Saturday, December 03, 2005
The End Of The World As Colcam Knows It.
Colcam hasn't blogged, hasn't even seen a computer screen for the past couple of days. On returning to his little cyber-window on the world, his first priority was to post a post - just a short one, not too much work, not too much thought - just enough to tide him over while he actually thought about something relevant and devastatingly intelligent to publish.
Next, Colcam browsed the ravings of a few other blogs he reads, only to discover that most of them have reported in sick. Nothing too serious hopefully, boys and girls, and get well soon. All of you.
Colcam's absence, however, was not due to any of the bugs, diseases, wounds, maybe monumental hangovers even, which seem to be afflicting everyone. Sadly, his situation was much more serious, and he is still suffering from the after-effects, though he will struggle on bravely, despite the pain.
"Oh," Colcam hears you all saying with concern in your voices, "Is it serious, is it life-threatening, will he pull through, what is this terrible pestilence that makes all our colds, snuffles, aches and pains pale into insignificance?"
Work, of course!
Colcam had to work. Only for a couple of long, long days, but it wasn't shooting photographs, it wasn't writing or anything remotely creative, so it really was tough on his old bones, stressful to his tired brain, and threatened a muscle or three that had long lost any memory of when they were last flexed, never mind woken up. Moreover, he had to go away from the cultural capital of the world, Spean Bridge - population scary, three pubs not worth a visit, and a phone box - to carry out the work. He did take the laptop and mobile phone with him, but was too damned knackered to get the lid of the laptop open, never mind type, think or move the cursor to the send icon.
But he did manage to partake of a couple of bottles of rather nice wine while away, and that possibly saved his life and gave him the strength to carry on.
(Colcam is still very weak and is now retiring to bed for a long snooze)
Next, Colcam browsed the ravings of a few other blogs he reads, only to discover that most of them have reported in sick. Nothing too serious hopefully, boys and girls, and get well soon. All of you.
Colcam's absence, however, was not due to any of the bugs, diseases, wounds, maybe monumental hangovers even, which seem to be afflicting everyone. Sadly, his situation was much more serious, and he is still suffering from the after-effects, though he will struggle on bravely, despite the pain.
"Oh," Colcam hears you all saying with concern in your voices, "Is it serious, is it life-threatening, will he pull through, what is this terrible pestilence that makes all our colds, snuffles, aches and pains pale into insignificance?"
Work, of course!
Colcam had to work. Only for a couple of long, long days, but it wasn't shooting photographs, it wasn't writing or anything remotely creative, so it really was tough on his old bones, stressful to his tired brain, and threatened a muscle or three that had long lost any memory of when they were last flexed, never mind woken up. Moreover, he had to go away from the cultural capital of the world, Spean Bridge - population scary, three pubs not worth a visit, and a phone box - to carry out the work. He did take the laptop and mobile phone with him, but was too damned knackered to get the lid of the laptop open, never mind type, think or move the cursor to the send icon.
But he did manage to partake of a couple of bottles of rather nice wine while away, and that possibly saved his life and gave him the strength to carry on.
(Colcam is still very weak and is now retiring to bed for a long snooze)
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I hate to even imagine what "knackered" means. :) I'm glad you're back. Boy, you can write! Are you published anywhere? Are you hiding it from us?
My 'snooze' turned into a 15 hour crash-out, Kats. What idiot said hard work never killed anyone?
Elizabeth, a knacker is someone who buys up old horses for slaughter. To be knackered is to be....... tired in the extreme, or slaughtered.
'Boy you can write' is quite an ambiguous statement :) Are you amazed after reading the hastily and badly written crap I write on this blog, or are you saying, 'boy, you can write' as in, 'wow, nice writing on this blog by that genius Colcam?'
If it was an amazed question, yes, I have been known to write pieces for the press, often to run with photographs as a package, mainly to broadsheets and magazines.
That, of course, was in a former life, partly in the Highlands, and prior to that in civilization where I belong.
But not here at the Highland ass-end-of-nowhere, although financial considerations may force me to take up photo-journalism once more.
Elizabeth, a knacker is someone who buys up old horses for slaughter. To be knackered is to be....... tired in the extreme, or slaughtered.
'Boy you can write' is quite an ambiguous statement :) Are you amazed after reading the hastily and badly written crap I write on this blog, or are you saying, 'boy, you can write' as in, 'wow, nice writing on this blog by that genius Colcam?'
If it was an amazed question, yes, I have been known to write pieces for the press, often to run with photographs as a package, mainly to broadsheets and magazines.
That, of course, was in a former life, partly in the Highlands, and prior to that in civilization where I belong.
But not here at the Highland ass-end-of-nowhere, although financial considerations may force me to take up photo-journalism once more.
Apparently, though, when Colcam has to work, he dissociates himself and begins to narrate in the third person. Odd, that. :) :)
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