Greetings all, let me first say thank you to Anna and Mary for stopping by and liking/commenting and sharing my latest post. Not so many views but it's all fine and dandy and always nice of you to have a good old read.
Last night was a splendid affair in group and everyone did well in their own way. Shilpa did marvellous to get some clairaudience and whilst nobody quite heard anything they certainly got lots of messages for us all. It was a fab vibe for the evening and I'm looking forward to tomorrow evening provided the internet is behaving.
This of course brings me to the title of todays tribulations. As I glance to the router or hub or whatever the current terminology is it is staring back with a lovely little amethyst hue. Now whilst amethyst possesses a soothing quality upon our retinas what is required is a shade of blue. The purple light signifies that dear old BT is unable to serve as best it should at present and instead we are reliant on a connection which is akin to a 56k modem. It's pretty hopeless for streaming, hosting zoom meetings. As a result I've had to postpone tonight's little monthly writing group but it does give everyone an extra week to put something together.
Clearly I should like this situation to improve by tomorrow eve as I've got my lovely people from Thursday's group to work with. I know Anna will be cross and I shall not be best pleased either if dear B.T are unable to repair the dilemma. One wonders what the cause is? Russian hackers, overdemand, ravenous squirrels mistaking cables for earthworms or has someone merely pulled out the wrong plug? Time will tell I imagine.
Today, I watched a programme about the notorious Jimmy Savile on Netflix. It was well made I thought and delivered an insightful look into the workings of a powerful, twisted individual who many of us thought a bit eccentric but an idol to be looked up to. He truly was a nasty piece of work but what really opens your eyes is how he got away with it in plain sight. So many of those people I used to look up to in my youth were proved to be venal and truly ghastly. Stuart Hall, Gary Glitter and Rolf Harris (this really saddened me) were all shown to be predators of the lowest order.
I guess the only solace is that those victims got to tell their side of the story and finally got some form of justice in being believed. Of course it did little to alleviate the suffering they had endured for so many long years. The trail of corruption leads to the very top with many senior politicians, royalty and dignitaries doffing their caps to this strange creature called Savile. It just shows that those we trust are anything but virtuous.
Time to delve into the past once more. Dear archive what have you got for me today? Ah, this did get published in some dark recess of the internet once upon a time (methinks the site is dead now though)
Departure Lounge
I hate bright lights. I peer through toughened glass. A couple of rabid robins batter a feeding tray. A blackbird rules the lawn and smirks at his imprisoned witness. Fatty rain streams down into the hungry mouths of several overstuffed plants.
“Could all tenants make their way to the lounge,” orders a tinny voice.
I sigh. I could stay all day watching the wildlife. I have nothing better to do. Six weeks I’ve been here. I wish I never signed the damned contract, not that I had much choice. I escape the dining room and greet Terry, Viv, Sally and Joe. We sit in front of a plasma window.
“Good morning tenants. You’ll be delighted to know today is judgement day.”
The host looks like a lamb chewing on bubblegum.
“The public have been voting in their millions. This is one of the tightest results we’ve ever had. You’ve been great contestants and everyone loves the show.”
She keeps talking. I’m not listening. My room mates aren’t paying much attention. I head to the toilet. A camera hounds my movements. I wonder if they go for an extreme close up when I sit on pan. I guess people will watch any old crap.
I wish we could go outside. You cannot imagine how insane we get. Prison was bad yet this place takes it to a whole new level. Here, the camera is God.
The tasks bore me to tears. We have no choice to comply. Take this week’s one, I had to pretend to be an owl and to hoot at the top of my voice every fifteen minutes. All this so we can be rewarded with extra shampoo.
At least the plastic dictator has departed our giant screen. I pick up a book and settle back on a huge humbug sofa. Terry and Viv slink off to the bedroom. They’ll do anything to stay alive in the competition.
Sally and Joe say nothing. They stare at the big black room. I disappear into Animal Farm and read about Napoleon. I’m up and about after two hours. I’m bored out of my skull. I reach for the fruit bowl and devour a banana.
The plasma flicks on. Our presenter is wearing a full length black dress. She flashes the smile of doom.
“Viv, Joe, Terry, Tracey and Sally the public have been voting and the lines are now dead. Tonight, leaving the show will be...”
Here we go. Yet another absurd long pause. I want to hurl my cup at the screen.
“Tracey.”
My roommates huddle around me. I accept their goodbyes. The door to the black room hisses open. I’m escorted by three silent giants into mortal darkness. I’m not the winner who’ll be rewarded with freedom.
The cameras are waiting along with a length of rough rope. I guess I’m not getting away with murder after all.
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