autumn yet! We didn’t even get summer! Autumn cannot exist yet – it’s much too close to the freezing, grey, wet, depressing horror that is the modern British winter. (Oh wait, actually the modern British spring and summer are the same!)
However, at least there is sun. Even if you do need a jumper as well as sunglasses.


Imagination, Inc.

I was reading a blog the other day discussing imagination/the lack thereof. It struck a chord with me because I have always had, if anything, too good an imagination. It’s almost as if we all stand in line on the conveyor belt in the factory at Imagination, Inc. (affiliated with You&Yourself, Inc., website and receive a specified amount of imagination, but sometimes the conveyor sticks, and somebody gets an extra helping, so the next person behind doesn’t get any at all. (Some people seem to have played the system and gone round several times, too). I’m not complaining exactly, but I do think Imagination, Inc. needs to sort out its machinery. It isn’t fair that some people (myself included) have too much imagination while others have none at all. (You&Yourself could do with some work too. The person in front of me got two inches of leg that should have been mine.) I have always struggled with this. There were only ever a few people who understood me when I was little. Many my own age would just stare blankly and trot to their parents with confused cries of ‘Mummy, she wants me to pretend the garden path is a river! I don’t understand!’ Neither did I. Them, I mean. What could be simpler than pretending things? Even the slightly more in-tune ones needed props. The teacups had to have water in. We were pretending it was tea anyway, so why use water at all? It was very confusing to me. I could always see things so clearly in my own head that I tended to forget they didn’t look like that in real life, and what others saw wasn’t usually the same as what I saw.
Things have improved. I now write, which channels my imagination in a more productive and less dangerous direction. Dangerous because I had an obsession with string and often tried to tie things and people into knots with the endless bits of rope and cord I had accumulated. Even more dangerous because I frequently wandered off when on family walks, quite oblivious to my real surroundings, and would come out of my imagination-induced trance in the middle of nowhere, with not the faintest idea how I’d got there. Not good. So now I write, and everyone is safe.
But Imagination, Inc. still needs to fix that conveyor belt. Life would be much easier if everyone had imagination.