Peace perfect peace
Nature didn't form me for action. A state-registered contemplative, the natural bias of my temperament ...my default setting, as it were... is to observe and, in my pygmy way, to understand. I wouldn't claim any particular success in this, and I'm sure I'll reach my deathbed as baffled as the next chap, but the journey towards this state of unknowing is all jolly interesting, even exhilerating. It certainly fills in the time. It is essential to "the System" that people like me be discouraged, and state-sponsored education (do I sound bitter?) ensures that we become and remain inconsequentials. In civilised societies the fakir and the stylite were respected figures and their importance to the psychic health of the community was recognised.
Another of my little idiosyncracies is the preference for a degree of untidiness in, well, let's call it the "seen environment". I don't want to be surrounded by squalor, of course, but I like a slight seediness or benign neglect about me. I've never quite understood why this should be ...or rather, I've never quite understood why "officialdom" and almost everyone else takes the opposite view. Oh well, I suppose I'll get over it. What I'm getting at is that when I see a scene such as this my soul floods with peace, for in such a scene these two aspects of my character converge. What a delightful place to sit in the sun ...daily growing a little stronger now... spark up a cigar and peruse the latest edition of Take A Break. I'd have to have a pouffé or something for me feet though. Actually it looks as though some kindred spirit had very recently taken a break here. Crumbs, let fall from cake or Big Mac, litter the seat of the chair without having yet attracted the notice of yonder pigeons.