I just ironed. That’s the second time this week. I hate ironing. What is going on? Some kind of attempt to live an ordered life in defiance of my vast junk yard of a brain? The word discipline always makes me think of the song by Throbbing Gristle, but I’ll talk about them another time. Amazingly I managed not to burn myself on the iron. I saved that till later when I burned myself making a cup of coffee.
So I’m in the classroom 15 minutes before the lesson. This is adult education. One woman has turned up early and is talking to me about her time in Africa, only she starts slowly turning into an octopus. A very large orange and red octopus, but instead of octopus tentacles she has birds legs and huge great birds claws, loads of them clawing at the air. She keeps on talking. She…
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Cos Chapman 