the world on a Friday night



This is what I get up to, home alone, on a Friday night. Digging out old Moleskine diaries and colouring in the world maps. I do it every year, and it means I’m forever destined to pay about 5 x more each year for a diary (than your trusty Collins option, say) because I want to keep the maps consistent. I think this was last year’s effort (if not, then the year before – things get mighty blurry round here these days).

As I traced the outlines of the world and then turned it two-toned — first black ocean and then black land mass — I thought about loved ones in various places. And then I thought about things like Syria and refugees and nuclear weapons. I also accidentally (due to the thickness of my pen and the thinness of numerous flecks on the globe) obliterated a fair number of the world’s more meagre islands. I felt omnipotent and a bit cruel. I also listened to a lot of The Veils and drank some vodka. But let it be noted I was killing off small islands before any vodka effects set in. And I have a remarkably steady hand, so even deep inside my Veils-and-vodka fugue I was respectfully firm of hand. Even the most jaggedy outcrops (e.g. the right hand side of Iceland) came out on top.

Tomorrow will be full of chlorine and tunnel-chasing. Also, I have run out of maps to colour in for the year (any donations of old Moleskine maps most appreciated), so must divert my attentions to more trifling things than charting the world. Cartography be damned; I think I’ll turn my hand to locating the best darned tunnels in town and then maybe top it all off by attempting to conceal small pieces of vegetable in masses and masses of mince. Don’t picture Martha Stewart because it will be nothing like that at all.

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