YELLOW SKY

Sunday morning, October the 2nd 2011. Yes, I realise that it’s quite a while ago now, but sometimes it takes me a while to process these thoughts, and at other times, other events and thoughts just get in the way, or have a slightly higher priority in my arbitrary list of  the order of what even now I’m hesitating to refer to as “importance” when it comes to matters that I consider sharing with the world in general via these unhallowed portals I still insist on referring to as “Lesser Blogfordshire” long after the intended whimsy ceased to have any real originality to it.

Anyway, a few Sundays ago, I woke up and the sky was a very strange colour…

Actually, I’m lying to you already. Not deliberately, you understand, but a lie of omission remains a lie, no matter how you choose to dress it up.

Let’s start again.

As usual, I got up in the pitch darkness of a Sunday morning…

Nope. That won’t do either. Despite the fact that I do generally get up ridiculously early on the average Sunday morning, when any reasonable and sane human being would be taking advantage of not having to get up and go to work and be, quite reasonably, taking the opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep, it would not be right to say that it is usually pitch dark because it patently isn’t. Sometimes, despite the earliness of the hour, it is already light when I arise and start the various potterings that dot the wee small hours of my typical Sunday morning.

Phew!

I’m glad we got that straightened out. Trust, you will hopefully have already realised, plays a big part in our dealings in Lesser B. After all, if you can’t trust me, how on earth could you possibly believe a word that I write? Without trust, surely our relationship, however tenuous and (mostly) anonymous it might be, is useless…?

So, on that particular Sunday morning, I woke up early and it was still dark so, despite one half of my mind trying to persuade me to try and get back to sleep, the other part of me knew that this was a useless ambition and I might as well get up and make a start upon the various small tasks that I had already set for myself as I’d been lying there wide awake anyway.

After various little chores had been accomplished like, for example, the daily pill popping ritual, I meandered up towards the keyboard with my cup of coffee in one hand and set about trying to formulate some of my thoughts for the coming week’s episodes of this little world we share. You see? Despite the fact that there’s only the four of us taking part in this less-than-merry little dance, or perhaps danse macabre, there’s still a great deal of time and thought getting put into it for the tiniest morsel of happiness it pours (or rather drips) into my soul.

Anyway, as I focused my attentions to the screen in front of me, outside the day began its, er, daily ritual of dawning, and I eventually came to notice that, through my window, the light seemed very odd that morning, odd enough, eventually, to distract me from my screen and actually notice it. It had a kind of unreal quality, as if the whole world was bathed in an eerie yellow hue and seemed a little, well, off-colour.

I grabbed my camera and reeled off a couple of snaps to try and capture some of this strangeness, knowing full well that I’d better write about it there and then (or at least fairly soon afterwards) otherwise the pictures would just get filed away and I would end up wondering, some months down the line, quite why it was that I felt it was necessary to take some fairly dull pictures of the sky on one forgotten October morning.

It really gave the whole morning a rather dream-like feeling for a while until the sun got stronger and the light regained a more “normal” blu-ish hue. For a while there, I began to kind of hope that I had actually managed that rarest of occurrences and managed to actually sleep late on a Sunday morning, and that this dream-like feeling was because I was actually dreaming, but this, of course, was sadly not the case.

I was briefly reminded of an old television serial from the late 1970s. If this had been like “Quatermass,” the version with Sir John Mills in it, I could have said that the sky was the colour of vomit as the air was full of the leftovers as an alien light from the sky had harvested the planet’s youth, but, because I know that this is as close to something we like to think of as reality as we can get, I can be pretty certain that this was not what had happened.

Instead we had had a bout of unseasonably hot weather and nature was getting a bit confused so the sun was lower in the sky, the air was full of too many pollutants and rather fewer clouds than would normally have been expected, and so, I think that we can safely assume that the sky probably isn’t falling.

Yet.