Here it comes, freefalling

There's no escaping it, that chill in the air is definitely autumnal, and with it comes the feeling of countless autumns piled high like dead leaves, with the oldest memories rotting wetly into the ground.

It's not something I can point to, it's not something I can name. It's something in the cold clarity of the air, something in the brittle sparkling of the morning dew, something in way the low pale sunlight catches on stones and sills, and flashes on the river.

It's the memory of new terms, of hard black shoes and new lessons to learn, a return to a routine that marks the passage of time, crosses off days on the calendar, ushers in the nights when shop-fronts glow orange in the cold darkness and televisions light up people's windows like candles and everybody else is somewhere safe and warm.

It's a lump in the back of my throat, a swallow that can't bring back summer. It's another year over.

Things to do in Cambridge when you're dead

Anybody have any suggestions for interesting things to do in Cambridge on one's own at a weekend? Preferably things which are cheap, and absorbing enough to take my mind off other things.

Waking up

Last night I dreamed ( fragmentary stuff )

and I woke up with stomach-cramps that made me double up in pain.

A Question of Spam

I've noticed that a lot of the junk emails I get have questions as their subject lines. So, as a kind of mixture of "found text", countermemetics and low-budget "reality" entertainment, I decided to make them into one of those exciting surveys.

( Spam me some questions! )

If wishes were horses

If I had just one wish (with no wishing-for-extra-wishes allowed) what do you think I would wish for?