Home and Dry-ish

13.03.15 (Day 445)


I’m home. I’m dry, as in I’m indoors and out of the elements. The latter has been the case for the last ten months, where I was in the squat then the safe house but neither of those were homes in the permanent sense, even though I made both my home and was made to feel welcome in the safe house. This place is home. I’ve made it mine and I intend to stay.

The last few days have been busy. Moving home is one of the most stressful things to do. I’ve moved home a few times and it’s always stressful but some moves are made worthwhile by the reward which comes at the end. Moving out of my parents’ house for the first time was one of those times, as was moving out of my parents’ again to set up the marital home. Moving from there to the bachelor pad in Bexley was bad circumstances but ending up with my own place was nice. Then moving from there into the home I shared with Danielle was rewarding. Now that I have everything unpacked and in its place around me, this is the reward for the latest move.

I’m living above a pub. I may have mentioned that. I have the best of all worlds: my own space upstairs on the second floor, a shared flat on the first floor with a great housemate and a pub downstairs. This afternoon I’m writing this blog before heading down to the pub tonight for our Comic Relief fundraiser. I’m on pool duty: 50p a go to see how many balls players can pot consecutively. No order and in fact the fifteen balls will be fourteen yellows with a single red where the black would normally reside to represent a red nose. A prize will be paid for the highest break – mine stands at five – with a bonus prize for anyone who pots the red ball off of the break.

I live above a pub but my drinking is well under control and people are noticing the change for the better in me. I can now manage my drink and go whole days without, despite the potential for lapsing downstairs. I’ve proven the improvement to my ex-wife and kids and will have a chance to prove it to the mothership when I meet her for lunch on Wednesday and not indulge myself with an alcoholic beverage.

I’m in my part of the pub now: upstairs and writing this at my writing desk, by the window overlooking the town outside. Many things were returned to me in the move from Sidcup, including my DAB radio, which is on the desk in front of me playing Absolute Eighties. I have most of my furniture and all of my CDs, DVDs and books. There is much still to do but for this afternoon I’m getting the writing back up to speed with this before I return to my work in progress which is my second book. Among the things to do is set up the Cambridge Audio separates so that I may have tunes which fill the room. The TV works to a fashion, in that it has a Freeview signal, albeit a weak one: I have about a dozen channels. Still, all that I have is more that I’ve had for the best part of the last fifteen months.

The place is just as I imagined it would be: it has ME written all over it and it has me writing in it. I really am happy and relieved that the part of the journey which led to here is now at an end. I vow never to go back there and this blog stands as a constant indelible reminder of everything which happened, some of which I don’t actually remember.

I’m grateful to my supporters and followers, who have helped me find my feet and get back on track after I went off the rails. Those people believed in me; believed I could do it and I wasn’t going to let them down. The supporters number many but I’m particularly grateful to my hosts for the last seven months and my family; both biological and adopted. Those people will always be in my life and for once I’ve made my three adopted daughters proud of their daddy rather than the other way around. I’m still proud of all of them though.

So this is the new start. I did wrong and for that I’m sorry. I went off the rails and fell by the wayside. I will express my gratitude to those who have helped me in person. I’ve served my time and now I would be grateful if those who can find it within themselves might allow me a clean slate and permit me to move on.

Except I’m not going anywhere as I’m home.

Two days further on from writing the above and things are generally going okay. There are the usual things to get used to upon starting something new, especially when one is as disrespectful of authority which doesn’t deserve respect as I am. This was the case in the last place as well and I pity two of those I left behind for they are now suffering the psychological bullying which I used to take and which I was unable to fight against because I was trapped. Well guess what, mister? You don’t hold me now and I’m not far away.

More time to myself is welcome, so that I may do as I please. I’m happy but I do miss people, just as I have with every move before this one. Some people I’m simply unable to spend the kind of time with which I’d like, because of the situation. Others though, I’ve grown closer to. I’ve even started re-building the burned down bridge which was once between me and my biological sister. As I’ve said to her and others, I have nothing more to do to prove myself, other than be allowed to get on with it. If it all falls apart again -and I doubt that it will this time – there are people around who will still be there to pick up the pieces. I’m still there to do just that for some of those whom I’m unable to see as much as I’d like: my three adopted daughters.

I have no more apologies to make either. I’ve spent the last fifteen months suffering for my indiscretions and apologising. Now it’s time to accept that and move on while letting me do the same.

Among the many things which I don’t have here is internet access. Myself and my housemate are working on that but for now, it’ll be down to ‘spoons in the morning to avail of The Cloud. I have lots to do in town anyway, including buying things to continue doing this place up.

It’s just gone seven in the evening and I’m still returning occasionally to this writing desk, just to get things off of my chest and out of my mind, before I start a working week again tomorrow and begin writing again in earnest. There’s a coffee on the desk and no alcohol. I was temped to go downstairs a moment ago, not for a drink but simply to see who was in. From the kitchen on the middle floor though, I only had to catch a brief burst from the jukebox in the pub to decide that I won’t go downstairs yet. Unfortunately, living in a pub means that we have to deal with all sorts and judging by the music downstairs, there are two punters down there I’d rather not engage in conversation. I just don’t like their music. Nor them.

Perhaps I’ll make the long walk to the local watering hole later for a game of pool with any willing participants among my friends who may be in tonight. If my housemate – the landlords’ son – is permitted time off from behind the bar, he’s always up for a game. Until then, I’m chilling with the weekend papers and Star Trek is on TV, on one of the few channels I can receive. After patronising the bar, I need an early night. It’s been a busy few days and I have much to do next week.

There is much I need to shop for and many things I need to do online once I have am internet connection. Top of the list is pulling my planned second novel from pre-sale as it will not be finished by the self-imposed deadline. The replacement second novel is flowing well though and it is that which I will be working on tomorrow when I return to working properly as a writer and now that my mind is purged of distractions.

As I’ve said in previous posts, I shall keep writing this blog because it’s prescribed therapy, allows me to clear my mind and write things which don’t relate to my “proper”, “job” as a writer and some people do still read it. Among those who do are my three adopted daughters. I’ve mentioned them before but as I may not write here again for a while and so that they know I’m always thinking of them, I shall address them here. I still care girls. You know I love you and you know that other people don’t understand, so as well as for you, the next bit is for the plastic police.

I’m proud of them all and they mainly seek my approval but sometimes they go off the rails like I did. I adopted them and they adopted me. One has a biological dad who doesn’t like me. The other two have step dads who also don’t like me. All of the dads disapprove of the relationship their / my daughters have with me. They see me as a threat. I don’t seek to compete or replace, merely compliment. If the others in my assumed role were to pay those girls as much attention as me, there needn’t be so much tension. As it stands, their girls come to me.

I don’t judge. I’m judged. Don’t judge, lest ye be judged yourself. Those girls call me daddy because they know I don’t judge. Yes, I cut them slack but I understand them and I understand that they will make mistakes. I don’t ground them. I pick up the pieces and let them learn, rather than cosset them. Maybe that’s easier for me to do.

And some of the parents read this blog, so that will be a shot across the bows.

This is the captain of your shit, coming ashore.

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