We used to sit around the television, on nights where the mist rolled past the window, the logs crackled in the fire, and the sound of the wind in the rafters was like the voices of ancient witches and demons coming to steal us away for some nefarious deed.
I think the main thing we were trying to do was to drown out the outside world, and that howling howling, howling wind, with it's terrible undertones, "Coooome, coooome, coooome, coooome" it's rasping breath near to us now, just separated from our young, naked boyish skin by the knowledge of those who had first made the leap of faith and ingenuity in working out how to pile brick upon brick, mortar in-between, a roof dropped on from some great height like Atlas dropping the world due to being distracted by some colossal cosmic whore.
It was that far-ago man who achieved more than a fire and a cave could ever keep away.
No amount of safety could possibly ever be too much. Here endeth the news, go to bed, BBC2 has
shut down now, and the test-card is actually kind of boring. Sleep and try to ignore that daemonic, evil wind outside this cell of safety we built for you.
Tic toc, the sound of the clock, all there is, now drifting off, sleeping fitfully, the wind the wind, the wind.
