The sky is getting gey dreich (do words like that have proper spellings?). It makes low-flying birds more visible. There are lots of geese flying south (I assume it's south). Not huge flocks, just Vs of 3, 5, up to maybe 12 or so. It reminds me I should be doing the same. This indian summer can't last.
I'm now in Norristown, the county seat. It's only a journey of thirty miles, but it puts me on the outskirts of Philladelphia, and it has all the feel of 'big city' about it. I have found an even cheaper place to stay. As I check in, I meet with a lady in what passes for reception. She is looking for toilet paper. She is clearly in shock. "Have you stayed here before?" she asks. What she is trying to say is "Don't stop! Run for it. There's still time!" But I have already looked round. Girls have such silly standards for these things. I resist the temptation to explain the economic facts of life to her. I nod and "umm" sympathetically, and allow her the role of victim. The man behind the grill is more practical: he gives her the roll of toilet paper.
It's OK. The only real problem is the usual one with cheap motels: the TV remote has been lost, and they've upgraded several times to new cable systems. So I have to find out which channel the Cable delivers on, then I can watch something. But the remote will not access the TV menu, so I can't adjust the colour. The American TV colour transmission system is called NTSC, translated by engineers, when I was involved it cable TV, as "Not The Same Colour". The last person to have a remote which could adjust the TV has turned up the colour and the tint (NTSC has two colour controls, which is one too many) and the brightness. So it looks like those first transmissions from the moon, coloured in by a small child But that suits me. I'd rather read, and listen to the radio over the internet.
I try to avoid the TV and the papers. When I bump into the news, these long polemics leap to my lips, and sometimes even my pen. People who are not here need the benefit of my wisdom. Sometimes they even make it to the first draft of the blog, and then have to be cut out. And, of course, they taint everything, and when I cut them out, there's sometimes almost nothing left.
I have to remind myself that when I was actively involved in politics, nobody paid the slightest heed to any of my carefully prepared polemics. Why on earth would they listen now? Even I don't want to hear them.
Later that night, I venture out for some entertainment. In the dark, this part of town is clearly run down. Which is strange, because it is the inner west, and that's usually the best bit of a town. It reminds me of North Kensington and Notting Hill all those years ago when I first came to London. These were once spectacular houses. Some of them are vast enough to qualify as country houses back home. But they now have large numbers of mailboxes outside.
And I notice something I've not seen before. Some of these big houses are semi-detached. Really big, fancy semi-detached houses, dating back a century or more. Here, a 'semi' (pronounced Sem-eye) is an articulated truck. I wonder what they call these houses?
Posts
1 comment:
eh.. bookmarked text
Post a Comment