STRANGE THING, THE POWER OF THE MIND

I had some strange thoughts this morning as I lay in bed waiting for the blackbirds to shut the hell up.

Strange how everybody blames the so-called ‘credit crunch’ for the drop in house prices. And nary a word about the estate agents who have connived and contrived to push up prices way beyond just the forces of supply-and-demand. They’ve been at it steadily and stealthily for years, and now they have the cheek to moan about the state of the market as buyers dry up. Don’t worry – they’re on my list for suitable retribution when I take power (I’m toying with the idea of two lessons a day in written English, with a sharp kick up the deceptively spacious frontage for every euphemism used).

Strange how you can never concentrate on the TV weather report long enough to get the bit you want. You start full of good intentions and then a headline in the paper, or Carol’s fine physique, catches your eye, or you start thinking about the day ahead, and by the time you’ve come to, she’s talking about the long-term forecast and you still don’t know whether there’s going to be frost in the early hours.

Strange how so many American women can be duped by some weird-looking cult leader, when it’s obvious to the rest of the world that he just wants them – and their daughters, possibly their sons, too – for his own perverted ends. I mean, you only have to look at the eyes, straight from Planet Gaga.

Strange how the mind swoops and soars and we think ours is so special. And then we see something like last night’s TV programme on the artist Stephen Witlshire, who has battled through autism to give the world a remarkable talent. He drew a huge section of the London skyline from memory after a 15-minute helicopter ride. And it wasn’t just a technical drawing; it was art. True art. What a man. What an inspiration. I think I’ll start saving to buy a Wiltshire original.