Contrary to my former promise it seems I'm still preoccupied by the weather, but luckily I'm going to let the great Halldor Laxness ruminate for a while. I picked up Independent People after finishing my exams - that wonderfully liberating moment when you think "I can read EVERYTHING whenever I want" but then fail to actually read anything other than the free Asos magazine that gets delivered every month, and maybe the back of an innocent smoothie. Anyway, being trapped inside with only a looming bottle of tequila, I decided to pick it up again, and ran over a particularly resonant passage last night..
“Shortly afterwards it started raining, very innocently at first, but the sky was packed tight with cloud and gradually the drops grew bigger and heavier, until it was autumn's dismal rain that was falling --rain that seemed to fill the entire world with its leaden beat, rain suggestive in its dreariness of everlasting waterfalls between the planets, rain that thatched the heavens with drabness and brooded oppressively over the whole countryside, like a disease, strong in the power of its flat, unvarying monotony, its smothering heaviness, its cold, unrelenting cruelty. Smoothly, smoothly it fell, over the whole shire, over the fallen marshgrass, over the troubled lake, the iron-grey gravel flats, the sombre mountain above the croft, smudging out every prospect. And the heavy, hopeless, interminable beat wormed its way into every crevice in the house, lay like a pad of cotton wool over the ears, and embraced everything, both near and far, in its compass, like an unromantic story from life itself that has not rhythm, no crescendo, no climax, but which is nevertheless overwhelming in its scope, terrifying in its significance."
Cool. Laxness kinda makes me want to rush away to Iceland and become a hermit - well he did so more before I reached the next chapter and the woman witnessing this rain died horrendously in childbirth after beheading a ewe. But I suppose these trials and trivialities must be endured.
I've also been enjoying the "wild untamed beauty of the peaks", "Mr Collins!", and "indeed I do sir!" by way of the globally-renowned BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice - particularly this babe of a man. Such prolonged and frequent exposure to this has however impacted dramatically on my ability to communicate normally with the public, and I find myself wanting to throw around "countenance" and "my dearest muma" in day-to-day conversation. Unfortunately Harriet, gal pal extraordinare, has born the brunt of such mania - but I think she enjoys it really.
Other than this, recent tasks and activities have involved explaining why I'm wonderfully competent and generally brilliant to various potential employers, and obsessively rearranging all the items on top of my bookshelf.
Yet, tonight holds the promise of fresh unimaginable excitement - my 3rd Pizza Express in 3 days (#doughoverload - never actually done the hashtag thing before and not sure how I feel about it) with fellow Italian cuisine fanatic and literary whiz Kirsty (K-Dawg/Boozehound). When I try to estimate the amount of £££ we've spent together on all the delights this esteemed institution has to offer it makes me feel a little pale and unwell, not to mention lardy. However, it's been quite some time since our last visit, so this evening promises a happy reunion indeed.
I've just noticed that the font seems to have changed after the first paragraph of this, and as I have no idea how to change it back you'll just have to bare the inadequacies of my formatting and see it as an expression of my abstract and colourful nature.
Anyway, going to make the most of the drizzle and enjoy another delectable man now:
The finest Sherlock Holmes to ever grace our screens and minds, a feast for the eyes, ears and all other senses.
R x
