A WHOLE HOUSE MADE OF JUNK! What a fantastic idea! That's exactly what the Scraphouse is! SCRAPHOUSE?? ..Yep, I stumbled accross the video which was being streamed on the homepage of Myspace...(yea I confess, I gave in, overcame my stubbornness and jumped on the latest bandwagon of network obsession..but it meant i got to choose pretty colour fonts and waste incredibly shocking amounts of time choosing an animated happy face to match my mood!) But anyway...

You wouldn't think it was possible, but some clever dick had the idea of building a whole house in San Francisco made from unwanted and thrown away materials! The bulding is constructed of everything from your average metal scraps to stylish light fixtures using old traffic lights! There are even walls made up of computer keyboards! ... and the best part is? The team had to part with a massive hole in the pocket cost of around 2,000 dollars! BARMY! Give me one of these houses, bugger the brickwork mortgages!

Anyway, I think so far only about 4 people in th whole of cyberspace have stumbled across my recent ramblings..but if you're one of them, or accidentally arrive at this bloggy thing then take a look @ the website for it, there's some wicked photos if nothing else!..http://www.scraphouse.org/ or you could be lazy and watch the video..there's a strange song in the background...old men singing about a flood and Noah's ark from what I can gather! So well worth checking out!! Although what the relevcance of the scraphouse is to the flood is beyond me...who knows!

Today I told ant about the birth of Mr Blog, who by the way I've decided to call
Bazil. When I introduced him to old Bazzie, he looked at the title and decided that it was quite evident I'd named it Rootless Tree because a tree with no roots obviously doesn't grow, and in his eyes I haven't grown for many years either! Being 5ft 1 I laughed and thought he actually had a quite a valid point! He's probably right, some subconscious linking going on in the little grey cells sumwhere! I probably have some hidden psychological complex of being small! Now that I mention it I remember one christmas a couple of mates were plotting to buy me a bag of miracle grow! Ha! If only they had,just think I could be 6 foot, green and with leaves! Sigh...the regrets.

It's getting colder and so the scarf has been permanantely coiled round my neck, and this morning when I rummaged through the cupboards, I believed it was definitely time for Mr Froggit socks to make their annual appearance to keep the old plod-hoppers all toastie! In my failure to find a picture of the fluffy fleecy frogs, I found instead a cute picture of a sock puppet purely as we're on the subject of socks. Underneath it had the caption "Sock puppets have feelings too! Muchos Fun! The Highlight of my day....says a lot really doesn't it?!!!

So the rootless tree grows its first branch.
I thought it was a fitting title, considering everything I am going to be posting into this vast spinning web is as far as the worlds concerned originating from one of the many millions of minds sat scribbling in front of a screen. That and Damien Rice has just released a new fandidy-tastic album which has a track titled Rootless Tree. So all things aside trees and roots are the way forward.

I haven’t figured what I’m going to use this thing for. So this could be an interesting dice with sides of photography, random babbles, bits of creative writing, anything and everything of what I’ll just call ‘the moment’. (Big scary theme tune thing!) Changing subjects. I came across a really beautiful site earlier, it’s just brillig! People send in postcards about their secrets, a word, a symbol a picture, anything which expresses something they feel and then send it and it gets posted into this book! Which I am now forced to invest in after seeing some of the designs on the web! Yum Yum! This is just one example from the site…Toodles for Now!

He didn’t answer the question; his expression was blank, staring through me towards the window. “There are five telegraph wires” he said. I’m not sure whether it was directed at me or purely a mental note of his own observation. The room was littered with empty coke cans. I thought about the different levels of liquid left in each of them. Thought about lining them up and tapping them and listening to the various tinny pitches they would make. They’d sound like a dead wind-chime- confined. Music without a voice.

It’s approaching 5 in the evening and already the sky has turned pink and the moon is out. From a dusty window pane my eyes struggle to follow the staccato hopping of a blackbird in a nearby tree. I can just make out the ruffle of feathers against the cold as he darts amongst the labyrinth of branches, occasionally disappearing into the silhouettes before my flickering retinas can once again recover him.