An Hour of Power

An Hour of Power

04.08.14 (Day 225)


We have one hour before our electricity supply is removed: Disruption of Service. It’s an offence. An offence which we were committing by leeching power from the utility company that supplies the building. The supply was cut off a few weeks ago by the police. It took two sergeants to remove a fucking fuse. It took one chancer to replace a fucking fuse. We didn’t use much power: just charging up mobile phones and laptops for ourselves and the kids who needed us (and phones and laptops). We were breaking the law but thieves do that. More importantly, we were costing my owner (of the property) money and I do have some remaining morals, so I shan’t resist. The utility company are removing the electricity meter today.

And I have a challenge and a proposition bet (I used to win a lot of those on the side when I played big stakes poker): to get the utility company engineers to pack my bags for me. I have to pack today and I could do with a hand. I’ve charmed many people in the past, including a County Court Judge and the Chair of LOCOG, so why not a couple of sparkies? I bet I can. It should take about an hour.

I have one hour to wait for one of the most special people in my life to arrive and spend what may have been a last hour with me before I moved on. Yesterday I spent what could have been a last day with my two book ends: the fold-up one and The Ninja. Today could have been my last with my Clingy Thingy; my Squiggle. I wanted to deliver bad news in person, or rather have the recipient visit me to receive bad news. But the news isn’t so bad, for them. I’m hanging around, as they like to do with me.

Following the events of the last 48 hours, when a heart over-ruled a head, I’m staying with those family friends for a while, so that they can look after me while I get selfish (or realistic) and sort things out for myself. My head has ruled my heart for once. The arrangement is a symbiotic one, wherein I pay my way and help the family in kind and I get power, internet and practical help. There’s a whole new chapter in the offing.

I get to watch TV and DVDs; to listen to music; to keep busy; to cook; to wash (clothes and me, although I did have the latter covered, honest. But I can get clean and dry there, literally); to talk and to write. I’ve packed the essentials already: notepad and pen, net book, letters from loved ones, books and things of sentimental value. Those collected items themselves fill a rucksack. Other stuff, like clothes, I’ll get the workmen to do. If I lose that proposition bet, I only need a quiet corner in the alternative care home I’m going to anyway, in which to read, write, think and speak when spoken to.

Unlike the alternatives that I was offered, kicked back against and ran away from, this temporary arrangement allows me visitors: but few; the few who have stuck by me, who care and who are under my broken wings: my Kintsukuroi*.This fallen angel still has a big heart with a lot of love remaining and whatever I have, I share. But just with a few, as this Pink Heart is broken.

So I’ve got a new father, who was always a brother; a new mum, who remains a sister; and a new daughter, who was always a daughter but who now becomes a sister in this fucked up family. The brother / father one is the head of the house and that’s a role I’ll be relinquishing. We’re friends though, able to help one another out but he’s the boss now, helping me. I need direction but it will be reciprocated.

Bag packed, clothes on back and Pink Heart in my lughole. I have all I need. Funny that my right ear, which I pierced with the pink heart and rendered septic is now healed. It doesn’t burn any more. How does the saying go? Left ear lover, right ear mother? The ones who are thinking of you. My left ear burns all the time. That’s the one with the safety pin through it: the throw back to former days of being a punk and a rebel.

I think the voice in the right ear took my advice and stopped thinking. Easier sometimes to forget. I told the mother ship to stop worrying about me as I’m too much to worry about. I think she did. Good for her. I’ve got another family now who can cope with me, just about. The remnants of the family I created are still here, hanging on for the last hour. The kettle has boiled for the final time and the coffee mornings are gone. The last one pot wonder has been cooked and eaten. We’ll be here for as long as we can today: until the daylight runs out. Then it’s off to the Stepping Stone.

Or maybe not. The Courts has arrived to offer help and support but she needs that herself. So maybe it’ll be me and her out for an hour to leech power from someone else, seemingly. But they understand. Then me and my little poker prodigy get to sit up for most of the night, playing poker and talking. For old times’ sake.

For some time with my old mate. The one who walked for two and a half miles when she found me. For a few more hours. The one I just spent the afternoon with while the police were here as she’d asked me to call them. The police said they’ll miss this place. They know what we did here.


Daylight is fading. About an hour left.


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