Not sleeping Properly.

 I can't  call my self an insomniac because I do sleep. In fitful little patches.

The interesting thing is the strange programs you find yourself watching just trying to exhaust yourself enough to sleep. Last night I followed a brief viewing of a wig teleshopping channel with a biopic of Hemingway, each depressing in their own special way. The wig program only because it seems such a strange thing to be trying to sell, like any of these telesales channels with (artificially) "limited" stock with a countdown. The Hemingway was the last program in the series, so covering that sad period as his drinking and a number of airplane accidents add up to a serious decline in his health, both physical and mental, and inevitably to his death.

So I'm not the best state of mind, being sleep deprived and brought a bit down by my TV viewing, but I am blogging momentarily.

Walking Home Tonight.

Just occasionally I feel I may have stepped sideways into another parallel universe.
This evening I get back to Portsmouth and Southsea close to nineteen thirty, got an early train due to going into work early today. It's that time of year just before the clocks go back when it's dark by the time I get home.
It starts with what I initially think is a an abandoned guy. They start early in Portsmouth. It's about now the kids roll out the classic plastic bag sticking out of the neck of some shell suit jacket and them yelling "penny for the guy". The locals having managed to associate the time of year with another way of getting money for nothing. Well this particular "Guy"looks pretty gruesome, stain on the wall behind it, looks like a head shot, slumped down the wall. I even have to go back and take a second look. Only to realise it's actually a guy slumped by the wall reading his phone. Leavening him to his own busyness I wander round to Tesco/s.

 

This is four years old but I'm publishing now.