Rear windows

Watching them watching me watching them


When you Live in town your personal space and allowed privacy is very, very different from when you live in the country. We’ve been living here, now, for nearly six months, and lack of privacy is axiomatic. Not that I gave it a second thought before we moved. Moving seemed sensible: rent was cheaper and, for me, the main draw was doing without the expense of a car – stupid me. Have you ever tried shopping in a supermarket and then walking home? No? I didn’t think so. It seems to me that cars have become a requisite wherever you live. Feeble, I know. But fact.

This post, from the 13th describes the surveillance camera that ‘appeared’ in the street to the front. The picture above is the view from the back garden door. Windows. Lots of windows, and more curtain twitching surveillance.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind – and if I did there’s bugger all I could do about it – but inside each and every window  is a person. A stranger. A complete and utter total stranger who might be my next best friend … or might be an axe murderer. How do I know? And the truth is I can’t know, unless I traipse around and introduce myself and then I become the local loony. Or, my luck runs out and I vanish in a newly turned flower bed in said axe murderer’s garden.

Oh, I wish I hadn’t recently seen Alfred Hitchcock‘s ‘Rear Window‘.

I suppose this mild, bubbling, ever present sense of being perpetually observed, is paranoia. So I’m paranoid. Paranoid and proud! I wonder if there is some sort of multi coloured plastic wrist band I should be wearing that proclaims me?

So, the upshot is – and yes, this might possibly be paranoia speaking (or writing, as you do in blogs) – we are being watched from the street at the front by some bloke in a council office with a vast bank of monitors, and by those in the houses opposite. And then we’re being watched from the back by pretty much the same demographic, except the poor bloke from the council is missing out.

Moving back to the country seems eminently sensible, now. Far far out in the country where you need a serious 4 x 4 and the nearest possible ‘surveillance’ is a couple of miles away.

Hmm, maybe an idea worth pondering. 😉


Cat, Cats, the Fat Pidgeon, Kamakura, and some odd thoughts.

Percy dreaming of foreign climes

Not the best picture I’ve ever taken. Still, it’s a picture taken today, which was the original point of this blog. That the idea behind ‘Congenerous’ seems to have become ever changing and fluid should allow me to leave out the daily picture, if I feel like it. But I don’t feel like it, yet. Besides, Percy rawks!

There was going to a photo of an amazingly fat Pidgeon who sits on a branch in the tree outside my bedroom window. There was going to be, but by the time I stumbled about finding my phone he (or she) had gone (how do you sex a Pidgeon without getting up close and personal?). You’ll have to wait for that treat, then.

I’ve been listening to the recording I made of our rehearsal yesterday, and, considering it was our third proper rehearsal, it’s damn good. Maybe you think I would say that, being the vocalist. But being ‘real’ about my music is a definite seachange. Normally, even if I know deep down that something is good, I’ll shrug it off as a fluke. I wish (wishing is something else I have to change along with je ne regrette rien, which is utter bollocks and futile) that we’d carried on after the Pestalozzi festival. I wish I’d had the balls to have a go twenty years since. Humph. Obviously I’m an arse for hiding my light under a bush for so long. Obviously. Duh.

Odd thoughts.

  1. I’ve suddenly realised that even if I spent the rest of my life doing nothing but reading I wouldn’t be able to read all the books I have, or those I want to read. Especially now that eBooks are with us. This led to a mild panic. But as there’s nothing I can do about it – I can’t suddenly start reading at a gazzilion words a minute, or give up everything else and do nothing but read – I have to accept it and be more decisive about what I do read.
  2. I’m a lazy git. I want to write – at least one decent novel – and consequently have to stop being a lazy git.
  3. Money doesn’t grow on trees.
  4. ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ is balls, as is Je ne regrette rien. Accept what you can’t change and get on with it.
  5. This list of odd thoughts seems to be getting horribly close to New Years resolutions. Stop it!
  6. Cats really make wonderful friends!
  7. ‘Cats’ could be our next single.
  8. Relationships are fragile things; butterflies have stronger wings. Do not take friends for granted.
  9. Patience! F1 2012 will begin sooner or later and there’s nothing you can do to hasten the 1st race.
  10. Must better my punctuation; Eats, Shoots & Leaves is a wonderul book.
  11. Cease waffling.

And that’s that.

Blood & mosquitoes.

That's my blood, that is ... the fuckers!

Yes, it’s a really bad if not truly appalling photo (though it was taken on a phone in a room with pretty dim light). The thing is I’m worried. Either there are a LOT MORE savage flying biting beasties this year, or I’ve lost my mind.

Last year it was hot. In high summer (where we are now a year on) it was so damn hot all the windows were open nearly all the time. Yes, I had a few bites, but they weren’t bad.

This year it’s like I’ve teleported to another planet. The bites swell up to enormous lumps which last for several days before going down. As I write I’m sweating in a long sleeved shirt and a dressing gown – but this, believe it or not, is better than suffering the damn bites.

I suppose there’s a chance I’ve become allergic to mosquitoes. But why now? Hmm? Or maybe, if you like conspiracy theories, ‘someone’ wants us out of this overblown shed and is pumping mosquitoes in through its cracks. I dunno, but I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all. 😦

The internet isn’t a lot of help, either. It exacerbates my paranoia with articles about the rather nasty Blandford Fly, which is spreading countrywide. And then there’s this – and I warn you not to watch it if you’ve just eaten. It’s a chap who was bitten by a mosquito and … well, you’ll see.

It’s a battle, and not one I think I’ll win. Even though the walls and ceilings are dotted with their corpses there’s still the question of my blood. I wonder if eight imperial pints is enough?


If there is a point to all of this it’s slipped me by
We’re born, sleep a lot, make love, wither, die.
Lessons we learn, trials we suffer through
Covered with sod or burnt, it is adieu.

I strive to make a difference, yearn to carve my mark
Battle genetics daily to change apathy to spark
Yet if there is a point I’m afraid I don’t see it now
Prithee tell me, I will be remembered how?


I wrote this an age ago – or so it seems. Though it’s still how I’m feeling, now.

Perhaps it just goes to show the cyclic nature of life … or maybe I’m just an arse? 🙂

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