This Is Saturday

Strange things on the walk from my friend’s house to here this morning. Two middle aged Polish men, standing 200 metres from each other, having a very animated argument. I could not here many words similiar to English, and to be fair the language could have been Russian or Czech or somesuch, but with a barely noticable breeze, I could hear one of the determined gentlemen as I turned around the University library.
Money issues sit around, like some form of daemon. This week away from work has been much needed, although now I sit wondering if I can afford the next three weeks with any ease. Tentatively rough sketch plans for every weekend from today to payday, but now I must consider the possibility of a housemove. Never yet have I calculated quite beyond the short-term decisions, as my diaries prove. So, maybe, football and gigs to come, whilst the alternative plan may be getting moderately pickled rather than spending more than I could possibly afford under new circumstances.
The most bizarre series of dreams – maps, floating (I do a lot of flying and floating, I notice), my family and friends, cups of tea and demolishing buildings and…a coach station. Yes, a coach station and somewhere called….Pwlltwyn or Pwlltwyd, which I am sure does not exist. I woke with an uneasy sense of concern, like hearing a message whispered in my ear in French.
Anyway, yes, there are plates to be spun. Onwards, and if plans happen, you will no doubt be told

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