ambient metal
Walking to work with Ensemble Economique's Psychical on your i-pod is like walking through the credit sequence of an early 80's horror video. Every third passer-by is one of the damned and even Marks and Spencer's gleams with malice. Work cannot live up to it, even if there's a fire drill. Well not a drill - someone was caramelizing sugar in the canteen, apparently. Not that anything featuring caramelized sugar ever appears on their menu. And obviously there is a very good reason for this.
Outside, confusion! The trees were unsigned! We used to meet at Tree D, but Tree D was gone! Well, it was still there, of course, but nameless now - no longer employed by NHS Blood And Transplant, and flourishing nonetheless. Instead, we all gathered at the entrance, so as to be indiscriminately mowed down by the fire engine, should it arrive.
It did, and not before time. It was cold out there - we could have done with a fire.
Back inside, what was this strange noise in the corridor? An almost musical drone, somehow enchanting. Was it a radiator? Some concealed machine? I stared around, eyes wide with wonder, as if, following it to its source, I might cross over into a magical new land. I haven't yet - however, the sound appears to be ongoing.
Resisting its pull, I returned to work. They are reprinting the Iron In Your Diet leaflet, which I prefer to mishear as the Ironing Your Diet leaflet. I like to think that this was something they encouraged housewives to do during the war, to make the rations seem bigger and 'seal the goodness in', as they might have put it.
In this way, time passes.
Outside, confusion! The trees were unsigned! We used to meet at Tree D, but Tree D was gone! Well, it was still there, of course, but nameless now - no longer employed by NHS Blood And Transplant, and flourishing nonetheless. Instead, we all gathered at the entrance, so as to be indiscriminately mowed down by the fire engine, should it arrive.
It did, and not before time. It was cold out there - we could have done with a fire.
Back inside, what was this strange noise in the corridor? An almost musical drone, somehow enchanting. Was it a radiator? Some concealed machine? I stared around, eyes wide with wonder, as if, following it to its source, I might cross over into a magical new land. I haven't yet - however, the sound appears to be ongoing.
Resisting its pull, I returned to work. They are reprinting the Iron In Your Diet leaflet, which I prefer to mishear as the Ironing Your Diet leaflet. I like to think that this was something they encouraged housewives to do during the war, to make the rations seem bigger and 'seal the goodness in', as they might have put it.
In this way, time passes.
posted by martin at 11:00 AM
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