If you don’t know this place, it’s the valley. This is the view I wake up to most mornings. I say most because from time to time I don’t get to make it from the sofa to the bed of an evening, having oblivioned myself in one way or another.
The oblivion isn’t necessarily alcohol or marijhuana or too much time playing computer games or over-working on the websites or too enthusiastically slamming the keyboards with the headphones viced across my head, or any of the other things I engage myself with, when idling. No. Oblivion is simply the point at which the brain tells you enough is enough and sleep is needed. If I happen to be in bed when that hits me, so much the better.
The valley is my base camp. It is a lot more than just where I live. And the choice of term base camp is deliberate. A base camp, after all, is a beginning. A place to start. Once it has been fully established, then, and only then can the adventures really begin.
Currently, the valley is in a bit of disarray. Much as I loathe low and common language, it has to be said that the base camp has shitloads of problems. There is a whole sorry story to tell, to explain how we got here, and an even sorrier story to tell about the problems we face to try and retrieve things. A once beautiful valley has been reduced to a degree of mank and desperate shab that should be shaming to those with a stake in the place.
This is a first out blog on the story of the valley. I’m an Idling Man on a mission and these scribblings are going to try and chart where we go as we try to find our way back to that paradise that was.
Idling Man 