Football, sea sirens, cold weather and escapism

I am sitting in my lonely garret after watching the opening games of the World Cup in Brazil during the wee small hours. Brazil is the land of coffee, miniscule swimsuits, social inequality and fabulous music. A land of contrasts? You bet. From Rio to the Amazon, Brazil has much to admire but it is football that provides incredible passion and drive. It is impossible not to start tapping your feet when the Samba music plays and the football flows.
Winter in Melbourne is very different. I appreciate that others may find that hard to believe, but it is true. In this bleak, dark, foggy weather the call of Brazil’s sea sirens is hard to ignore. But at least we have good coffee in Melbourne.
We all know that if you dissect a writer and analyze the contents you will mostly find a solution that is between 60%-70% coffee and 30% alcohol. Sure, many other substances are known to creep into the mix, but let’s stick with the most common result.
Thus fuelled up, a writer must disregard their surroundings and concentrate on the football, or whatever else leads them into a creative frame of mind. For me, football is like a hamburger with the lot; a pleasant distraction from the crumbier aspects of life in the early years of the big two thousands, but not entirely satisfactory.
Sea sirens are also good. I haven’t seen so many bare bottoms since I first went to the zoo in Sydney. They range in size from the Kimmy Kard super booty to the svelte Kylie caboose. Of course, those of you who prefer guys will no doubt have your own standards.
Usually you would not expect to find a discussion about bottoms in my blog but we are talking about distractions here. Call it some kind of literary indulgence.
For me the startling imagery of tanned bottoms against the backdrop of the Melbourne winter could not be more motivating. It’s a trial; a test of my mettle as a writer.
Houdini was the great escapist but I am no Houdini. I have been known to take as long as ten minutes to get out of my trousers. Look it was late, we’d been out and I was tired. Okay!
Yet I must escape the temptations of the World Cup and the sirens in order to write.
It also helps to imagine that governments around the world might give a damn more about their people than making a quick buck, but that is a real stretch; even for me.
I am wearing threadbare mittens and an ancient scarf to ward off the chill. The wind whistles through my garret like a phantom express train. The icicles hang like tortured fingers from the window frame. The birds in the garden are all wearing little UGH boots and beanies (team colours of course). The snow is not yet thick upon the ground but it is coming. Wolves howl in the nearby forest and other terrors will join them when the pitifully weak sun sets over the hills.
You want atmosphere? This is atmosphere; the type of atmosphere to write in. Thankfully the sporadic play of my fingertips over the keyboard generates some little warmth.
Did you know that Houdini had a false finger in which he concealed tools to unpick the locks to the chains that bound him? I guess it was like having a Swiss Army finger. Probably with one of those things for getting a stone out of a horse’s hoof.
By the way, my eBook is edging up towards a 100 downloads. Yeah me, and thank you all who have bothered to have a look. It’s called ALLSORTS by the way.
The morning stretches out like a lazy cat. I think that it will soon arch its back and cry out for milk. This is the hardest part of the day. I call it the do or die part. You either write or you don’t.
The howling of the wolves comes closer. Where is Stephen King when you need another paragraph?
It’s probably time for more coffee and to switch my mind back to Rio and the sirens.
That’s it. Shake, shake, shake. Shake, shake, shake. Shake your booty!

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