Fluff

 

(A Young Girl Reading Jean-Honore Fragonard.)

 

It is very hard to concentrate on my degree sometimes. I do blame the OU for the percentage of online study it requires. Here I am on a most beautiful autumn afternoon supposedly broadening my understanding of the development of the political and social structures that were born out of the aftermath of the First World War, specialising in the analysis of the 'psychological modernity thesis' but because I am reading a journal on the PC, I am swayed, distracted and intrigued by many other interests. Thanks to the internet I have the attention span of a gnat, preferring to investigate:

• recipes for banana bread, there are five very ripe bananas in the fridge.
• recipes for toffee apples, we are not yet done with Halloween, it appears.
• pom-pom scarf tutorials, so cute.
• Mise's curtain malaise and subsequently what to do with my single quince...
• The lovely crochet blog header on Emerald Cottage, so new blanket inspiration approaching very quickly. Need. More. Yarn.
• Benedict Cumberbatch.
• Is chocolate good for you? It is in The Guardian, must be worthy of a read, right?
• the amount of dog hair that has suddenly become visible in the low afternoon light.

If I was in the dim library reading through a dusty old paper journal I would not have to endure these problems. In the years before the communications revolution, I would be frantically scanning through for the pertinent section and then queuing up at the photo-copier with my fellow students, desperately hoping for a pocket full of enough change. I do fear though that my restless brain is not the type of organ that wants to wrestle with phrases such as 'psycho-physical parallelism'. Instead it wants to laze around indulgently preoccupying itself with lovely fluff.