The Lunatics Have Taken Over



I made it through the night, obviously. Himself didn’t return but if he had, I was sharing the digs with a couple of the boys: an ex-Royal Marine and a Polish guy who’s built like an out-building. The cage fighter and the Paratrooper were otherwise engaged. I’m the brains in our little family, or rather the one who prefers not to fight and spoil these pretty looks. Not that any of my brothers are anything but intelligent (at the very least, they’re street-wise and have taught me some ropes and self-defence, some of which involves ropes) but I tend to be the facilitator and that’s my contribution to the group. I know I’m safe in that company and we’ve all got each other’s backs.

We’ve made a group decision to clean up the family home, given that it’s likely where we’ll be for a while as without exception we’re all dealing with hurdles, hoops and brick walls in our attempts to move on. We estimate a good day’s work if we all muck in, even with Armed Forces’ involvement. You can’t polish a turd but we’ll make it more of a home. My only stipulation is that I retain my writing corner. Operation clean up should start tomorrow and we’ll discuss it in finer detail over dinner tonight when three or four of us are out in Tunbridge Wells. We’re all stuck but we’re together. I liked having a place to myself but it’s unsafe, so I gain protection. The others have nowhere else, so they gain a roof.

We’ll divide the place into personal spaces, like a dormitory and even make provision for himself, should he return. The place has become a slightly longer-term prospect by necessity, so we’ll turn it back into Gilbert House. Yes, it’s a bit of a squat; a bit of a commune but it’s a roof and while we’re all trying to move onto better things but being frustrated by red tape, it’ll do and there’s safety in numbers: I trust those boys.

Time to finish breakfast (smoked salmon this morning), then off to work in the library and coffee later before dinner out tonight.

Yes, I do glamourise this life but it’s what some of us have and make the most of: our asylum. 

On the Rocks



I’m in Wetherspoons with a load of McDonald’s staff and just had half a portion of hot buffalo wings. The blue cheese sauce is delicious and so is the hot sauce but “hot” is putting it mildly. The ramainder of the wings and sauces are boxed up and ready to go another time.

I’m back at Gilbert Arse tonight as the busman’s holiday ended. I miss those boys and I’m wary as I’ve heard (again) that my psycho ex-housemate is at large. As persons unknown have been into our digs during both our absences and – shall we say – not treated the place as they should, I’ve acquired new bed clothes for me and him. I’ve made and saved a bit of money over the last week and whatever I have, I always share. Tonight this included buying dinner (well, burgers) for a couple of friends who otherwise wouldn’t have eaten.

Even though the last week has been a holiday, there’s been little sleep, going to bed at around 2am and being woken up at seven. Therefore I’m knackered and going home with fingers crossed and a knot tied in my hanky.

Life’s a beach.