2007-05-25 - 11:47 p.m.

A month ago I bought a winch and carried it home. It's in the garden now, all glimmering steel and tightly coiled potential. It's been a tremendous boon to me as I now have a sense of duty that had been lacking from a life that was veering toward the chaotic. I can now spend the afternoon winching and the evening thinking about new things to winch. It is hard work but rewarding nonetheless. How pleasant it is to spend so much time outdoors, working up a sweat! The unhappy young man who spent all that time talking turkey and bringing home the bacon is now but a ghost. In his place is a fit and resourceful winch master, alive, vigorous and full of ideas. Winching brings with it a tranquility that bubbles and soothes away at the clatter of city life. Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of postmen can dull the throb of delight I sense when there's winching to be done. Sometimes when I'm winching I feel my spirit self rise above the suburban Eden and view the surrounding lawns unfenced. I see Mr. Gladstone smiling by his water mill. I see Mr. Pollard wipe the sweat from his plough. I see Mr. Bent giving a fatherly pat to his sundial. I see my neighbours and myself, honest and wise men, every manjack of us, and I see the captains of industry.

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