Pallop

It was a dream anagram word. I woke with it in my head and lay there trying to work out what word I could make from it. Nothing came. I made him laugh when I told him of it at breakfast. Two dreams. Paul Weller sang of having 22. Is that possible? The first I had to write down at 12 ish when I got up for a wee. Something to do with letters to be carved in stone but couldn’t be made permanent. And then I was in a public loo and I couldn’t turn on the lights. They wouldn’t come on and then I found the central switch and hey presto they worked. The second dream was more comprehensive and it involved a community of artists in Manchester, somewhere like Whalley Range. They lived above their studios but were threatened with eviction. I sat in the downstairs cafe with one of them as she bemoaned her fate. Then the word Pallop came into my mind and I woke trying to solve it.

My nerves are jangly this morning. Two bad things. First a minor one. The taps in this flat are very frustrating, old seventies designs. The kitchen ones keep losing the metal caps that hide the workings. Today the cold one came off yet again. I’ve glued it back several times but it won’t stay. Shall I just leave it? It looks so shabby and shoddy. Then the kettle went. We both like it. Love it sometimes. A retro one, a copy of course but a beautiful shape and hue nonetheless. It’s the element, certainly, for the light still comes on. I get so discombobulated. And then people don’t respond to emails just when I want, no need things to be in place. So we must buy a new kettle and a new dehumidifier which still comes on but bemusingly doesn’t collect any water. Just when things get tight. It’s always the way. Let the abundance come and to cover it. I am happy to work hard for it.

I begin my research today. I’ve no idea how to do it best. Just start. Remember Goethe. Just begin.