I just drove all the way to the petrol station and back again. I had planned to drive to Maplin but that seemed over ambitious once I was on the road so I bought some Mentos at the petrol station( which I have now lost, I accused the cat of sitting on them but haven’t the heart to move him form his comfy spot) and came home. Tomorrow I have the dentist which is about the same distance and involves a long, if not entirely stress free, rest in a comfy chair in between drives, so I am confident of a waste less journey. Waste is in fact part of the problemo. Basically my guts are more like a short term very shoddily built crib for spring lambs at the moment. It is ironic given that my hospital stay was in part to dislodge the meteorite stuck up my arse that I now have the opposite problem. Fortunately my dentist is a friend and has seen my orifices in various states of decay (Scuse the pun) so yet another malfunction of the Newell life sustaining system will not be surprise.

I am writing this because my failure to get to Maplin means I cannot complete the communication system for the phone box. One of the last remaining structural jobs. I really do hope it will be finished by this weekend. So I am writing my Blog lying on my back with the fire lit in the company of the imoveable cat, willing eBay to deliver the parts by tomorrow. In terms of my project I have been significantly slowed down by my drug enduced state of euphoric delirium, my visits to the toilet, my reluctance to stand on anything higher than a low heeled slipper, my energy levels which necessitate a break about every 45 mins of about 45 mins, the fact that I cannot really stretch, turn, bend or perform any of my previous Olga Korbuts and that some of the remaining jobs are extremely unexciting and I keep hoping Maria or someone will do them. EG Cleaning 80 odd glass panes. But as the end is firmly in sight I am very proud of it. Once completed I will circulate photos for you all to collect and stick in the commemorative album I assume you are all assembling, together with a link to a webcam that shows a view from inside the box looking out. eg a screen of red framed steamed up dirty glass panes. I would love to wax lyrical about the technological achievements so far but I only know of two of my readers who would have any appreciation and they are both much cleverer than me and do this sort of thing in a weekend. I will say one thing however, the decision not to try to do everything wirelessly but instead to have 20 strands of copper cable traversing the flowerbeds was a good one . The one and only wireless component has not only been a nightmare necessitating a wireless signal the strength of Jodrell Bank but also the most expensive and least productive piece of technology, namely the IP Camera referred to above. How wonderfully reliable it is to send sounds and data through wires rather than fresh air particularly when the recipient is a cast iron box seemingly impervious to everything but the rain and wasps.

My obsession with my ‘Sistine Chapel’ means I have stopped almost everything other than essentials and as I say some of those have stopped of there own accord. I no longer read anything other than component catalogues or early GPO manuals. I have a classic called telephony from 1947 on order. I hope this will explain how the button a/b box worked. I don’t watch telly without my mind wandering and wondering whether one can transmit midi through CAT5 cable – very easy as it happens KENTON converter. The hens are left unpatted, I haven’t bought a lighter in months and even the car boot sale cannot lure me from my red temple.
That said the Corbyn Victory has been a source of genuine joy to me. Charlotte Church’s words said all I want say about the feeling of relief to hear a politician talking about the things that politicians should talk about. Namely things that help eradicate the obscene global inequalities we all seem to blithely accept while pottering with our historic phone boxes. I really hope labour don’t cock it up particularly as I have rejoined and it costs me £3.99 a month. I remain a convinced anarchist but proper socialism (like we have on offer now) seems like a sensible stepping stone toward a society where government is no longer necessary as a method of regulating power once power has been distributed evenly and fairly.

As you are all aware I can laze about putting the world to rights because I am not back at work mainly because of the driving issue. Fortunately I have begun the process of cutting back on the main sedating drugs for the last day or two and the pain has not come back. I have been told to do this slowly which is frustrating because you can probably tell I am getting fed up with not being able to get to Maplin. I am now pretty neurotic about falling over so I walk like a very old man who has lost a threepenny bit and is retracing his steps – very slowly and looking down. I must admit I do do feel really old, but again I think that is the effect of the drugs that deliberately induce geriactisim.

My lovely wife grows younger and more gorgeous everyday mirroring my gradual rot and decay. She has a lot to endure particularly her periodically slipped disc which gets slipped back in but means neither of us can risk lifting anything heavy or doing the twist as we so frequently used to. She has started directing Dido and Aeneas at the school aka “Made in Chelsea’ which I think is a fab idea as the piece is 50 minutes of yawning followed by 3 minute of total heartbreak and certainly needs an antidote to the sophomoric (not the intended word but I will leave it – wonder what it means) baroque la di dah. Her mum is pretty good but should be even better once she has her pacemaker fitted. The boys and the girl are all thriving. Avani starts her Masters course next week, George seems to be getting a lot of work and I think they may be planning to get a place of their own. They have come back from Italy confirmed Italophiles. Arthur has been experiencing London driving for the first time. I think he is a bit shell shocked but loves his new location in Lewisham, actually pretty near Greenwich park so a big step up from Stratford.

Bored now

Charlotte Church the singer on Jeremy Corbyn. Spot-on in my view.

“The inverse of Nigel Farage, he appears to be a cool-headed, honest, considerate man, one of the few modern politicians who doesn’t seem to have been trained in neuro-linguistic programming, unconflicted in his political views, and abstemious in his daily life. He is one of the only politicians of note that seems to truly recognise the dire inequality that exists in this country today and actually have a problem with it. There is something inherently virtuous about him, and that is a quality that can rally the support of a lot of people, and most importantly, a lot of young people. With the big three zero on the horizon for me, I don’t know if I still count as a ‘young person”‘. What I can say is that for the first time in my adult life there is a politician from a mainstream party who shares my views and those of most people I know, and also has a chance of actually doing something to create a shift in the paradigm, from corporate puppetry to conscientious societal representation.”

Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn Corbyn

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.’

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We have been communicatively cut off from last week until last night in case you were wondering why so silent. Over enthusiastic hole diggers cleaved through the BT cable and castrated electronic communication for the whole of our street. Unknowingly and ironically I had rewarded said diggers with bacon sandwiches in an effort to bribe them into giving me the porcelain insulators from the old pole. The result of a misdirected spade was no phone, no internet, no mobile signal (we rely on a connection to the internet to get a mobile signal), no blogs, no Apple TV and no eBay for several days. It was horrible. I love my connectivity and get withdrawal symptoms when I am not able to check etsy on a daily basis. Btw. Apologies to some – I have lots of e-mails to catch up with so please bear with me.

Rather unfortunately (as it turns out) given our stranded status I decided to fall off a ladder while applying the finishing touch to my telephone box. And I do mean the finishing touch. The very last bit of scraping off of clumsily applied red paint to one window and the job was to be complete. Having been neurotically cautious regarding my safety up until this last task I rashly attacked it with a Bambi like spring only to come crashing down like a lead hippo onto my back. As you may know my back is where the damage to my bones is at its worst so this was a really dangerous fall. I was very winded and yelled unheroically for Maria. Unfortunately she was in the midst of learning Dildo and Anus and could not hear. So in true dying-of-thirst-desert-oasis fashion I crawled to the door and stuck my head through the cat flap to get her attention. From then on all hell broke out with neighbours, passers by, nonnas, farmers et al, a veritable sunami of the panicked tried to resolve the fact that we needed an ambulance but had no landline or mobile signal to call for one. Eventually this was resolved by a local farmers daughter who managed to get a weak signal and there followed the customary checklist of questions about my age, gender and whether I was dead or not. This had to be delivered as if trying to order a drink at the noisiest bar in the world. I had time to pick up the fact that she guessed my age as fifty which was nice if unlikely given I had turned a Shrek shade of green. To add to the drama I had been using red paint to I looked spectacularly injured and a touch Christmasy.

I was not in much pain and was pretty confident I had not done anything too serious. Maria had thoughtfully sieved the soil I landed on so to a certain extent it had been a soft landing. I should also point out it was only a step ladder and the fall was no more than 4 foot so any normally fit person would easily have brushed such a titchy fall off. Anyway because of my fragile skeleton it was resolved I should be taken to hospital and checked over. All was discovered to be well although they did discover two fractures in my back that belonged to my original injury and had never been identified. So no wonder the chiropractor I stupidly indulged in bloody well hurt. What a load of crap and money that was.

So after a not unpleasant 5 hour sojourn in A&E I was dispatched home none the worst. That said during the night I experienced something like child birth of the spine – strewth ow ow ow! Despite having a selection of class A pain killers I was not a happy bunny at all. Happily now that all the class a’s have kicked in I am contentedly writing this blog, buying fake grass on eBay and coming out with the odd bizarre interjection such as confusing the word ‘toast’ as in “yes I would love some toast” with the word “guinea-pig” – so easily confused when under the influence.

I managed my monthly consultation today. I had to sit two or three times for bit of a rest during the 100 metre trek from the carpark and the consultant looked horrified when I explained what had happened , in fact in his own measured and reassuring way he more of less told me not to be such a silly arse. Anyway my bloods are in good shape so I don’t need to see him for two months. I gather I have been very lucky not to have done some serious damage so no more ladders for me – Doctors orders. I am signed off work for two weeks and have had to cancel our visit to Julia and Richard’s and a short holiday we had planned. I feel desperately sorry for Maria who between me and her mum will be at the hospital four days in a row while having to endure her own slip disk which is giving her a lot of grief. Basically what a bummer all round and all because I was being an over confident nit.

Big news with the hens, I managed to get one to eat out of my hand! The red ones are definitely pluckier than the grey ones and one red one in particular is the Ellen McArthur of the flock. True I had to put my head through the fence and kneel in order to get down to her level before she would approach, but once prostrate, and after some significant hesitation she snatched a large crumb from my open palm. I was so excited I feel bound to share my expertise. The secret is to be very smooth in your movements the slightest jerk and they all rush off in a frightful tizz assuming one to be a fox in fancy dress, but as I used to say to the chorus of Traviata who were upstaging the lead singers by ‘jerking’ at the back, note this should be said with a particularly camp inflection, “imagine you are swimming through olive oil.” It seems that this style of movement works both for subduing over acting choruses and for luring hens. After this successful incursion the plucky one pecked a competitor about to capitalise on her mine clearance and took several more crumbs until stale-loafless but content I went back indoors to break the news to my readers. Xx

Ps important observation. I had assumed that the reason the cockerel never took any of the crumbs was that he was being magnanimous with his harem today I realised it was actually because being about twice the height of the hens it takes him twice as long to bend down and grab one – he seems to know it’s hopeless so he doesn’t bother. A moral tale perhaps.

Paul is premiering his new piece with Zoe Lister (real) and Zoe Lister (not real) on Saturday. Our 2013 piece ‘My Voice and Me’ written by George and me and with Maria is getting another performance as well. Pop along and experience loads of other new operas – promises to be an intriguing festival.