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2005-08-18 - 7:39 p.m. I've been reading Michael Cunningham's Speciman Days, which is a very menacing story, full of foreboding and things like that, and I'm very unhappy to be currently alone in the house, after dark. Fish had hysterics when I got home, and banged his head on the glass of his tank. I keep thinking I hear people talking outside. Someone just screeched up the street in their car, screaming out the window. And when I went to put my clean undies away, I bumped one of my socks, and I momentarily thought it was attacking my hand. Sometimes I can be very irrational. (By the way, I didn't actually order pizza the other day, when I said I wanted to. I feel the need to mention this, in case you're all thinking that I have no self control whatsoever. I did look longingly at the pizza voucher, and then I was sensible, and ate leftovers instead.) Yesterday was a lovely day off - West and I went out and had breakfast together (it was 11.00am, but it was a first meal of the day, so I'm still calling it breakfast). Then we wandered for a bit, and much to my delight, we found a man with a fairy floss machine. I love fairy floss. It reminds me of going to the Show each year when I was younger. And it's such a silly confection that it appeals to me - pure sugar, spun fluffily onto a stick. So I lined up - towering over all the 9 year old girls, as funnily enough there were no other adults wanting fairy floss - and watched the old man scoop his wooden sticks around inside the whirling bowl of the machine. White sticky strands of sugar stuck in his hair, and clung to his beard and wrists. He handed me my white cloud on a stick, and I wandered off, pulling chunks off with my fingers and feeling them dissolve into my mouth. Aaah. Nostalgia, indulgence, and childhood fantasies, all on a stick.
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