I am blogamoaning – big time. Much flatulent communicating cos flat on back or on knees most of time. Hope you are not all fed up with me.

But first a friend passed on a funny thought that has made me laugh greatly. I feel bound to explain it given that some of you are less than sharp on contemporary pop culture and groovy comedic turns and also just a tad prudish. This will kill the joke dead – sorry Barbara – As you know this site is called gravityisahat, after the incident with the ladder in which it may be said, gravity caused me a bit of grievous, she suggested it be renamed gravityisatwat. I just know some of you won’t get this or indeed like it, but I thought it was hilarious. Yes it does mean vagina, a stupid person and a forest clearing. Check out the Wikipedia entry on its misuse by Robert Browning in a poem in which he thought it was part of a nuns vestments. Silly twat.

Last night was not fun. I managed a few seconds of sleep every few minutes while sat on the side of the bed elbows on my knees head in my hands. I would drop off and then lurch forward and wake up, climb into the bed lie down for 30 secs or so, sit up and start the routine again. For the causal observer this would have looked like choreography by Piña Bausch or a film by Zbig whateverrhisname is, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sci9scFN_TU

for me, in my irrational state it was pain management. As the pain was less than previous nights I did this with reasonably good humour only occasionally letting out a sigh of despair at the ridiculousness of my routine. It was pretty awful though. The pain, like a malicious gang of wasps had alighted on various sores all at the same time and set out to niggle me crazy. The gang consisted of – My usual back pain – a bit ow, usually Ok but since the ladder incident greatly reinvigorated – belly pain from the hospital flush out it had received, bit like a toilet bowl must feel after being brushed with bleach, clean but sore – a new belly pain from too many preventative laxatives, 4 in one day is not an overdose but if you are not used to it they have an inflationary effect that’s almost as bad as the constipation – general sickiness from the potency of the Class A’s – scratchy sore skin from excessive lying down on hospital beds. The whole night was hateful and I am fed up, fed up fed up with it. It was not funny or surreal. Tonight better be better or else I shall cry and I mean it.

I was able to look over the phone box again. My, it looks smart in its new red shiny coat. It has an internal light working which creates a fantastic vibe at night. I love it despite its blatant disloyalty to me. It is so frustrating not to be able to finish it. I am probably just a solid day away from the end but the jobs are all fiddly and cannot be delegated as they require a Heath Robinson approach to wiring various bits that range from very high-tech wirelessly networked devices, to tech no higher than a steam engine, and about as heavy. It has some new decorative features to be added at the last stage which I cannot wait to see in situ. Once that is complete then I have the winter season for programming and content development, probably opening the doors in the New Year, but we’ll see. My friend Paul helped make sense of the whole thing in one sentence “ it says what you can’t.” He’s dead right

What I have learnt this week.

Gravity is a twat
Corbyn continues to give focus to my optimism. I will rejoin the party if he wins.
Dawkins is right but I don’t much like his Twitter persona
I must start tweeting again. I cannot bear the thought of having to start again, yet again
I delight in my new found egotism. The phone box is my big mouth and my folly.
I would like to have been one of those marines who bashed up the terrorist in France.
Most people do not understand Kitsch at all. It really frustrates me.
Most people in the world don’t understand art or design either. Luckily I do.
I should have been an engineer as I so enjoy making machines, if only I had been clever enough
All people really are equal it’s not just a slogan
Our pussy cats are worth much more than £30 each
I am a privileged fella born with a silver spoon, I am lucky
I can get on with racist bigots if they are ill.
Especially when I am ill, let’s face it, quite a bit this week, Maria really is ‘the Angel of the North.’