My Window

One of the reasons I chose my room in the flat is because of the amazing window. Big Blue may well have the nicest looking room with masses of space and three wardrobes (albeit three wardrobes blighted with damp) but mine has a whacking great window and this possesses sufficient space for a seated human and several other bits and pieces. I have recently, pretty much since the summer started and the damp has been less persistent, taken to sitting in my window for extended periods. I sit on pillows, cushions, blankets, often with a glass of wine to hand, my iPod plugged in and sit for hours in my own little bubble. I cracked the lighting design there, I've written masses of stream of consciousness stuff (which I would be beyond embarrassed if anyone but me read) and I've made up playlists and learnt lines. Stevie has taken to joining me and the two of us have sat and watched our neighbours walk their dogs past our little vantage point, often doing double-takes when they see us. Stevie has at several points got distracted by her own reflection in the window as it gets darker outside and meows at herself and then at me in confusion. Last night, Big Blue came and sat on my bed with Meatball, who has a tendency to sit outside the room and complain if left to her own devices, and we chatted, in a post-party dissection type way. We'd spent the afternoon getting rained on at the Annual Bench BBQ, which normally stays rain-free - a bit disappointing - but we still got in several rounds of Novelty Flying Disc (I'm frowning at the word disc now, should it be disk? No, surely it's the right sort of disc? Disk? Disc? That has now lost all meaning to me. Carry on), which is officially a tradition of the party. It normally consists of incredibly bad aim courtesy of me and Big Sis, a lot of shouting, the loss and eventual rescue of discs in trees and at least one slapstick moment so funny that it stops play. Last year it was Penfold falling in wonderful, balletic slow motion over a bench. Yesterday, it was the moment when Finchy loosed the disc with great power between two players, who both missed it and which ended up felling the beautiful Jaspar who was in the middle of hosting. With great aplomb, he cried "ah, my last will and testicles", and a garden full of disc players were lost. I spent the evening downing water to re-hydrate myself, on the windowsill singing along to Aimee Mann and feeling deeply, deeply content.