Flat

I have been making my own furniture these past few days, having decided that, for example, a bedside table would look nice next to my bed instead of a couple of cardboard boxes with an alarm clock on top. I would have liked to have started with a solid block of English oak, to be whittled into something appropriately shaped, with drawers and everything, but decided it would be quicker, and involve less sawdust, to buy one from Ikea.

It's been a while since I last tried my hand at assembling flatpack furniture. There is a certain charm about how Scandinavian ingenuity manages to reduce a sturdy household item into a pile of assorted chipboard with strategically placed screw holes, and a myriad of uniquely shaped fixtures to hold the thing together. And it somehow all comes together, at least most of the time, to reveal a stylish and useful piece of furniture. Although I notice they seem quite concerned about their furniture falling over, so they are forever reminding you to nail things to walls, and find a way of preventing small children climbing up them.

Thinking of Scandinavian construction kits, the joy of Lego is the ability to take it to pieces and build something novel that no one else has ever dreamed of. You could extend the same idea to Ikea, and try going around the house dismantling every item of furniture, mixing up the components, and seeing whether you can design an object that has never been seen before. Especially one which can offer a useful storage space. And doesn't fall over.

MH17

It's difficult to know what to say about the recent events in Ukraine: the horror of civil war over the last few months, culminating in the shooting down of Malaysian Airlines MH17. To add insult to injury, the accusations and denials, the deliberate obfuscation, the truth buried under layers of propaganda. Is this how Russia wishes to be seen by the world?

Behold, we know not anything;
    I can but trust that good shall fall
    At last—far off—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
    An infant crying in the night:
    An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

Desolation

– It's difficult to get back into the daily routine.
– How do you mean?
– Well, you know: dragging yourself out of bed in the morning; the long drive to work; trying to concentrate all day in front of the computer; the long drive back –
– Yes, I get the bit about the daily routine. But the difficulty?
– Nothing, really; only – well, there's the gaping emptiness, you know?
– Not quite. I can think of many sorts of gaping emptinesses, many of them due to missing lunch, though I suspect this one is somehow related to the recent World Cup.
– Well, it takes up so much of your life –
– Only because you spent all day in front of the TV.
– And then suddenly it's over. It takes a while to get over it.
– Perhaps it would help if you try to keep busy: stop thinking about the lack of football and the empty vastness of your evenings, but instead take up a new pastime or hobby. Or even consider housework.
– I suppose so. I could give it a go. I mean, it's only a few weeks till the start of the new season. I might just make it.

Race

Only a few days in, I've already watched more of the Tour de France than I've managed in previous years. Perhaps it's merely another symptom of terminal laziness, but I like to think that it's the sign of a burgeoning interest in competitive road racing. Not that I have any intention to compete myself, as it looks quite a lot of effort, and not without an element of danger to boot. There have been a number of crashes on the tour this week, which look pretty nasty given the speeds the cyclists go at, and the lack of give of the average French road surface. And today they had to contend with cobbles, in the rain. It cannot get much more hazardous, unless the race officials let loose an occasional irate rhinoceros to help spice things up.

But it must be nice to leap on your bicycle and tootle off for a couple of hundred miles or so and end up on the other side of the country. Especially if at the end of it you were still capable of walking. You would get to see so much of our towns and countryside, feel at one with nature and all that sort of thing; be able to stop off at characterful inns to sample their local brews, or the cream scones at picturesque tea rooms. Clearly, the Tour de France competitors do not quite have the time to spare for all this, and probably would have a hard job finding a decent cream scone on the continent. Which is probably the reason why I am reluctant to take part competitively. However, they do get given lunch bags so that they can feed in the saddle. Although a cream scone would be a little messy.

Tour

– We were lucky with the rain today.
– Yes. There were enough sunny spells to do a bit of gardening.
– I actually meant there were enough rainy spells to stay indoors.
– Wimbledon?
– No, the cycling. Le Tour de Yorkshire. Quite inspiring to see the mighty peleton soaring over the lush green hills and dales, doing their best to avoid stray sheep spray-painted yellow, and spectators falling off dry stone walls.
– It should encourage you to leap upon your bike and sprint up the nearest hill.
– Yes... To tell the truth, I'm not so good with hills. It's something about the gradient that doesn't quite suit my riding style.
– That's a pity, living where you do. Perhaps with practice.
– Perhaps.

Replay

– There seems less football on the the television nowadays.
– And more tennis. It's the way of these things. One of the fundamental laws of the universe. Something about the conservation of momentum.
– I'd rather have the football. Although, having said that, the last few weeks have been intense. I am nearing saturation point.
– And then what happens?
– I don't know. It's never happened before. I've always known when to stop.
– And this time?
– It's just too easy to record stuff on the box thing. So I no longer have to miss anything due to being at work.
– It can be inconvenient, work.
– And instead I can spend my evenings watching several matches at my leisure. And the advantage of watching recordings is that you can fast forward through the boring bits: the pre-match analysis; the national anthems.
– I quite like the national anthems. Interesting to hear what other countries have chosen. Generally fairly staid and sombre tunes in Europe; and jollier stuff in South America. Makes you want to pick something livelier for our own anthem.
– A bit of Elgar maybe.
– I was thinking more along the lines of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Something from one of the shows. Then at least if we lose at the football, we will have had a good sing beforehand.