30.03.14 (Day 98, still)


I’m in McDonald’s (I fancied a change of scene). I had to get out as I was climbing the walls, literally: I’ve been painting and therefore look a right two and eight as my hands are covered in black paint. I managed to get most of it off but under the nails is a bastard to get to. Oh well, I get funny looks anyway, when the teenage fan club surround me. Now I’ll just get misjudged for being dirty in a different way. Finger nails aside, I’m clean and changed: another Fred Perry polo shirt with my Weird Fish cherry red shirt on top; black drainpipes, my faithful cherry red DM boots and my black sheepskin coat.

The netbook is charging next door in the newsagent and until work on that (on a Sunday), I’m jotting notes and reading. I’m about three quarters of the way through The Curious Incident and next up is The Soft Machine, by William Burroughs: one of my own books, as I’ve decided to return all but the book I’m reading to the library, for fear of theft or damage. A shame as I’m allowed to borrow up to 30 items at a time with my level of membership and like to have more than one book on the go at any one time: usually a novel, a collection of short stories, some poetry and  a non-fiction volume.

Incidentally, I’ve been advised to point out some facts among my ramblings. So here are the footnotes:

I am NOT homeless: I have made a home but remain transitory.

I am NOT jobless: I work on various things.

I am NOT penniless: I get paid for some of the work I do, although a lot is voluntary.

I am NOT alcoholic: I was diagnosed as having Alcohol Dependency Syndrome; a recognised medical illness and it’s what is on my sick note. I can provide documented proof and have had to to certain authorities.

I AM also diagnosed as suffering chronic depression.

Most people don’t get it and don’t get me. The feeling is very much mutual.

Mother Fuckering Sunday

30.03.14 (Day 98)


As I may have mentioned once or twice, I fucking detest Sundays: no library, shops only open for limited hours and the wrong end of the week for money (I get paid on Mondays). But it is The Day of The Lord and I am gradually coming round and hearing the knock.

I’m at home, writing in the paper journal (or I was), as the netbook is low on battery. I may pop into town later and get it (her) charged up in the usual charging station (my friendly local newsagent) but for now I’m staying put as I’m not sure I can tolerate all the happy families out there on Mothers’ Day. Not that I begrudge them but I don’t have a happy family.

I sent my mum a text earlier, wishing her happy Mothers’ Day. I’d have phoned (as I did on her birthday and my dad’s and their wedding anniversary) but chose not to as I assumed that mum would be with my sister, from whom I remain very much estranged and who thought she was doing me a favour by driving a wedge between myself and our parents. I accept my part of the blame but she was harsh. My assumptions seemed to be well-founded when my mum phoned me back (which was nice of her and appreciated) and the background noises were those of a family gathering. They’ll be having a family roast together but without the black sheep; the rebel; the one who is chronically depressed and who suffered from Alcohol Dependency Syndrome. Just like Christmas dinner when the rebel’s lunch was a turkey sandwich in a hospital bed (the turkey was in bread; it was me in the bed).

I assume my ex-wife is having a similar affair with her partner and my kids. And my ex-fiance will probably be going out with her mum. Danielle was assumed step mum to my kids and great in that capacity. It’s just a shame that “they” fucked things up for us. Also, I got on very well with the “Mother-In-Law” until I fucked it all up.

Lunch here isn’t unpleasant today though: bacon and egg quiche (which we had), with garlic sausage (which we had): sort of an English-continental fusion. Or something.

Life here isn’t too bad either, now that I’ve reclaimed the house and done it up a bit, after it was trashed. It’s mine again now until “The Daddy” returns but hopefully he’ll see that I’ve done okay with the place, which he introduced me to and invited me into after all. He put me up and I’ve done okay with the house. I only wish the same could be said for the people I’ve taken in but it’s in my nature to do so. Human kindness is something I’ve received a lot of and what I have, I share. It isn’t a two-way street though apparently and I really should be more selfish, as others have advised.

One of the people I took in was for protection from The Daddy should he return but my protector just drunk, slept and soiled the place. I’d rather take my chances with The Daddy, even if he is somewhat unpredictable and with a reputation reaching far ahead of him.

For now at least, the house is mine; albeit a stop gap while something more stable is arranged. I’ve just made it more pleasant for what will hopefully not be much longer.

I’ve re-hung the book shelves and placed the books back thereon (library books and ones which I own); put all of the furniture which survived back in place and acquired new things from some neighbours. Last night I lay in my bed (which had been “borrowed”) and continued to read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time: I’m about two thirds of the way through. Then feeling relatively safe, I bunged my earplugs in and drifted off to the gentle strains of Radio 4.

I was content for a while. Then the clocks went forward, I lost an hour and it was Sunday.

Mend and Make Do

29.03.14 (Day 97)


This is the third ad-libbed post in as many posts as I’m getting used to this netbook thing and making it my own, finding it very easy to get on with and eschewing the hand-written journal when circumstances allow. Like most of the time I’m in McDonald’s, like now. And for once I’m not surrounded by the teenage fanclub.

I’ve been asked by the manager to mention the manager. I’ve pointed out that I don’t tend to mention people by name, so King Ding-a-ling, Hi! FFS! The things I do to be allowed to spend three hours drinking a coffee.

Despite saying that I wasn’t going to tackle Gilbert House because of my back and even though I saw certain people last night, I grew bored earlier and decided to tackle the concrete bunker. Five hours of hard slog and it’s looking okay. One room down at least and just another three to do. I was helped by some neighbours and reclaimed things. And my back is fucking agony! Thank fuck I’ve reclaimed my bed.

I look a right state though as I did some painting and managed to paint my hands in the process. Manicures are me: Goth / Emo ones (the paint was black; still is).

Not only am I getting used to this netbook but I love it. As soon as I got my head around Android, it all joined up; a bit like Windows 8 on my Lumia. Always the L337 933K.