The mundane

Hanging washing. Such a mundane task. Having to stand out in the cold dark yard straining up to a crowded clothesline is out of the question. Instead I take my milk-box of clothes from the washing machine, which is conveniently located in the kitchen, doubling the available bench space in fact. I toil up the stairs, pull the drying rack out from against the wall under the window, put the stereo on (revisiting Superette's Rosepig, a fantastic EP - dark and moody but still guitar pop) and yeah, the computer too - look at that, the washing's forgotten already, just like the sheets that will have to sit in a damp pile because a freak rainshower has just hit and there's no way I'm going outside again tonight... Although I did have intentions to go see Die!Die!Die! at the Cross. They're playing with three other bands, which further increases the likelihood that I wouldn't see DDD cos it's the Cross and nothing will start until probably 11pm. And wasn't I going to the dairy to buy lollies? Yeah.

Ah, pixie caramel and giant pebbles.

I've been reading a few other blogs lately, and a few people have been blogging about blogging. (Here and here.) And here I am writing posts on how I feel about hanging my washing. It's The Backyard! I make no claims of greatness, this is unlikely to ever be a blog where high-minded ideas are analysed. Oh, I'll attempt it - but the real pearls are in the everyday observations. I'm convinced of it.

Have had a text from my flatmate Nick. Disasteradio is playing at the Cross right now. It's stopped raining - I'm outta here.