Bottle in a Message

02.03.15 (Day 434)


This may be the last post for a while, as I’m really busy sorting life out after fourteen months of not getting it sorted. What follows is one of those stream of consciousness posts, as I need to clear my thoughts so that I can concentrate on matters in hand and come back to read what I’ve written at a later juncture. 

Excuses made for my shabby prose, here goes…

It’s taken more than a lot of bottle to get this far but I’m on the threshold of the next life and there’s no turning back.

In a way, even this takes bottle. I could just bury myself in yet another positive rut but things have gone so far, so quickly that I’m not going to let anyone who’s helped me – nor myself for that matter – down.

The flat-within-a-flat is coming along nicely, at least in planning: the builder is booked to knock my two rooms into one on Saturday. New rugs have been ordered to hide what is far from ideal carpets and there’s paint ready to go on the walls and the ceilings. Move day is pencilled in for next Friday week, the thirteenth. Sometime between now and then, I need to take a van to Sidcup to collect my old life and put it in the new one. It’s only a shame I can’t bring my love of once upon a time with me too, to make my life complete. I’m meeting Dan for lunch tomorrow, as friends and for a catch up.

I saw both of the biological children on Saturday in Milton Keynes and it went well. Conversation was a little stilted at first but I do believe that as the afternoon progressed and I didn’t drink, confidence in me increased. Following that, I now have a promise from the eldest at least to stay in touch. Even this evening, we’ve been talking on Skype.

Once I’m settled in the new place, the first personal project to concentrate on is the new novel. I’ve abandoned Bloodstained Knaves for now as the writer’s block had gone on for too long. Instead, I’ve resurrected the sequel I had planned to The Paradoxicon. The second book will feature “Them” again but seen from a different perspective: an unexpected one.

Not wishing to leave anything out at this stage in the journey, these were my hand-written notes from Saturday:

Day four three two: like a countdown. The day that the final part of things to come is due to happen: I’m meeting my children.

I’m at Milton Keynes Central station. I’m due to meet the kids at 12.15. I’m deliberately early so that I have time to compose myself and my thoughts, recorded here in Volume Eight of my hand-written journals. Most of Volumes one to seven are lost; abandoned in the many places I’ve been over the last fourteen months. Some were stolen: thoughts and memories; but indelibly recorded for others to find, keep, lose, pass on or destroy; in hand-written form. The blog really won’t budge.

This day has been a long time coming and in the making, like so many other things. Those things are merely that: things, of little significance compared to the moment which approaches. I’m about to be reunited with my children after the best part of a year, albeit briefly.

I’m moving into my new home in just under two weeks. Everything is in place: the tenancy agreement, the housing benefit application, the paint, the rugs and the builder and my driving license with the address of a pub on it to allow me to drive a van to Sidcup and transport my life. I’m meeting Danielle on Tuesday to make arrangements.

Just like Zaphod Beeblebrox on The Heart of Gold, I’ve chosen the most nonchalant chair to be discovered in. This one happens to be outside the Pumpkin Cafe at Milton Keynes Central station.

Unlike the last trip to meet the kids, this one shouldn’t be cut short. I’m not running the squat now, so there should be no teenage tantrums in a teacup to deal with and rush back to. That’s not to say I don’t care about the adopted kids but they’re growing up now, even though they still need me, at least sometimes.

Despite my head thinking that I don’t belong in Tonbridge anymore, my heart can’t tear itself away from those kids and others there. My new home is being built from my new heart and where my heart belongs. Like my writing, my cooking and the holes in my face, my new home is an expression of me and my personality. I’ll be doing lots of writing and cooking in the new place.

Yes, lots to run away from in Tonbridge but plenty to keep me there: my friends who’ve stuck by me over the last fourteen months; my sister The Courts; my protectors, Nettie and Matt; my best mate Meg and my three daughters, all of whom are forced to remain distant from me but they’re resourceful, like me. Even when we can’t see each other, we find ways to stay in touch. See you all soon girls. And to the youngest – the one who was previously the wife – keep talking to me girl; we’ll get you there. I love you and you know it.

So, largely off of the bottle but with the bottle to move on and face whatever life throws next, I cast this message into the ether and will be in touch from another place soon. 

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