Incidentally, my world is wonderful.

So, having no college to occupy my time and little in the way of a job as yet, I have spent a little while considering my life to have become inexplainably dull. This is particularly because unlike the majority of people I know, I am not going to university in September of this year, but September of next year instead. I now find myself at somewhat of a loose end until then. This has, however, given me an immeasurable amount of time to observe all the little peculiarities of day-to-day life, which has led me to the conclusion that although life may - at present - be dull and unappealing, the little incidents that make up my days are worthy of record.



My village is middle-class and boring; to the point where I often wonder if the people who live here have any conception of the world outside of tea-mornings (tea, not coffee, because 'coffee is for commoners', apparently), the Daily Mail, and the exploits of the woman-next-door's cousin twice-removed who may or may not have fallen pregnant whilst unmarried. These very same people though, I have discovered, are the most entertaining kind of tedious snobs. For example, I have recently discovered that a number of the judgemental 60+ year olds who dictate much of the village's decisions, (to bake-sale or not to bake-sale, that is the question...), are also involved in the organisation of swingers parties for themselves and their friends. I can now no longer help but look upon them in an entirely different way, and I may or may not be imagining this, but I am certain that I catch one or two of them sharing private and conspiratorial smiles when they believe no-one is looking. I like to think, for my own personal mixture of amusement and horror, that they are re-living a particularly humorous 'gathering', under the delusion that the rest of us 'common' residents have no idea about the source of their personal joke.



Similarly, strange little incidents in my own life - although no arthiritic swingers party - suffice to keep me entertained. For instance, whilst settling down with a book last night at around 1am, which, incidentally, is probably my favourite time in the day, the lightbulb in my lamp spontaneously exploded and sent me flying out of the bed at such a speed I was surprised by my own athleticism.



I would like to think it some kind of sign, but so far I haven't been able to decide what it might be a sign of. If anyone has any insights into the reasons behind my electrical instruments exploding without warning, please enlighten me.