For My Mum



I’m having a coffee in Mamma Cafe in Tunbridge Wells. I love it here, in Manna and Tunbridge Wells: so much nicer than Tonbridge and with so many more facilities. I’m safer here.

Mamma’s is attached to a church and it’s an oasis: free coffee (for some of us), gentle music, soothing images on the TV screens, comfortable seating, lovely staff and just one of those rare places where you can relax and stop thinking. Free Wi-fi too.

I’ve had a shave and a haircut (got my Mohawk back); I’ve swapped bracelets with one of my brothers and now I have a bracelet bearing a crucifix, which is somewhat apt because He has been knocking on my door lately and with all of the kindness extended to me, I’ve let him in. I pick up my Bible tonight, when I stay in The Wells again. I have a present for one of my friends: more on that another time.

I’m starting to rebuild the most important bridge which I knew I should and always would: that to my mum. She has not discounted me entirely and she’s agreed to meet me: truth be known, I can’t wait to see the lady I love most in my life.

I’m 43 years old but I’m being born again. 

Life is worth exploring. It was.  

Catalyctic Converter



The fear inherent in Tonbridge at the moment has acted as a catalyst to move on. I know I should have done so ages ago and I know you’ve heard it all before. But I stalled, hit upon walls, buried my head, procrastinated, got stuck in a rut, found a comfort zone. Now though, I’m forced to make changes, however uncomfotable those may be. On the evidence of last night though – the first spent in Tunbridge Wells – it’ll be okay.

Stick with me if you wish but please only say nice things if anything at all. I shall do the same and not invite negative comments by demonstrating that I am indeed making moves and hope that I’m believed. I shall focus on the positives and moving forward.

I shan’t dwell on the past:

  • Beatings
  • Burnings
  • Bottling
  • Throttling
  • Death threats
  • The cold, dark and wet conditions
  • Dirty clothes and limited washing facilities
  • Stolen clothes, money and belongings

Moving onto days like today, where things run thus:

  • Woke up in a clean, dry bed
  • Had boiled eggs and a Rocket salad for breakfast
  • Salmon sandwiches on wholemeal bread for brunch
  • Pastrami and horseradish on black rye for lunch
  • Dinner out tonight and a warm bed again

And I acquired a pair of LA Gear boots and a Moss coat; and I’ve got a hairdresser visiting tonight to re-establish my Mohawk: sorted!

What a difference a day makes, with some terror mixed in for good measure and give one a kick; or not as it turns out.

I’m off to get my kids and my life back.

Having a Go



Despite thinking (hoping) that I might get a lie in this morning, my disfunctional body clock had me awake at first light.

Today is presentation day for the Small Sparks grant applications and as well as the presentation itself, this morning I’ve written some business and product ideas, not related to my historic trades but neat little products which I can make and sell. The materials are cheap, my labout is free but the perceived value of the things I’ve come up with is sufficient to give me some very good profit margins. Starting small – as you do in business – but there are growth plans in the proposal.

As at least one of my detractors has pointed out, Gilbert House Publishing is not a company. This was pointed out to third parties, in such a way as to belittle it and me. I know it’s not a company! I never claimed it was! It’s merely a vehicle (and there’ll be others) as a trading name for me as a sole trader. All above-board and legal. It’s not much (as has been pointed out) but it has involved a degree of work and finance and I have limited means at the moment. I’m trying to make the most of what I have, yet not limiting myself to one venture or job. When I’m working 16-20 hour days, there’s plenty of time to get lots of things done, which is why I need that netbook.

So why do people insist on putting me down and belittling what I’m trying to do? Why not encourage me? Partly because they’re misinformed and some just want to keep me down. If any of them bothered to face me (and none have), they’d see I’m hardly drinking any more and I’m doing my best; what I can with what I have.

I’m trying.

I’m having a go.

From Small Sparks

Captain’s Log, supplementary:

Stardate 26.02.14 (11.42)

The Small Sparks application was successful, so the netbook is on its way.

I also have the offer of a room, laundry and baths as required and nothing has been asked for in return: it’s just a kind gesture from a young lady. I shall insist on cooking to pay my way though, as I like to wear the apron.

And there’s no relationship other than one of mutual convenience, so this time there’ll be no fire from the sparks.

I’ll have a go.

Marine Life



I have an ex-Royal Marine crashed at my dump (as you do), while I have my early evening coffee at McDonald’s. He’s meant to meet me at 7.30, then we’re going for dinner. Knowing how he sleeps though, it’ll probably be dinner for one, then home later to a big, snoring, immovable, un-rousable lump borrowing my bed. I need that crash pad tonight, having had virtually no sleep last night. He also does a very good impression of a starfish when asleep and has a habit of lashing out, so I fear tonight may be another sleep-deprived one as I’m not getting into bed with that. I have my presentation to make tomorrow too.


I’ve returned home from dinner for one and either he’s gone or is very well camouflaged.

Moving on Out


Pretty much all of yesterday’s business which was hanging over me has been addressed or is being dealt with. Once I’m through this little chapter, I’ll explain.

I couldn’t stay in Tonbridge last night for reasons which may be revealed at a later date. Instead I stayed at an undisclosed location with a friend who’s an ex-Royal Marine. We got a free hot meal courtesy of a soup kitchen, along with overnight bags containing rolls, crisps, buns, cakes and fruit. We got virtually no sleep as we were up most of the night, talking and planning and we both had early starts this morning.

My mate’s issues and past make mine seem trivial by comparison and yet he remains almost permanently positive. I’ve suffered a good few losses lately but nothing on the scale of his. So he refills my glass to half-full, metaphorically.

My morning involved people in professional capacities, getting myself out of a sticky spot and arranging some practical things with the assistance of various organisations: a haircut (I’ll get my Mohawk back), shave, shower; laundry, hot meals (beef casserole and potatoes last night), temporary accomodation and general support. All for free: the morning was productive.

There are a busy few days ahead with travelling and moving things around but it’s all constructive.

Having spent the morning sorting things out, I returned to Tonbridge and to the library, where I’v been writing the journal. I’m now having a coffee break in McDonald’s, mainly because I need to wake up after last night’s sleep deprivation. Then it’s back to the library to send emails, among other jobs. Dinner with my Marine mate again later, then probably an early night. 

Tomorrow is when I finally get to make my presentation in the hope of gaining the grant for my netbook, which will allow me to spend more than the one hour computer time which the library permits daily.

On, up and out more tomorrow. 

Lost for Words

I really don’t have much to say today, other than that I’m fed up.

  • I’m still mourning past relationships, which I screwed up or which were screwed by both parties
  • I miss my kids and haven’t even had return letters from them
  • I’ve received more verbal beatings based on untruths and misinformation
  • I’m also mourning the loss of some money, a load of personal belongings and my McDonald’s loyalty card. Trivial I know but it’s the little things
  • I’m worried about a few people but won’t go into that here
  • I’m getting very little sleep as I have other wories but I shan’t go into that either: informative, aren’t I?
  • I have a horrible day ahead tomorrow but I wont mention any more of that now
  • I’m frustrated, as if were able to talk about some of the above, I might actually end up better off: it’s paradoxical (I know this may not make much sense but it does to me

Other than that, I’m fine and there is a bit of a silver lining within the cloud, depending on the outcome of a few things over the next few days and whether I emerge on the other side.

I make my presentation for the netbook / tablet on Wednesday, finally. And I have an interview on Thusday. More on that then.


No Cure For Cancer

I really shouldn’t waste the time I’m about to waste on people who are a waste of time (and space and Oxygen) themselves but I have to because myths which they’re perpetuating will otherwise be spread.
I have now been accused of sitting on the steps behind McDonald’s, drinking Special Brew. Apparently I was spotted and reported (my tormentor has spies). Firstly, I don’t drink lager. I drink cider as I need to (my body needs it). I can stop when I’m busy and that’s a conversation which myself and my potential employer have had. I’ve also spoken to my key worker about this and he believes me, to the extent that he’s asked if I even need detox.

So, dear tormentors and detractors: please leave me alone and get on with your lives instead of interfering and trying to run mine. I can do so myself. Leave me alone, then contact me in a few months time and I’ll have proven myself; not that I should have to. This will no doubt be branded bullshit and I await the abuse but shall not react. I have had it with you people and am only writing this to make my case to those who the wicked rumours may have reached through your spreading and stirring.

I may be a little down on my luck but I will get better. Alas, there’s no cure for certain personalities.

Another Day

(By Kien Tran):

I woke up from a shallow sleep
on the concrete
Sometimes it’s a pavement, bush or bench:
wherever I lay my hat

I slept with one eye open
I lasted the night
I’m wondering if I’ll eat today
I’m searching for a nine to five
and hoping I might stay alive
another day

I’ll hit the computers at the library;
write a few verses of poetry;
keep myself busy
I’ll talk to fans who know me

Being on the road strengthens my resolve
My mentality, fractured
but I’m on this road: my reality

I’ll sleep again
through the dark
And wake up
to the cold light
of another day

There’ll be sun



Working Like a Dog



I’m in Wetherspoons, waiting for my mate Becca. I’m having a fucking pint! I’ve been working all day and this is my first and probably only drink.

I’ve completed an online job application and seem to have sailed through the aptitude and psychometric tests, so now it’s over to them. It’s just the stereotypical flipping burgers but I do find that quite romantic. And it’s a foot in the door of the catering industry, will look good on my CV, help me with housing and keep me out of trouble. Fingers crossed.

I got some new clobber today: smart white shirts and a black blazer. I look and feel pretty good. Bec just arrived and commented on how smart I look.

This evening will cost nothing as I scored a couple of errands and charged my usual commission.

The Nokia Lumia Project is progressing and the next job is to make my iPhone SIM into a micro SIM. Apparently this can be done by simply physically cutting the thing down but the prospect unnerves me a little. I trust Kien though (my business partner).


I’m up at ridiculous O’Clock, having gone to bed at 2.30 this morning and not being able to sleep as Tom snores for England.

When I applied for the job, one of my considerations was whether I could hold it down whilst still writing. is now up (albeit only in template form) and is already parked. I only tend to sleep for around four hours per night though, so I should find working for someone and myself relatively easy. I’ve done 20-hour days before, on a regular basis.

So now I’m killing time at my desk, writing; until McDonald’s opens at 7, so I can get a coffee to wake me up. Some of the time murdered was in cleaning my writing desk and sorting out my books. After The Brooklyn Follies (Paul Auster), it’s The Cusrious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, by Mark Haddon.

Lots more to do: edit one website and set up another; lots more besides.

Working like a dog.

Satan, Oscillate my Metallic Sonatas



Tonight I met Venessa and Hannah (a palindromic name) and they asked me for a poem, as I was struggling to know what to write:

Vanessa and Hannah
Gave me a spanner
To fix the machine
which was my stalled brain
Thinking of what to write
It’s working again

I’m sitting up writing while my mate Tom is crashed in the bedroom (I can’t sleep with him). I’m writing by the light of a candle given to me by my good friend Kien. He’s the one who’s sorting out my Nokia Lumia 520. So far he’s installed Windows 8 and he’s in the process of putting all my software and apps on there from the iPhone. I’m also going to ask him to install flappy Birds.

Not much to report as I’ve been busy, including having a very long chat with the manager of an establishment which I frequent and for whom I should be working soon. Keep watching.