They extended the house because of more children, and kicked me into the new room. It faced east and was built over the front lawn. I imagined the grass turning brown and dying slowly beneath me while I slept. On those incendiary summer mornings, the sun, one thing in life you could depend on, would hoist itself above the cream brick house across the street, and smash like a ripe peach into my dark green blind, its fragments making pin-holes of light in the canvas, and throwing blurred circles like hot dancing snowflakes onto the opposite wall. I would jerk the blind up, drowning the pin-hole light show in a solid cube of dazzling white. Across the road, the cream brick house always looked like a square crouching animal, silhouetted until midday beneath its eave ears. The new bedroom absorbed the original front door. Now I used it as an exit, which I used at night with unscathed dignity - instead of clambering, novel-style, out of the sash window - on my way to an...
Everything is -'friendly'. Eco-friendly. User-friendly. Reader-friendly. Objects, concepts. What happened to human-friendly? Vegan-friendly , trumpeted the package, which contained wheat germ. Long-term readers might or might not recall that I have had something of an ongoing semi- obsession with the over-earnest, ungrammatical, or sheer moronic label claims that plague manufactured food products. Clearly, either the general population - the consumers of these goods and their verbal assaults - or the marketing industry - their illiterate authors - has become stupider. Or both. Probably both. Irony aside, what madness is it that the consumer needs a printed assurance that a bag containing 100% ex-vegetation has no animal content? Or that its processing has not knowingly been associated with members of the animal kingdom throughout its journey from grassland to four-colour-process-overprinted crude oil-based plastic packaging? Which, in any case, means what? A process w...