Breakfast time

Last night I dreamt that a strange something had appeared on the Sun’s face: a colored amoeba-like smear might fit the bill, and a second Moon had also miraculously (well it was a dream) appeared in the sky. Astronomers were running around grabbing telescopes, or anything with glass in it, to take a look. Scary but fascinating is how I would describe the mood. Nothing unusual about that I suppose. Dreams can be full of the most astounding, not to say appalling nonsense, sorry Herr Freud. But anyone who reads my posts will know how I feel about dreams: thoughts on the loose.
I’d been thinking a lot yesterday about the Financial Crisis (capital letters as well!). I was trying to get straight in my head what really has happened. After a few hours of digging around on the internet I gave up before incurring brain damage. It’s all there if you’re brave or mad enough to try to understand it. It has all to do with banks and investors and cheap mortgages, which has produced a rather potent constipative brew preventing money from being moved.
Don’t know what that’s got to do with the dream but somehow it seems relevant.
There’s a lot happening in the world and most of it’s not good, rather turmoilish, and I was thinking about that too. God, I really must get a hobby – but what?
Those who should know better are trying to get me to take up Bridge – again. You know that card game that drags the gray cells around and dumps them here and there. If one is determined to become a real bridge player, one has to become a member of some club. Never play with a family member or friend if you want to stay on good relations with ‘em. A friendly enemy is the best bet. A more cowardly approach would be to find three other people who’ve got nothing else to do two evenings a week, don’t drink too much and are always slightly better players than oneself. My only experience from years gone by is with the latter and that does bring happy memories.
Unless one stays in a group lower than ‘C’, play can get awfully serious in clubs, or so I’m told by honest insiders. And there are competition evenings where play rapidly approaches war games status, where points are like poison arrows and victims lie dismembered at the bottom of score tables. Although, come to think of it, Omar Sharif was an enthusiastic bridge player. He is quoted as saying that he would, “… rather be playing bridge than making a bad movie” and “Acting is my living, bridge is my passion”. Other famous players include The Marx Brothers and the rock band Radiohead, so I suppose it can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be. One local expert has a more philosophical view and says that bridge is a mirror for life. Well, I’d have to agree with that I suppose.
I’m still undecided about whether to take it up again or not, so I probably won’t.
Strange things playing cards: originating in Central Asia around the tenth century A.D., probably in China, where most crafty and clever things originally emerged. Four suited decks originated in the Moslem world and came to Europe in the fourteenth century. The French designed the cards we use today. Americans invented their own style around eighteen hundred including the Joker. Well good for them.
Interesting isn’t it? Not really? Oh well, until next time.