Blurred visions.

This always happens, with things like this. I begin them with enthusiasm, commitment, dedication etc. - all of which wears off in a month or two, and neglect sets in. Looks like almost three weeks since I last passed this way. Never mind, at least I have some newsworthy things to write this time.

Yesterday I returned from my fourth, and best, Glastonbury Festival. Why best? Well, mainly because of the music. Here, for the record, are the bands I saw: The Volt, Golden Silvers, Lay Low, Regina Spektor, N*E*R*D, Fleet Foxes, The Dead Weather, The Specials, Neil Young, First Aid Kit, The Low Anthem, Bombay Bicycle Club, Spinal Tap, Dizzee Rascal, Crosby Stills and Nash, Bruce Springsteen, Status Quo, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Alela Diane, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, and Blur. It was, as you can imagine, quite a weekend.

It was also great because the atmosphere was so friendly, and because the weather held more or less, and because I had some wonderful friends to see everything with: Mike, Kayleigh, Nat, Emma and Simeon were brilliant company, making what was already a great weekend into my favourite festival ever. I'm considering skipping the thing next year - although the idea of a special 40th anniversary festival is quite appealing, this one was more than special enough.

And for the next few weeks I have little to do aside from writing and reading. Perfect.

Another short piece of writing about escape and regret.

I miss it so much some days.

Today is one of those days.

Shelf life.

I had a strange wake-up call today. Firstly, Elizabeth Bowen's 'The Last September' leapt from my bookshelf onto the floor. Then her 'Collected Stories' followed suit, making a considerably louder crash. Strange, I thought. Then a few seconds later, the entire bookshelf cracked and buckled under the remaining weight, and one screw came away from the wall completely, sending the rest of my books flying on to the top of my wardrobe, on the floor, into the bin...

It is a sign, perhaps, that I need some new shelves. I don't intend to stop buying books anytime soon.

In other news, I have a job at the land of drudge - though I am enjoying it slightly more this time around. At the age of 18, I seemed to be much more angry and frustrated at the job; now I just feel a kind of resignation about the whole thing: It Is A Job. Nothing More. Think Of The Money. Well, me and Jess had fun(?) last night anyway, just arsing around as you do.

Lots of good things have happened recently, the weather has been wonderful for football and sunbathing and lemonade-drinking - but a lot of confusing things have happened too. I've concluded that spending some time away, by myself or with a couple of friends, would be a very good thing, just to sort my head out. Time to break out the tent. And the cordless drill.