Apple-Shaped Terranium

I JUST BOUGHT AN APPLE-SHAPED "TERRANIUM" FULL OF PLANTS. Because I had £10 and didn't want to spend it on drugs... It cost £9.99 from Sainsbury's Homebase and was the last one left. I did look desperately about for a more picturesque one. Mine was last actually for a good reason: because the plants are overgrowing it. I have no idea what the plants are or what I'm to do with them re watering. There's one pale green coloured succulent and some ivy (ok I do know what 2 of them are). But the one at the back that really is overgrowing I've no idea... actually what am I saying: it looks quite a lot like the thing I bought my Mum for mothers' day. Big serrated dark green leaves. Little pink and white budlike flowers. (They still look budlike even though they've opened.) This one is very soon going to have to be excavated out. Then I might turn this drop-shaped or apple-shaped (it's a blown glass droplet with top stem and side hole; all one piece) thing into a cactus-ery. Ruth: do you know what I'm meant to do with it? They've sprinkled "decorative" orange woodshavings upon the topsoil which is going to make it mighty hard to take out the back plant and still make it look the same. But hey the orange stuff looks pretty tacky anyhow. Maybe I will just mix it in the soil. (Or is that bad?) Ruth is a flowering expert. Ruth do you know what to do..??? Tell you what, it would look lovely with Chinese Mousey pottering about inside. One day, when I get my digital camera working again (needs fresh battery charger) I shall instigate Chinese Mouse photo shoot inside glass planted-up teardrop. And if any photos turn out OK I promise I shall learn how to and post one (or more) up.

I only went in the bleedin' Homebase bc I was so bloody depressed and didn't know what to do... it is a "gloriously" hot day but oppressive and very sunny and blueskied. And police sirens still wailing as I speak. And trucks trundling past. Does anyone know that Stephen King story Children of the Corn? He sums up so mightily the feeling of being lost in the hush wind blowing rushes-like endless sunshining lost and strangely sinister seas of the corn ... I used to have a whole volume of his short stories that I only read when I was feeling (drug) "sick" ... Now I've managed to lose the lot, which is a shame. As although King is blabbery I do have the attention span most of the time for his stories ... (My attention span was genetically modified from a Scottish highland gnat's. Maybe Gnat King Coal's. Or something.)

Which reminds me talking of bizarre things I am (re)reading Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason which is the Queen of Chicklit. Most chicklit (at least the bits that fell open on my perusal at Waterstone's) seems to be about bra sizes and premenstrual inconvenience. At least Bridget Jones is genuinely witty. I like the Renee Zellwegger film version when Colin Firth discovers her diaries compromising revelations open to the world... she sees what he must have read. Swears. Scurries to put on shoes. Runs after him into the snow (this was computer-enhanced digisnow btw)... returns distrought to flat feeling Colin Firth gone forever... only for him to return saying "I noticed your book was full so I've bought you a new one" (probably from Smythson's of Bond Street.)

Right I am about to venture back into the bright sunshiny day to plonk new "vase" home.

Second song of the day yesterday was meant to have been The Verve: Drugs Don't Work, but couldn't get crosslink up (delay between posting and it appearing in blogue) on time.

Monday Bloody Monday

THANKFULLY THE DAY IS NEAR OVER. I once bought a hamster when I was depressed to try and cheer me up. It was a female tubby golden Syrian mesocricetus auratus. I called her Tubbemer. She did not cheer me up. In fact I don't think she ever really liked me. We never got on as well as me and Pandable (who looked just like Tubbemer but was a boy.) Pandable was a wonderhammy. Slept solidly all day. Woke like clockwork at evening time. Got up. Washed ears. Did weez and pooze in corner. (Golden hamsters always use the same corner as toilet. Dwarf ones are more scruffy and just wee and poo anywhere.) Once Pandable was solidly awake he hit the wheel. I had to buy him a special enormous free-standing rat wheel as all hamster-"sized" ones were too small. He could not stretch out and run full-pelt. He used to run this rat wheel literally from dusk until dawn and woe betide you if it got blocked with sawdust or toppled over. He went nuts charging back and forth amongst the tank until you got up and fixed it. I read somewhere that the "average" hamster runs five miles a night. Well Pandable was a superhammy in that case as he did eight miles every night! I know this because we attached a yellow label to one end of the wheel so we could count rpms. These we multiplied, an average distance per minute timesed by the eight hours or whatever it was he spent rambling on this bloody thing. He barely ever got off it. Except sometimes to run a circuit of the tank and swiftly get back on again. Even if you let him out on the floor and put the wheel in the corner of the room, he'd just run straight up to it and take up rambling on that ... bizarre creature. When I took him to my Dad's house in a mouse cage with a smaller hamster wheel he spent the entire week in a foul mood, angrily gnawing at the mouse-bars and doing pooze on the new wheel in protest ... sorry I am rabblitting on and on about hamsters I know I should not. I am so depressed and down and exhausted though. I am planning to stop all drugs all together in the near future and want to cut down the methadone and come off. I know this will make me feel mentally dreadful. But the time has come to feel dreadful without heroin-methadone in the mix. You know that saying by The Verve? The Drugs Don't Work ..? See? They really don't. I don't know. My friend Ivy (from the internet) keeps saying she is going to be an escort. I don't know what to say to her. I just told her be careful of warts and don't let the punters wheedle you into dispensing with a condom ... I don't know what else to say. Everyone in my house hates me because they thought I was leaving. I want to go. But you know the saying "better the devil you know" ... that is really hanging me up. Also I don't want to move too far from this area. I would have to bus down every day to the methadone chemist's for one thing ... what can I do? What shall I do? I don't know. Monday! Bad mood bloody Monday!!

***

Go to http://pinguindude.blogspot.com for a bullying story

Mournday Monday

I HAVE TO POST SOMETHING BECAUSE IT'S A NEW DAY AND I'M HERE. Not in the mood=what do I say? I tried to make biscuits last night. The resulting slop was horrible. Also I do not have an oven (only hotplates). So I attempted cooking these on tinfoil atop that. Bad move. I am in a bad mood because that Matran (who doesn't officially even live in our house) had the cheek to speak to me threateningly. I didn't say one word back. In retrospect I think this was a good move. One day he will get himself in real trouble and I won't be the one wasting my energy on him. I don't really have much else to say. Evilstein said he was coming round today. He did not. Well not when I was there. As I said I have a birdcage. Maybe I should find some birds to put in it? Little ones like zebra finches. Also they don't make annoying noises. I once had a budgie in my room. I love budgies but the chirping drove me to distraction ... Yeah, zebra finches it is. Of course I may not do this... but on the other hand why bloody not?

Right. Song of the day: We're in Heaven - DJ Sammy version.
Or click for original Brian Adams version ...

Sunday Morning

AN UNNUMBERED HOUR OF THE NIGHT. BBC World Service is blaring. I've got back into the habit of sleeping living diarrhoeaing with the radio on. Which is odd, as in previous weeks I've lived with blankness. No radio. No TV. (We're top priority, so I'm told, in the TV Licensing authority's "London CRACKDOWN". Our home shall be investigated. Ooo, matron!

What has filled the gap? Books. But I must advise against Agatha Christie's At Bertram's Hotel. The climax is so very implausible; so very, very un-true-to-life it's a wonder the slim volume did not go flying out my window once the last page was finally reached. Miss Marple doesn't even solve the crime ~ so where is the point in that. I haven't felt quite so cheated by a novel in a long time.

Swynable (the Chinese Mouse) is angrily sleeping. After spending most of the night in mousey birdcage prison. Irritatedly nibbling at the bars and trying to get out. I had thought he might like it more in there but aparently not.

Righto thten I'm off to Mother Hubbs's presently for luncheon. And my time on this computer is up. Gotta run!

PS I am supposed to be writing my memoirs. Has anyone got any advice for me?

PPS The ceiling is leaking rain all over my bed. Lovely.

Chinese Mousey Climbing

FOUND A NEW CAGE FOR THE CHINESE MOUSE! It was an abandoned budgie cage with birds' diarrhoea smeared all over the bottom; so I Cillit Banged it. Now it's gleaming shiny anew. I put Mouster in it. Wow, can he climb! Normal hamsters make up what they lack in agility in sheer enthusiasm. Surely we have all seen a great big fat tubby golden hammy pluckily attempting circuits of the upside down bar-clinging. Nearly every time they slip and fall, usually within half a minute. Well this one was right up the top for ten minutes and never slipt once, let alone fell... he really does have a "prehensile" tail (ie can hold onto things with it) and can even climb downwards facing down without once ever putting a foot wrong. Amazing agility. Now I'm putting all his nests in there for a furry transfer of homes. But it will have to be hidden come Monday morning when Evilstein promises to apply cockroach spray to every cranny. I told him I'd pack up my books in black sacks (bc the insects like to hide in between things and if I can pick up all my books in one go he can spray behind where they were. I loathe cockroaches and they're still there more than two years since their first manic infestation ...)

These mousey doings are all I have to say. Finding his new home really perked up my day as I've been exhaustedly down ever since forcing myself up at 11am. All I've really wanted to do ever since is to go back to bed ... well ... a bit like a hamster, really ...

Also I've been drinking far too much cyder. Which I shall have to cut down on, I know. But I don't know how I can ... I just wanted to go ro rehab and now I can't because they told me I'm on too much methadone juice and no detoxification plant would ever let me in ... so that is depressing too ... it's all very vulgar. If there's any news tomorrow except my going to Mother Hubbs's for Sunday lunch I will let you know.

BTW in repsonse to your question, whoever it was asked: Mother Hubbs (short for "Mother Hubbard" is not my genetic mother. Really just a friend. Who kind of took me in (took my stuff in more like. For over three years whilst I was at Nutnut Lona's and out on the streets.) Mother Hubbs is one of the best friends I have ever had.

Chinese Mouse Sullen Saturday

I SPOTTED A WOMAN BY THE BUS STOP BY THE METHADONE CHEMIST cradling a sawdust-filled glass rodentery complete with wheel and enormous fluffy nests. Was just about to ask what type of swine was in there when her bus came. Last night I let out the Chinese mouse expressly to sleep in my hat. Which he did do. For about half an hour. Only for me to eventually fall asleep and wake up - presto! - no Chinese mouse to be seen. The swine was running furry Scalectrix all over my newly-cleared carpets ... Looked so indignant at being recaptured ... The time before that when he escaped I was looking for the swine everywhere ... no luck at all. O man! He's gone underneath the cooker, I feared. Only for a wild scrabbling to alert me near my head. The old swine had made a nest right underneath my pillow and was happily dozing in there. Appeared totally shocked and affronted when this enormous hand uncovered the new nest and scooped him out of there and my voice saying: "You've been caught. You swine! You've been caught." (Why do people talk to pets like they're three year old children? OK, I'll rephrase the question: why do I ..?)

All day I have been in a dismally bad exhausted mood. Scurried back home as soon as I could then got hungry. I have pigged out on Sainsbury's miniature granary baps and chili-peppered sardines with Anchor "spreadable" real butter.

I am really tired and have to go now. What a forlorn day. It feels really hot and sweaty. Rains are forecast even more than before (the papers keep reporting on Gloucester being flooded out. Is this something to do with that nursery rhyme:
Dr Foster
Went to Gloucester
In a shower of rain ...
??

Maybe not. Ho-hum.

If anything exciting happens I'll let you know.

Oh. Vague excitement an hour ago when I found a paper Chinese lantern someone had left out. So I've put it on my barebulb centrehanging light. That Dr Evilstein only troubled to repair for himself a week ago ...

Righty-ho then...

Hamster Alive; Cockroach Dead

I'VE BEEN HIBERNATING ALL AFTERNOON.

Evilstein came this morning and sprayed insecticide everywhere. He has it in industrial strength liquid. It certainly worked. I saw a cockroach dancing a jig not long afterwards... yes there are still cockroaches here ... He doesn't realize I have a Chinese mouse hiding in that tank on top of the cupboards... seems to believe the tank is empty (tribute to Mousey's hiding powers). He even tried to get me to throw said tank away as "rubbish". No way! If Mousey ever does come to light no way can Evilstein imply he "attracts vermin" because my book The Dwarf Hamster explicitly states, "in the wild, insects can constitute 60% of the Chinese hamster's diet," so there.

Evilstein seems to love industrial strength chemicals. Only yesterday did I find a "91% sulphuric acid" solution container in our outside bins. It was there in the name of drain cleaner. But I would not put anything past the psychotic Dr Evilstein ...

The Labour government two years ago downgraded cannabis from Class B to Class C under the antidrugs laws. Now the crowds are braying for it to be reclassified back to class B, especially as a study in today's Lancet medical journal states that smokers of cannabis are at a 40% to 200% higher lifetime risk of developing schizophrenia or psychosis. Well I don't know about that. The opposing side point out that levels of schizophrenia have not increased among the general population in the 30, 40 years or so that cannabis has been popular in this country. To which The Lancet doctors reply that hospitalization practice has vastly changed over that time (so hospitalizations cannot be used as a fair guide to schizophrenia levels in the general population) plus the diagnostic criteria for schizophrenia have changed over that time. So it is impossible to state with any accuracy whether levels of schizophrenia in the general populus have increased. One factor they seem not to have considered: maybe cannabis appeals more to those who are likely to go on to get schizophrenia anyhow ... All I can say about cannabis and me is that in recent times it has disagreed with me so incredibly virulently I felt like I was losing my mind last time I smoked half a spliff! So I just don't go there. Horrible stuff it is. I quite like the smell it leaves after it's been smoked. But the drug itself? Nasty business!

Cannabis? It should be made illegal ...

***

I KNOW I CAN'T POST PHOTOS. BUT IF YOU WANT to see a clip of a Chinese Hamster that looks just like mine (except this one's female) click here.

Or click this one for a Chinese Hamster from Japan. The film is better ...

And this clip shows how they cling so adeptly to hands and fingers. Seriously agile ...

***

BLOG OF THE DAY 1: Malins Drom. Has some lovely Nordic arctic huskie pixx.

BLOG OF THE DAY 2: http://theo-de-bruxelles.blogspot.com - Belgian baby pictures.

***

OK I gotta go. I have a severe soft white rolls and hoummus craving

***

PS: This is a way of supposedly tricking American (?) Coca-Cola machines into giving out free drinks and then returning your money..?? Has anyone actually seen a Coke machine like in the clip? I haven't...

Clean Council

COUNCIL MAN CAME YESTERDAY: Evilstein gave me an update as he drilled a new lock (finally!) into my door first thing in the morning. Of course he did it to catch me in. But it does feel a little like he is persecuting me barging in at such eraly hours. I was of course right to do the absolute minimum to keep the room acceptable (it was totally tidy as far as I could make it but, as I say I knew he/they would find fault) and they surely did ... This morning he also gave me finally the loan of a vaccuum cleaner to get all the bits out of the carpets. Of course I've brushed them endless times ... but well I just realized today that I'm sure fitted carpets were never invented until after the vacuum cleaner ... My rugs I swept out of the window, but what can you do with fitted carpets? They're a real inconvenience ... when I get my own place finally I'm not having fitted carpets at all. Just big rugs in the middle of bare boarded rooms. Lona ("NutNut") had no carpets at all (but a few medium-sized rugs) and her home was ultra-dust-free because of that. Anyway now the hoovering's been done it looks far, far nicer. Chinese Hammy is coming out for a celebratory "ping" later ...

In response to an American query: what is a council man? It means a man who works for the local council. Not an elected councillor. I found out relatively recently, btw, that Britain has a massive "permanent government" compared to the USA. I didn't realize nearly every high office has to be filled anew when a new president comes in. We have career civil servants doing such jobs. I think people prefer it that way because, just like having a Queen, it gives a sense of continuity whatever goverment's in power. Also the British people would never tolerate supreme judges being nominated by the ruling goverment! That is far too much like corruption to us!!

It's still been raining at a rate of 4cm an hour every day for an hour or so. Aparently some places are swilling with dysentry-laden floodwaters. Children should not go in them. Ukk!

Right I'm gonna have to end my post here. Sorry it's boring but no news!

All the best to y'all ...

Gleds


***

Blog of the day: Our Fairytale Life

Head Shrunk

PSYCHIATRIC ASSESSMENT TODAY. Got there on time (so psyched up, set alarm for 9am for 10:30 appointment). Man! It was exhausting. We only got a half or a third way through the potential ground to be covered. So I'm not bandaged up in str8 jackets yet ... The next appointment can't be till after August as that's holiday season (not as bad as in France. But still; you can rarely ever do anything important in August ... He knows all about my supersonic hearing episodes, handwashing episodes, depression episodes, hair falling out episodes (never even mentioned that here), suicide "episodes" (psychiatrists love the word "episode" - perhaps it's because they can sit back, tuck into the popcorn and lasciviously wait until the next drama unfolds in that patient's life: the next "episode" ...)

Well no other news except I have to post this now as am off home and not coming out again and it's raining. And the council man: I only found out this morning, was coming for "inspection" today. Well good luck to him because far as I was concerned he was coming Monday and I'll tell him that if anyone ever asks and spick and span is one thing but I live in that room. In one room. With no storage elsewhere. So I'm not making it un-lived-in for anyone. I've done the things they wanted. If I do more I know they will only find fault so I'm keeping my actions to the minimum. If my room is not in a perfectly acceptable state ... well I will eat a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ...

Right I gotta go because I'm tired. It is 3pm I've been out all day and I want to see what if any nasty correspondence/other things have been left for me back there.

Cheerio!

Tuesday - Soporific Nite

OK; not quite nite yet. Evening time. Time for slow jazz or the neighbours' wailing reggae:- "Rolly-polly rolly-polly-no!" or have I verse 3 of Obie's Teeth rap nibbling my head? Naomi-Joy says rap 'n' hiphop ain't the same. Will some-1 please help me cos it's not my music. If it ain't "rap" - what da hell is hiphop den?Hey the reggae's perked up somewhat. BTW, wot is that chang-chang-chang every other beat? That seems to mark out reggae from every other music. What is it? I always assumed it was some honkeytonk or stummed guitar or something. But what is it? Please sm1 tell me as I've got it on the brain ...

Talking of things "on the brain"; the advice of Jesus Christ comes to mind: "Moderation in all things." Since when have I ever been capable of doing anything in moderation? That is my biggest failing, I think. And yet paradoxically, conversely, I also suspect it shall be the very thing that, put into action on the right thing at the right time, will finally give me the NRG to drag me up, lift me clear of this morass in which I'm helplessly wallowing, to lift me out and keep me on running until I'm not just clear but well clear and all this jumble, this confusing nightmare of existence isn't mere memory but a vague fadedness, as indistinct as it deserves to be. Lost smithereens of another lifetime will not be worth collecting in the future. Which is why if I'm gonna do it, I'm commencing penning my memoirs right now. So that I know. And my readers shall most definitley know. That the story I tell is real. Then I can let it go and my past can go two places simultaneously where it belongs. The dustbin. And the dump-bins of bookshops worldwide!

I'm behind, both in life and in blogthings. I know I'm meant to fulfill at least two "tags" (why do they call a "tag" a "meme" now? When a "meme" merely means (supposedly) "a unit of cultural information"? Can anybody explain? Because I'm confused by that one. Seriously confused.) Also I'm meant to email at least two people. If anyone else wanted me to get in touch for whatever reason and I don't - please would you remind me? (More to the point, re-remind me!) I am not just human but easily "confused". Even the local council says so - so just bear that in mind! And I do apologize. I can't even do one thing at one sometimes, let alone all these things I'm often meant to do and yet cannot recall even to do as the time comes round ... ho-hum!!

Tune of the Day: Cafe del Mar "Open Your Mind" - especially for Claire who's disappeared in Guatemala.

And here's Obie Trice - Got Some Teeth lyrics (click here too see the video!)

[Obie Trice - talking]
WOO!
Damn ..
There's a lot of bitches up in here tonight boy
I'm about to get drunk
Let's hold down,
Where the bar at?
[*crashing noise*]

[Verse 1]
Okay, okie dokey Obie's here
No more focus, hobo's got a career
And I like your brassiere and there's a party in here
And I'm ready to talk naughty in Veronica's ear
She erotic and it's hot, saw Heineken beer
Put her to the side and invite here to "Cheers"
Pull up a chair, nigga swear no drama
prepare for a player your workin with a MONSTER [*yelling*]
I ain't got time to waste, let's vacate the place
Shut blinds and drapes, grind to your face in a grimy state
Concentrate, you will find that your bound to get
But we found what's fate
We can watch two incredible mates masterbate
Why settle and wait
Let's Escalade to the nearest Super 8
To your rear is on the mirrors and they smearin booty cheeks
C'mon

[Chorus - 2X]
And this is my favorite song
Now sing along when the DJ throws it on
And if I leave here tonight and I fall asleep
And wake up, [*sound of water dropping*], hopefully she got some teeth

[Verse 2]
Okay holy moly derriere
Look around the club booty everywhere
She caught me starin
And my homies darin me to approach Karen
She's model material, but she got a venereal
Tons of baby fathers', baby bottles and cereal
She holla cause I got a lot of denerio
The DJ's playin Obie song on the stereo
And she's impaired and she wants to be headin home
With the real thing not the dildo clone
And I know I don't wanna be headin home
With some double D's full of silicone
Ten hoodrat chicks surround me outside
Found me outside, clown me outside
'Til I popped da trunk and they found me outside
Cussin' at the bitches screamin "off to they rides!"

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
Okay rolie polies everywhere [*horse naying noise*]
Gotta find a slim chick's atmosphere
Obesity's glarin and she got me fearin
She's gonna come over here and try to eat me literal [*crunching noise*]
-ly, like a box of Cheerios
Carrot cupcakes and chocolate Tootsie rolls
I'm outta order cause I gotta big girl disorder
So better cover up that blubber or I'll split [*feet running away noise*]
And I ain't got time to play
Let's investigate another place today
Ladies less in weight and the dress they shape
Dresses pettite, no window drapes

[Obie Trice - talking]
Word to mother, they god damn okra and beans
Got ya Oprah in jeans
Seems to me a little lean cuisine
Wouldn't hurt much, hot don't touch

[Chorus]

[Outro - Obie Trice - talking]
Haha, haha, ha
You gotta have teeth baby
It just wouldn't look right
Look, me big lips ..
You no teeth, it wouldn't work
You know what I'm sayin
Haha ha, yeah
I'm feelin good
Shady Records man
Obie Trice
C'mon

Current Currants

LAUNDRETTA COME STOMPING IN LATE last night complaining about a night of low bookings (at her whorehouse). Then shouted at the top of her voice, "Have they been round yet to put bait down for those mice?" SHE might have mice in her room; I do not. Evilstein, my landlord, was staring pointedly at Mousey's tank during that "room invasion" the other day. But I've had things like old hammy wheels lying about amidst the clutter for ages (since I moved in). I did have two dwarf hammies before here: one Campbells ("condensed hamster") the other Siberian Winter White - who was beautiful. Like a miniaturized furry hippo. The one I've got now is a Chinese "mouster")because he looks at first glance just like a mouse. Only his fur is richer reddy-brown, he has a black dorsal stripe, a stubby little tail (much longer than a normal hamster's but nothing like a mouse's tail), poppy black eyes much more like a woodmouse's than a common house mouse's eyes and white ears (not mushroomy or pink, like a normal mouse). Also he has cheek pouches, though they're barely ever used (not like a tubby "normal" hammy who will pack them to near-exploding-point ...) If they dare poison my pet I swear I will take the evidence to the RSPCA and get all the papers on to it. Maybe ten, fifteen years ago nobody would have been interested in a story like that. But times have changed and today the crime of animal cruelty - even to rodents - is prosecuted. By the way, I've been wondering why he has such massive balls (Mother Hubbs says that's why he doesn't want to run the wheel. Because they will scrape on behind ...) ... well I think it's because he comes from the Mongolian steppes where it is very dry they are to hold in water - just like a camel's humps - for when breeding season arrives and he goes off rambling in search of a lady Chinese Mouse ... Well that could be plausible. By the way: if you click this Midland Hamster club link, my one is "natural" colouring, like the one in the background.

***

Welshcakes: I've still got all the ingredients (down to real butter) but have failed to make them. I ate so many currants in the night (two handfuls every time I woke up. Which was a lotta times.) That I felt veritably ill when I woke up. Also last night was an almighty sleepcatchingup session. So I was "gone" from eleven p.m. until two p.m. this afternoon ...

***

No more news at present. I'm just trying to get myself prepared to go out tomorrow morning for this "shrink interview" on time ...

Welshcakes Council Psychiatric Rain

WOW! WHAT WAS I TRYING TO SAY YESTERDAY in paragraph six? Sometimes when I read back what I've put (only usually after it's been embarrassingly posted up for all to see for a good 24 hours!) I can't help but laugh. (The other thing I could do is cringe.) ... O wow! All those sentences going nowhere! Not that they were meant to fizzle out. I still remember their intended destination. Somehow, in all my dissonant cognition, they never arrived ... Ooer. The diarrhoea's gone though.

I asked Mother Hubbs should I tell the man everything on Wednesday (the shrink, during the psychiatric appraisal) - even if I'm scared it's totally damning and I'll end up on the FBI most wanted list forever afterwards (oops. That's paranoia talking ...) She said yes. And added for good measure: "I think you're bipolar." Oh thanks a lot!

Mother Hubbs was on lithium for bipolar disorder for ten, twenty years. So her home diagnosis is not encouraging. She only stopped lithium when opiates came her way. Opiates have a similar mood-stabilizing effect. This is something that has been observed but not proved by experiments and case studies (what are they going to do? Take a load of nutters and let them shoot up three times a day for three months and see whose symptoms improve? - I mean, it's not the easiest thing to prove; not in a randomized "scientifically" done trial ...

But I thought I might throw that controversial little "fact" into the mix. Even though I have been depressed I've been far, far flatter in mood than I was before the heroin period of life ... ho-hum!

Anyway I digress because Sainsbury's is nearby and I'm off to purchase ingredients (at last) for my famous Welshcakes. I've had a craving for these for ages ... First thing, in case you don't know them: they are not "cakes" in the accepted sense. More like jaffa cakes they're actually very crumbly biscuits ... or something like American cookies but ... well quite crumbly raising dotted sugary cookie-shaped biscuits. That's what I'd call them. I'm off to get the sugar and currants and butter I need.

Went to the council today to get a rent payment card. Because the last one got stolen when I left a bag-o'-shite in an internet caff. And have no payment counterfoils or whatever they're called things left. It said on the original letter the first card came with: if it is lost or stolen go to a certain building that I know quite well. So I get there. First you have to queue to tell a receptionist your problem. Then the receptionist gives you a number. Then you wait at least half an hour and your number is called. Then you repeat everything you told the receptionist, only to be informed you are, contrary to the council's mass mailshots, in the wrong building and should in fact be over three miles away. Ho-hum. I spoke to the correct person on the phone (from collections department. Ooer.) They're sending the right things along asap. They know that if they don't they haven't a hope of getting arrears payments out of me!

What else?

It is raining. Twilight. All lights on. Dismal cars hissing past. To and fro. To and fro. (Where are they going?) Bright lights of the Turkish takeaways ... Makes me wanna get Chinese but no! Proper food that has to be cooked is all I am purchasing. I have a kind of Sainsbury's craving ... OK gotta go before the cheese counter shuts. See yer laters

Mysterious Ways

EIGHT A.M. IS APPROACHING. So I'm "posting" this in my A4 notebook first.

Just above this entry are the last lines of a "my landlord's not chucking me out any more" one from nearly a week previously, which concluded:

Still with a home. Whoever prayed for me, it worked. Thanks to you. But thanks most of all to God Almighty. Wahey!!

Which statement was, of course, with hindsight, starting to look startlingly premature at one point.

But God works in Mysterious Ways. And you cannot lose faith in him just because you don't get something you want or think you ned. Even if that thing seems as essential as a home.

Having said all that, perhaps I should take you back to my time living with Lona (this will be the next episode of my Life Story when finally I get round to posting it). Lona is better known here perhaps as NutNut. She took me in off the street - almost (well: almost, because circumstances are complicated) and I stayed in her home for over two years. While I was there I picked up the habit of reading the Bible. This she seemed furiously opposed to (even though she did, on occasion, read her white confirmation-style Bible herself). Perhaps she felt it somehow hypocritical of a street junkie to be doing that. But there was no hypocrisy in my actions. Hypocrasy is not practising what you preach. Seeing as I wasn't preaching to anyone, neither was I a practising, praying or churchgoing Christian there could be no hypocrisy. I was merely perusing an interesting book. I still don't go to church: which church to go to. And infrequently pray. So how can reading the Bible be so very wrong? Sometimes I couldn't help but wonder why she was influenced by dark forces. Strange powers were circling all around us those days. I had remarkably odd dreams (e.g. of horned Egyptian god-like devil skulls staring at me) and frequently woke up screaming in those days. Which is something I rarely do now. Though I can shock myself even in my sleep by making a most resolute (and sinister-sounding humming in my throat when I try to talk or scream ... But as I say; that was happening every day at her's. It's really infrequent these days ...

Saw Valium Marilyn this afternoon. Have made appointment to go see Posh and Becks on her cable telly 8pm Tuesday night. Mother Hubbs was upset with me bc I arrived late for Sunday lunch but I couldn't help it. It has been a hot and beautiful day ...


I've got those two tunes (well, one tune - "Don't Want You Back/F--- U Right Back" by Eamon and Frankie going round in my head. Click on their pink names and you'll be able to see both their videos.

Also don't forget my Obie Trice hiphop comedy about false teeth. I didn't rate it the best rap vid of all time for nothing!! - STOP PRESS: if you tried it b4 and got some Jesus divert don't worry. Click the link just above; go to the top screen. That one plays.

***

I got blinkin' diarrhoea all day thanks to that RAW hamburger I munched into yesterday. I was so hungry/greedy even once I did know it was undercooked in the middle I couldn't help nibbling the better-cooked outsides ... And now the squits ... akk!

STOP PRESS OBIE TRICE IS WORKING NOW. SO IF YOU WANNA WATCH MY FALSE TEETH HIPHOP VIDEO CLICK HERE

Agatha Christie Afternoon

HI PEOPLE! I HAD A NICE SLEEP THIS AFTERNOON. Strangely, all this threat of homelessness and I've snapped totally out of the depression that had been dogging me for several weeks (it always comes in pretty indistinct waves, like recurrent U shapes on a graph, except it is sometimes possible to have an aparently good day (or better day) only to plunge back down...) On Tuesday when I got severe hastle off the Evilstein landlord I went straight to Mother Hubbs's with a suitcase full of papers all bubbly and hyper. But I quietened down and told her, "You know what, any moment now I'm going to flip," and I did flip out, but it was like the anxiety sensors in my brain had all been disconnected (OK I'd had a few drinks but drink is no cure for anxiety as we all know) ... no this was something else. My head turned a treble backwards sommersault and up up! Into Lalaland!! Strawberry Fields Verruca land! Yes I was indeed confused but I didn't want not to be confused. I knew the reality was too terrible to contemplate... does this make any sense at all? Like when I turned up (eventually) at the council's offices the woman treated me like I was retarded. I wasn't "hamming it up" either; I was trying to appear as lucid as I could but it just didn't work. My problem has been that even before I was on drugs people have accused me of being "stoned" when I was down and "high" when I was up. So what can I do? I can never win. Also my moods, I suppose I have to admit, do swing up and down a bit more than the average person's. Most of my friends say antidepressants "don't really do anything" ... well they do to me! I've had roaring highs off of them and been accused of being "hypomanic". Fortunately these periods usually stabled off within a week or so and I dutifully hid them from doctors to avoid the label "bipolar" and the dreaded lithium. I would hate to be on lithium. It is a toxic metal and aparently makes you feel all heavy and lifeless. On a mental flatline. Depressives who take it (as opposed to manic depressives) don't tend to complain about that factor so much, because, I'd suppose, if anything it is lifting them ... Anyway even if I were possibly "manic" depressive it would most definitely be the mildest type. I've never gone shopping naked in Selfridges dishing out million pound cheques to the homeless or doing other things the truly manic do. But ... oh I don't know. I have a psychiatric assessment next Wednesday but I'm not volunteering any info. I do want to complain about all the months I was paranoid and hearing through the walls (now I cannot hear through the walls, which suggests I was "tripping" the entire time ...) and will say to him what planet was my old drugs worker on, to let me come in in that state (I was in abject disarray I can tell you) and not do anything! That makes me so angry!!

Agatha Christie's book is "dreadfully good" as one of her society characters might pronounce. People say her plots are "creaking" and the dialogue "wooden" sometimes. No way! She captures the speech of a certain section of society - ie the upper and upper-middle classes of England ... really from the period between the wars. When At Bertrams Hotel came out in 1965 it was already a blast from the past then. That was the point of it; that was Christie's very appeal.

The "murder" is merely a disappearance and I'm half way through. There's been a great train robbery but Miss Marple isn't up to much yet ... I'll let you know how I get on. O! Did you know I did once read a Christie and guess who done it and how! (I'm sorry but merely picking the correct character's name blindfold with a pin, as it were, does not constitute solving the mystery!) But this one book I did guess howdunnit and kept thinking come on! Come on! Can't you see it. Usually I get it totally wrong. And have now learned not even to speculate. I just let the story roll out and at the end think: oh, of course! Yeah, like I was gonna guess it all along. Yeah, right ...

Okay dokey... Obie's here. Has nobody clicked my Obie Trice link? Come on!! It is fantastic!

***

PS Blog of the day: James's New Life in Beijing: http://shuanglong.blogspot.com - he's off to Tibet now. As I told him, Tibet and Burma are the two places I've most wanted to see in the entire world ... strangely they are linked ("Tibeto-Burman languages for one thing. Many of the Burmese, Lao and Thai hilltribes supposedly originate from Tibet too...) Give it a click. Well worth the look ...

***

This is what "Madonna" claims to be her newest song:

I only rumbled "her" by visiting her oldest posts and realizing what an obvious spoof it was back then. Which has grown into some sad person's at times quite convincing fake of a famous person's website. Even before I found the blog's glaringly spoofy beginning I had my suspicions. E.g. "she" claimed to have "just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" ... well anyone who knows about Harry Potter will realize that not even Madonna is allowed an advanced preview copy. The book was printed under armed guard. The MS American edition was so closely guarded the exec who carried it over sat on it all the way on a first class London to New York flight ... She says she had trouble rehearsing that Life Earth /whatever it was called concert with a children's choir "because they were singing too loud, I had to keep telling them to calm down; people wanted to hear me, not them" ... but sound levels: that is a sound engineer's job, when sound is electronically amplified it's a simple task to get the mix right. And certainly not the choir's problem for "singing too loud" come on!! Blahblah... And so on and so on! ...And these poor people who comment every day in their droves feel some sparkle's come into their lives because Madonna herself is reading their very words. No! It is a sad unemployed balding former milkman in South London, let me tell you!

I've been working on some more tracks for my new album. This one song in particular is looking very promising. Right now I'm calling it "Dance Dance Dance." I'm having it remixed now. I'll test it out at some clubs and see what the reaction is. You never know...It could end up on the new album! [strangely it won't. because madonna didn't write it.] Here are the lyrics...


See which flavor you like and I’ll have it for you
Come on in to my store, I’ve got candy galore
Dont pretend you’re not hungry, I’ve seen it before
I’ve got turkish delight baby and so much more

Get up out of your seat (your seat)
Come on up to the dance floor
Ive got something so sweet (so sweet)
Come on up to the front door
I need plenty of heat (heat)
Form a special connection
Just start moving your feet (your feet)
Move on over to me

I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy shop (candy shop)
Everything (everything)
That I got (that I got)
I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy store (candy store)
Lollipop (lollipop)
Have some more (have some more)

My sugar is raw
Sticky and Sweet
Dance Dance Dance

All the suckers are not all we sell in the store
Chocolate kisses so good
you’ll be beggin for more
Dont pretend you’re not hungry
Ive got plenty to eat
Come on in to my store
cause my sugar is sweet!

Get up out of your seat (your seat)
Come on up to the dance floor
Ive got something so sweet (so sweet)
Come on up to the front door
I need plenty of heat (heat)
Form a special connection
Just start moving your feet (your feet)
Move on over to me

I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy shop (candy shop)
Everything (everything)
That I got (that I got)
I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy store (candy store)
Lollipop (lollipop)
Have some more (have some more)

See which flavor you like and I’ll have it for you
Come on in to my store, I’ve got candy galore
Dont pretend you’re not hungry, I’ve seen it before
I’ve got turkish delight baby and so much more

Get up out of your seat (your seat)
Come on up to the dance floor
Ive got something so sweet (so sweet)
Come on up to the front door
I need plenty of heat (heat)
Form a special connection
Just start moving your feet (your feet)
Move on over to me

I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy shop (candy shop)
Everything (everything)
That I got (that I got)
I’ll be your one stop (one stop)
Candy store (candy store)
Lollipop (lollipop)
Have some more (have some more)

Church of the Poison Mind

THE LOCAL CHURCH HAS JUST TRIED TO KILL ME, I think. As I strolled past, cyder in hand, I got pulled into their barbecue: "but I've got to go, I've gotta be home in five minutes!" I protested. "This will only take one minute," the man informed me. Gestured to their barbecue. "All free. Take some!" So I had a beefburger. In a bap. With tomato ketchup. Took to munching it on the way back and .. ukk!! Inside was sloppy and raw. And cold. Quite disgusting. I hope I do not get food poisoning from this. "Hygeine", in fact, was the very reason I did not choose anything from their chicken drumstick display. Then I thought back... realized they'd cooked the chicken before the burgers (I'd seen them do it as I passed by earlier) ... so hey-hum. The worst of both worlds. Raw beefburger cooked atop an already chicken-salmonella'd griddle!!

Click here and listen to this. My all time favourite hiphop track.
It is by Obi Trice - "Got Some Teeth" - yeah man. Love dem groovy flavas ...

And the track inspiring this title? By Culture Club from 1983 - click here to view ...

***

SAINSBURY'S ARE NOW DOING "VALUE" fresh mushroom tortelloni: £1.50 for 600g. So I got this and Red Leicester cheese for grating atop. And white cyder and lemonade to wash it down. Those Welshcakes are going to have to wait; I want to know they're going to come out properly or making them will be a waste of time. As I said, I don't have sugar in my kitchen (Matran once got really annoyed when I refused him a "loan" of sugar, disbelieving that anyone could not have it. Why would I? I never drink hot drinks now and don't do baking. So why would I need sugar? Also when I did used to buy it to put in my tea I was using nearly a kilo every week or two which I think is ridiculous (I was drinking a lot of tea and coffee ...)

OK wish me luck I'm off to cook pasta.

BTW international question: what cheese do people eat in North America? I've never in my life come across American cheese ... and seem to recall just once, in a totally isolated incident, coming across Canadian "cheddar" ... what cheeses do you have over there? Does America and Canada really do cheese? If so what is it like and what is it called? I'm fascinated to know ...

London Zoo

IT'S ALL HAPPENING TONIGHT. ALL FORMS OF WILDLIFE ARE OUTSIDE!! About two mins walk up the road, standing at her normal corner (a disused Bank of Cyprus) is a girl in a super-spangly pink dress. The kinda thing you'd expect the Supremes to be wearing ... she paces to and fro with her backside sticking out in a way only women can do. (I once tried to do an impression of her (whoever she is) and failed miserably. Even Laundretta asked me about her once ("do you know who that is on that corner ... wow!") Someone ought to tell her round here is for the skrag end of the sex industry. Nobody dresses up for it. You can get £5 anal (if you wanted) and went out at the right time. Actually, Hasty, who wrote that Bang Bang post I pasted up the other day I bumped into late one night about a year and a half ago. "Aw, I'm alright now. I just done one of me regulars," she croaked. To be honest, if I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought she'd just knocked off of a late-night cleaning job. For that's what she was dressed as. An off-duty cleaner (and no it wasn't some bizarre sort of fetish gear.)

Just now a crackhead beggar was having a row with an Imam. His ginger-bearded western apprentice tagged on smiling succinctly as he went, Koran in hand ...

What can I say? These streets are like a zooo sometimes ...

What Happened Next

I AM IN A CYBERCAFF. Everytime somebody's phone near me rings, the opening bars of La Isla Bonita come shrilling out. I am not homeless yet. (Nearly wrote "hopeless" there by accident. If that "slip" ain't fraudian, what is?)

As I was trying to say yesterday. - O man! La Isla Bonita again!! - As I was trying to say. But as usual probably got distracted before time for the point came before me ... Basically I had to go to the council offices about being "chucked out" and "confused" though that latter was the Vietnamese reception officer's assessment. Which was spot on bc I was exceedingly confused and still am. People lying, manipulating. Trying manoevres on. Etc. That is the truth: an ugly situation. Anyway Council Reprimander Guy arranged to come pointedly in the afternoon. "You must make room shipshape by then," he repeated several times. ("Shipshape" was my word. He adopted it off me.) OK OK I will. Then ... well I said yesterday. You gonna turn up three hours early when you told me to chuck mosta my stuff out? You gonna find rubbish piled by my door! Where's the surprise.

Anyway, now it just looks like a room with lots of books in one corner, some suitcases lying on a packing trunk under the sash window.... hammy hidden on cupboard by cooker (that cupboard is the real "fire hazard" ... being as heat rises and it is practically on top of the hotplates. Evilstein saw Hammy's tank. Was quite pointedly staring at it. Full of (clean) woodshavings. With various obviously nibbled toilet tubes and a Marlboro Menthols packet with a hole chewed right through the middle. Hammy has never been mentioned so I assume is allowed to stay. He is going for a celebration ping all over the newly cleared carpets this evening.

And that is that. I am ponderously reading (bc I can never stick with anything. Harrold Robbins is out the window.) Agatha Christie's At Bertram's Hotel (might as well have titled it Murder At Clardiges - woulda given their business the same boost the Orient Express Venic Simplon got from the book of similar name. Did you know the Orient Express used to run all the way from London to a boat. Then get on another train at Calais and go all the way to Turkey? Does anyone know whether it is running thru the Channel Tunnel nowadays? I hope so. Even EastEnders has been on the Orient Express. Angie drunkenly shot her mouth off and Den overheard. (This was in about 1985.) ... Slept for a great tranche of the afternoon as was tired. Dreaming of Harry Potter (ukk! Never read one. Did try. Never got past page one. I used to love "fantasy" aged ten. Now I have real troubles with it. Lord of the Rings confounded me with a description of a dragon (firework) passing overhead with "a roar like an express train" - what express precisely? The 9:27 to Mordor ... come on JRR!

Right gotta go pee. Hope this statement doesn't result in pervy ads to my top right ...

***

WHY AM I SO HUNGRY? I've been munching on bread rolls with brie. The brie I accidentally left out while I slept so it went horrible and sloppy (I am English; not French!). Once while I was in France we had this horribly sloppy French cheese that was just like white horses' diarrhoea. I swear you could taste the rancid chewed up grass in that slop. And man! It stank! Ukk. How can people eat something like that. Also there was a mental hospital nearby from where this man used to go out dressed as a red Indian squaw. And the truks on the roads were enormous! The size of American trains almost (actually, maybe bigger). Also to make an emergency call from a phone kiosk you had to insert 10F (this was well before the days of Euros!) - even though it did spit it out again after I was utterly disgusted by this. What? So muggers, rapists, etc. can just make sure their victims don't have 10F left on them? What then. I was truly outraged by an international sense of injustice. Just thought I'd leave those "thoughts" with you.

If anyone has pertinent complaints or observations about Britain (not stupid stuff like Iraq, please! We all hate Tony Blair for that.) I would love to hear 'em ...

PS Tomorrow I'm going to get currants and sugar (already have the white self-raising flour and an egg) to make Welshcakes ... as in Welshcakes Limoncello, yes ...

Council of the Damned

THE EEJUT COUNCIL MAN HAD THE CHEEK TO "SURPRISE" VISIT at 10:00 this morning then have a go at me for having left things all over the floor as I was clearing up. He told my landlord to throw away the one working light I have (a kind of bedside lampstand only with no shade) as it was a "fire risk". There was a real hilarity moment when he appeared to believe I kept my clothes in the fridge. The fridge and cupboard under the sink have identical-looking doors. But aparently I am not allowed to keep dirty (clothes) washing under the sink. Why? And so what if I did want to keep my clothes in the fridge? What on earth is wrong with that? I know it's a bit weird: but what is wrong with it? Anyway he said blah blah you must remove stuff. Dr Butterstein (the less evil landlord) took Polaroids of the binbags, scattered clothes, dropped newspapers, umbrellas and rugs that were piled up by the door waiting to go - go out in the trash. I don't know what "evidence" this is. It was obviously rubbish waiting to go out. Rubbish has got mixed in with my stuff by my landlord himself when he repainted the room he just bundled all he could find in black bags where it has stayed for months on end. Whenever I open one, of course little bits go flying everywhere. We no longer have a vacuum cleaner as Laundretta kicked it down the stairs in a drunken "episode" some months ago. Also the council man told me to dispose of my rugs. Why should I? I've just put them down where they belong (when he "surprised" me they were blocking the doorway because they'd just been brushed off out the upstairs window. That's what you get for turning up unnanounced.) The council here are so inept I'm astonished the guy could make it here once in one day, let alone the promised twice. Come to think of it I'm meant to be at home waiting on him. But my room is clean to my own satisfaction (considering all factors) and to be honest I feel like sticking two fingers up at the lot of them. "This is serious. You could end up on the street." He keeps saying. I always knew years ago the streets were where I would end up and I've been there before. Sometimes you can read a situation and this one is all conspired against me. E.g. Butterstein had the gall to lie to the council man's face saying he had been to me "every day all week" to tell me what to do. No he hasn't. I've had mixed messages and no message (remember they wouldn't even give me something in writing?) ... and so it goes on. I said very little this morning. When you know you're not being listened to it makes sense to save breath. Righto I'm getting another drink and going back. I will let you know what goes "down" ...

***

Here's 2 comments and my reply to them. They highlight dr evilstein's plotting scheme:-

Evil Spock said...
Evil Spock used to keep clean boxers in ziplock bags in the freezer.

Nothing like putting on cold crisp boxers in the summertime!

19 July 2007 16:15


The Discovering Alcoholic said...
Be careful Gled- as a project manager in the past I often let pictures paint the story I wanted people to see. They are setting you up for the boot.

Turn the tables on them. Take pictures of them when they come again and take notes of the replies they give to your questions. Have a friendly witness if possible.

19 July 2007 16:43


gledwood said...
spock: i was going to mention knickers/undies in freezer fettish but opted out: too much confusion already!

discovering: i know evilstein is manipulating me. council man is v much into v superficial appearances i.e. clean lines etc. evilstein is trying to get me to empty out drawers etc & pile up bags in middle of floor with boxes of books. this will make room look more cluttered and achieve evilstein's purpose - that I am still "scruffy" even after "clearing up" ... i am not taken in by evilstein's scheme at all!!
19 July 2007 17:08

(Evilstein is my landlord repairman. Butterstein is the ultimate bossman. I used to call him Betterstein bc I thought he was "better" than Evilstein. But know I know they're both just as slippery as each other. So Butterstein is the name that will "stick" (if that is not utter mixedmetaphorical contradiction in terms)... so to speak ...

Bang! Behind the Door

I DID NOT WRITE THIS!
Long story, but it is by an acquaintance, who left it lying literally in the street. (A she. I don't know that most blokes would be so expressive.) I'm not in touch with her any more. Don't know what happened to her. So from one junkie to another; this is my tribute:

BANG! DID YOU HEAR THAT? Bang! Bang! There it is again. I can't believe it. Another day over. - can you believe it? Bang. Bang. Bang. That's it. Behind the doors for another night. Nothing but my feelings and these four walls. Just me sitting in here, thinking about the outside. The bangs revolve around the wing, from everybody's cells as they lock up. Bang. Bang. Bang. That's everyone locked up now. Now the bangs of the prisoners. Pain. Pain. That is a strong word in prison, because we all feel the pain. Yes, the pain of being away from families, kids. The pain of detoxing. The pain of having your freedom taken away from you - such a pain. Just like a punch in the face. Or a knife in the back. I feel scared. Do you?

How do you feel?

Why do I feel scared? I feel scared because I might get a letter through my door saying your Dad is hurt. Your brother is in prison. Your freind is dead. Your boyfriend has left you. That's why I'm scared. It's because I can't do anything, my hands are tied. I'm behind the door on my own. It might sound mad but I can't wait to hear that Bang Bang again. The Bang Bang to let me know that I can leave my cell. I can go to education. I can just get out. I can be free.

By Hasty,
11th July 2004.

Strawberry Fields: This Is For Real

LIFE AIN'T NO BOWL OF CHERRIES. NOR OF STRAWBERRIES, NEITHER!

I'm well aware of that.
But I was right in quoting the Beatles in that confusional post below.

Because I've just seen a man at the Council and it's true: nothing was real.

He's coming here tomorrow to see the state of this "house of horrors" I live in and witness for himself my lockless door. So the latest is: I'm not getting chucked out. I just need to keep the place tidy. A main reason it was untidy was: no security. Far safer to confuse your stuff in with junk than to live in a house with doors swinging open between front door and bedroom and a neatly arrayed selection of all that's dear to me and a message to the thieves: here it is; take your pick!

So that's the latest. The man is due round tomorrow afternoon.

And then, at long last, this whole soap-opera of a situation might finally be put to bed.

***

THIS IS A COMMENT I GOT EARLIER ON:

Anonymous said...
um yea no offense but i dont even understand what the hell you're talking about.

18 July 2007 15:08

AND THIS IS MY REPLY:
I hope this makes the situation in clear for anyone coming in midway through (well: let's hope at the end of) the saga ...


Gledwood said...
i don't blame you
i've not known what was going on half the time
basically my entire house is a tip
my room was scruffy as well
i had enough stuff for an apartment, at one point, in one room
i've been chucking it out systematically
i don't get on with my neighbours (ie housemates but they don't share in rent or anything so neighbour is the best term)
they complained about me, blaming all the bad state of the house on me
a man from the local council, who provide this accommodation via a private landlord (it is a "bed & breakfast hostel") ... is coming tomorrow to see the house
and to see that e.g. i get a proper, operational lock put on my door etc
THAT is the soap opera

18 July 2007 16:27

Gledwood said...
ps: the beatles reference (ie "nothing is real") was for 2 reasons: 1 it felt so utterly surreal and 2 i knew i have not been getting the whole story; ie being told first we are all out, we all must obtain alternative accommodation from the council then only me and laundretta (the neighbour i don't get on with) are out, then only seemingly i am out (to be honest i don't have a clue about laundretta but she's so vocal i'm sure the whole world would know if she was out on her ear) ... landlords refused to put anything in writing ... and as per usual different people and departments know, don't know, say and have failed to communicate different things so it was not until today that the situation felt anywhere near to becoming resolved ...
and that's as much as i know so far 18 July 2007 16:35

***

OK KIDS, WANNA SEE "STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOR EVER"?

Click here for the original Beatles' (v home-made-looking) cinecam promo video.

Click here for Candyflip's 1990s remake.

and

Click here for a 1960s possibly Beatles-voiced cartoon that I've only seen the beginning of, but I think it gets quite psychedelic ...

Root Canal Housing Teddy

HOUSING IN DISARRAY. Evilstein pushed my door at 8.30 a.m. yesterday (no need to knock; the door swings in - as I said, no lock, no bolt, no catch even) ... then he started yelling "You were meant to be at the council yesterday. You are on the line!! On the line!! Of all your stuff out!! Out!! On the street!!"

Anyway then he went. I confronted him outside and asked for this in writing. No can do (no reason; though Mother Hubbs, I think put her finger on it when she speculated that the guy cannot read. Anyway then I went to his manager's office and demanded this in writing. This they would not do. I moved my "important papers" (well some of them) to Mother Hubbs's garden shed.

Then in the afternoon I went to the council. The Vietnamese-looking lady who "assisted" me looked at me like I was a space alien. Kept telling people on the phone I was "vulnerable" and "confused-looking" ...

Well all I can do is quote two songs:

1: ".... strawberry fields ... nothing is real ..."

2: "Don't worry be happy."

Is that confused?

No. The world is confused. I am not.

Cheerio!

Hot & Sticky Day

A HOT & STICKY DAY GASPS SWELTERINGLY TO ITS END. It is humid! And who are these people in Australia saying it's so dry you've literally got static charges crackling off idle household appliances? That is unreal, man! I would gladly swop a quotient of our moisture for your dry. Just don't let the mouse spiders and funnel webs scuttle over during the exchange ...

I was just thinking back in time ... My friend Marilyn was reminiscing earlier about the old butler sinks we used to get in every kitchen and how, when her old kitchen was modernized and the sink ripped out, the builders gave her first whack at it with the mighty great mallet of destruction! She bashed it with such relish, so she said. So she's horrified to see such sinks coming back into yuppie fashion!! I was telling her how I recall standing up in one of those sinks in my grandparents' old kitchen in Windsor utterly starkers and unashamed. And also young enough to be batheing in a kitchen sink in the first place! How old was I, I wonder..? Now Marilyn says that not very far up the main road there's one of those sinks on sale, in a yuppie antique fixtures shop, for £1,200!

Thinking back to childhood reminds me of the great drought of 1976. That is the only true extended spell of hot, dry weather I have gone through in my life - when summer was hot enough truly to dry out the climate into Mediterranean or California-like conditions. I was only four! I still remember walking with my Mum and Dad through the blackened, crackling, charred, still-smouldering remnants of a heath-fire and how radiantly hot the ashy, blackened logs still were, days later ...

The waters of our local reservoir, which was called Lady Bower, receded so very much that the church tower and rooves of the poor village that had been sacrificed for this manmade lake breathed fresh air for the first time in many years. And legend has it that the churchbells even rang ... Come to think of it - a submerged village, undemolished, wouldn't that make for the best diving..?? I've done scuba diving in my youth and let me tell you it is truly surreal. Nearest thing you'll ever get in this lifetime to actual human flight. Amazing. But let me tell you something about wet-suits. Yes they work. Wonderfully. The bit they don't tell you though is how slowly that icy water trickles into your every part and cavity! Gradually, freezingly. It will not be rushed. Then amazingly - with precisely the same principle as a feathery quilt on a cold night - one's own body heat brings it to a comfortable room temperature.

I wonder why it is that the British subaqua fits a Dungeons and Dragons colour scheme of greeny greys and browns and duns. Whereas an old friend of mine from Barbados said literally you stick your head under the water on the Carribbean sea-side and a rainbow of life is moving before your eyes in every direction! Does ultraviolet light breed all that colour? I'm not an evolutionist I believe God created everything, but still I don't understand why the tropics are so much more colourful than this temperate land of mine ...

Well, it is approaching 10:30 pm. The "cool of the day" is upon us - about as cool as it will get. I hear an aeroplane coming in to land; another reminder of Windsor, which is right under the flightpath of London's main international airport. Her Majesty the Queen must get that all the time when "one" is in residence at Windsor Castle - in my view that is her most amazing home.

I was shocked to see in the Sunday Mirror Carol Malone or some similar dimwit columnist actually standing up for flash snapper Annie Liebowitz and slanging into the Queen! I'm sorry but no-one but no-one tells our Queen to take off her crown and gets away with it. Perish the very idea!

And on that thought I'll love yer and leave yer.

Still with a home. Whoever prayed for me. it worked. Thanks to you.

But thanks most of all to God Almighty.

Wahey!!

***

I have the lyrics to T'pau's 1987 hit single China in Your Hand going round and round and round my head!

These are them, borrowed from http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricst/tpau.html
and, I might add, totally unaltered by me!

If you want to see the video/hear the song, click here and my music blog will provide all ...

It was a theme she had
On a scheme he had
Told in a foreign land

To take life on earth
To the second birth
And the man was in command

It was a flight on the wings
Of a young girl's dreams
That flew too far away!

Don't push too far
Your dreams are china in your hand
Don't wish too hard
Because they may come true
And you can't help them
You don't know what you might
Have set upon yourself

China in your hand

Come from greed
Never born of the seed
Took life from a barren land
Oh! Eyes wide
Like a child in the form of man
A prophecy for a fantasy
A castle in his mind!

Don't push too far
Your dreams are china in your hand
Don't wish too hard
Because they may come true
And you can't help them
You don't know what you might
Have set upon yourself

China in your hand
In your hand, your hand

Don't push too far
Your dreams are china in your hand
Don't wish too hard
Because they may come true
And you can't help them
You don't know what you might
Have set upon yourself
You shouldn't push too hard, no no
Don't push too far
Your dreams are china in your hand
Don't wish too hard
Because they may come true
And you can't help them
You don't know what you might
Have set upon yourself

OK I tinkered with the punctuation a little bit. I hate missing apostrophe's (or one's in the wrong places). And I couldnt resist adding a couple of exclamation marks!!

Laundretta Chucked Out Too?

LAUNDRETTA JUST ASKED ME WHETHER OR NOT WE'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO BE STAYING, OR WHETHER WE GO. Because Dr Evilstein telephoned her when she was at her mother's on Friday informing her "out, out, out!" now she says it's not "out out out!" and I'm reassured at least that it's not just me who's somewhat confused about it all. She said "I need to know, as I need to tell Dr Bentos (her worker). I said to her "don't worry about it; if we were all getting chucked out today, I'm sure we'd all know about it."

As the saying goes: NO NEWS is (usually) GOOD NEWS ..!

PS While I was talking to her I said: "How many people use this upstairs bathroom."
Quickly she responded ... "Well three as my boyfriend doesn't officially live here."
"Okay then why do you always blame me for the mess in there?"
Because my room has been so messy, it transpired.
"Well I'm telling you it is not me, it never has been me leaving a disgusting mess in there. It has to be the guy downstairs. The guy whose ceiling you keep stomp-stomp-stomping all over."
That set her off. She "protested far too much" about how her boards are loose, how the sound cannot help but resinate through the roof.
"Have you ever fallen out with him?" I asked.
No. There is no "beef" between them whatsoever, she claims.
"Well don't you want to come down with me right now and confront him? Because it's disgusting what he's doing (pissing all over the toilet seat and just leaving it, etc) and it's quite obviously deliberate."
This she refused (rather strangely if you consider how convinced she's supposed to be that all is down to me).
"Well if you ever want to confront him, come with me and we will speak to him together," I said. (Speak? Yell, more like. He is disgusting.)
So that's what transpired at my house today ...

***

To find out in detail what is going to happen in World War III, click here.

***

Come here for a funky blog: Crib Ceiling

Snoozy Sunday

I SLEPT FOR A GREAT DEAL OF THE AFTERNOON. Found this Michael Jackson book from 1984. It is so funny. It details just about every aspect of his life that year. In fact all it leaves out seems to be when he used the bathroom and whether it was number ones, twos or whatever... It's called something like Mark Bego: A Year With The Thriller... or something crappy like that.

Roll on tomorrow morning. I want to find out what is supposed to be happening then. Nobody seems to know or care and I honestly, as I said, cannot remember who said what. Dreadful, I know. But sadly true.

Have a look at this "village fete" story from This Marks The Spot.

It is classic!

A grandmother entered her cake into a contest at a fete.
Jenny Brown, 62, entered her Victoria Sponge into the competition and was initially pleased to have come second.

But she was left shocked when a friend revealed to her that she was the only person to take part.

The contest was organised by the Wimblington Sports Committee and judges marked down the cake because it had indentations from a wire rack.

Ms Brown said: "My friend came over to me at the fete and said I had come second.

"I asked her how many more entries there had been, but she just started laughing and said I was the only one.

"I definitely wasn't annoyed about it."

Julie Dent, from the Wimblington Sports Committee, said: "The judges had an expectation and I suppose they didn't feel as though it qualified for first place.

Ms brown had also entered another event previously. "About 11 years ago I entered a show with some fruit scones. I was the only entrant but I came third."

Cloudburst

CLOUDBURST!
It's now raining so hard the streets have gone white where a sheen of water jumps up back to the sky with each new pitterpatter ... it is madness. The air has nearly gone white... buses, cars, stopping. Most vehicles have lights on now. (Why do they do that? Do headlights somehow dry out the rain?) ... I've done a tiny bit of bloghopping and found this one about music from Jesus's time: http://theancientstar-song.blogspot.com/ - have a look and see if you like it.

I'm off to see Mother Hubbs now. Maybe she can be a cornerstone of sanity in the wild seas of my existence. Or something like that. See ya later!

Cold Droplets Night

EITHER THERE'S SEAGULLS CIRCLING THE DARK NIGHT SKY doing cold diarrhoea drops on my head or it's raining. Raining after all this! It was such a hot day today. Sweatingly hot... My head does not feel all right. I feel utterly fatigued and knackered. My head is swimming; but not through any chemical means. I am totally sober apart from two sips of white cyder. The type of rain that was falling is the type that drops out of the sky after a humid day. Not proper rain that comes in showers, merely isolated drops of water when the humidity level goes rocketing up. It was extremely humid today; everyone was complaining about it. It wasn't in fact that "hot" at all, as whenever the breeze blew, that was pretty cool. Anyway blah blah blah I'm still here. If I didn't have such a passionately strong conviction that I am on the brink of something better in life I would kill myself right now (only the trains have mostly stopped running at 1am so it would have to wait until tomorrow anyhow and then knowing my luck we'd have all-day Sunday engineering work on the track ...) Hokay dokey. I'm so tired, seriously. I've got to go back to bed now. Been in bed all evening (what's to get up for?) Massive chuck-out session of old stuff is on the cards for tomorrow. OK; L8Rs..........

***

Blogs of the day:
http://articlesofhealth.blogspot.com
Fascinating report on toxic effects of alkalinity on body tissues.

http://abundantcuriosities.blogspot.com - this is an arty crafty reminiscencing blog. The photo on today's top post of some kids holding baby animals is so cute I nearly cried

To Go or Not to Go

To go or not to go... that is the question.
The "landlord" (Dr Evilstein) I talk about is technically "chief workman" of the multiproperty franchise they have going across this area. And I am not a tenant, so I have no tenant's rights. I'm merely a "licencee" which means I'm granted licence to stay a night at a time on a 24-hour basis, renewed 21-nightly. So if they want to get rid of me or anyone else they most certainly have the legal right.
The "boss man" who I call Dr Betterstein because he's considerably brighter and more amenable to sense than Dr Evilstein did come and talk to me at some point. All I know is I'm meant to speak to someone on Monday, I think. This is all a bit hazy as my reaction was to hit the drink etc so hard that most of yesterday's recollection lies in tatters. I totally lost it and kept losing my possessions on the street. At one point a working girl I know, who is very nice, came up and knocked on my door with my address book. She'd found it in the phone box from where I'd called the council and knew it was mine from the methadone labels. Nearly all of what who said to whom about what has gone. Of course I know I'm meant to be getting chucked out, but seriously cannot remember the last of it. I do know that something's meant to be happening on Monday, so I'm arranging my stuff to go.

Considering that my ancestors trekked across Europe during an ice-age staving off wooly mammoths with sharpened sticks and shivering in torn animal skins in icy caves all winter I don't see how surviving in modern day London without a fixed address should be a problem. I have done it before. If my old place (a 1000 square foot industrial unit) is still open then I'm going there. 1000 sq foot is half the size of Paris Hilton's Los Angeles apartment and in a way I was happier there than crammed into one room. The downside there was no electricity and it got really expensive on candles; I was spending about £1 a day just on lighting. Also it is freezing cold. So cold that even in may my bedside drink was ice-cold by morning - as if it'd just come out of the fridge. But the cold is supposedly good for you. Did you know the shivering uses up excess calories? And breathing cold air at night works wonders for respiratory conditions - soldiers wounded in World Wars I and II did far better in tents than when transferred to the built-up "posh" hospitals... My old place is, however, running alive with rats. But i don't mind that as much as I mind matran and laundretta. I just hope I can still get back in. Otherwise the girl who came yesterday said she knows a couple of good places (where you do not have to share with others: I'm not living in a crackhouse. I'm too old for all that.)

Well let's see what happens on Monday. I thought I'd be alright ... I can't explain how.

And remember what it says in the Bible: "Consider the lillies of the field. They neither sow nor reap and yet Solomon in all his glory was never arrayed so fine". People pay lip service to those words but if you can't live by them what does that say?

Whatever happens, I will still be able to post as I'm doing so from the cafe at the end of my possibly soon-to-be-old road. So none of the important things will change.

As they say: when you're down, the only way is up....

...so...

Onwards and upwards!

***

PS I'm doing no fewer than three "memes"
Meeyauw's Music Meme
Daniel Thompson (Microtonal Composer Supreme)'s Meme
and
Zhu's Meme (which I kind of tagged myself for. I've not forogtten, Zhu)
so please give me a day or two to comply...
The musical one I'm going to post up on my musical blog but with links given here, as with my Power Ballads theme. If anyone has a power ballad they wanna hear, tell me; I'll post it up!!

Friday 13th: Evil Among US

IF ONLY I'D BEEN AWARE OF TODAY'S DATE earlier, things may have made more sense.

My landlord went ape and said he is chucking everyone out because our house is in chaos. Now he seems to have recinded (if that's the word..?) I think I have some leeway. Maybe a couple of days' grace. He told me to inform the council he's emptying this current house of everyone and we must all find somewhere new to stay via the council. The council knew nothing about this. So I'm none the wiser. I've started packing up my stuff to leave and if I do have to go, will go back out where I used to be. (Possibly the very same old building.) But we'll see what comes out of this weekend ...

That's all I can say about it really. No more details ...

Queen "Tantrum" II - BBC Report

I'VE POSTED HERE THE BBC'S FOOTAGE of The Queen's supposed "tantrum" during the official photo-portrait session with American snapper Annie Liebowitz.

You can click here to see it, and last night's BBC Evening News analysis of the supposed "incident" as reported in the ever-reliable Sun newspaper ...

According to royal biographer Penny Junor, The Queen is cursed by a face that "does not look photogenic in repose" - you can say that again. Quite often she appears to be nearly scowling as she looks on at crowds, performances, new buildings, exhibitions and displays of all kinds. Personally I think this is a bad habit from childhood that was never corrected and so is now seen as part of her character. It is not. I can look just as grumpy as the Queen with "my face in repose" - if I make every effort not to smile and pull my mouth about like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

And as for the Queen's famously squeaky voice. In actuality she modulates her speech far more cheerily than her impersonators ever manage to. I suspect that in childhood her vocal quirks were spotted and an elecutionist was dutifully packed off to the palace to teach one how to use one's voice properly. The elecutionist failed dismally. Rather than improving one's voice in any way, the poor young Princess Elizabeth (as she was then) was merely saddled with a squeaky version of the upper-class and royal accent of her grandparents' generation. This would certainly explain a lot. Listen to her late father, George VI speaking: he sounds almost normal even by today's standards. But that accent our poor Queen has been saddled with for most of her life (only in very recent years has it shown any signs of fading into more normal pronunciations) ... whoever's responsible for that deserves to be locked up in the Tower of London and severely punished!

News Review: Queen's Crown Scandal; Doherty-Moss; Drunken Wedding Horseride

HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN was seriously not amused when, during an official Palace portrait shoot, the American photographer Annie Liebowitz suggested that the Queen, already drest in full Royal regailia might wish to remove her crown because the "garter robe" she already had on (a great black robe with gold "mayoral" style chain, rosette and imperial looking platinum star that would have befitted Queen Victoria in her "widow" phase) was already so "extraordinary". The Queen cut Liebowitz short before she could breathe this last word and snapped: "Too dressy? What do you think this is?"

I agree totally with The Sun Says (p6):

Crown and out:
BEING Queen of all you survey is a serious business.
So one is rightly brassed orf when asked by some American snapper to remove one's crown - the ultimate badge of monarchy.
Hats off to Her Maj for saying NO.

Hear hear!

***
PS: Thanks to Ruth; Shaz; Puss-in-Boots; for pointing me to the following BBC News Update that shed some more truthful light upon the matter. Click on BBC to view the 3-minute update ...
***

KATE MOSS HAS TORCHED AN EXTENSIVE STASH OF LOVE LETTERS, POEMS AND SONGS WRITTEN TO HER BY JUNKIE LOVER PETE DOHERTY.
Relations eventually came to a "head" when a vast pile of cash Moss had stashed in her palatial residence went suspiciously AWOL.
"Poor" Pete, is seemingly living hand to mouth. While Kate earns a reported £10,000,000 a year, which would put her 2nd behind £33,000,000 a year Gisele Bundchen in the top model stakes (who else earns more than Kate but less than Gisele? I can't think of anyone. And I always keep half an ear open to celebrity pay claims. They kind of make my breakfast. Along with the rest of the tat in the Sun newspaper, a can of White Star cyder, at least four cigarettes and frequently in certain times past, a juicy shot of brown heroin....
.. OK let me finish that sentence. While Kate earns a reported £10,000,000 before taxes, agents' fees and other expenses (ie she takes home less than £5,000,000 a year. Boo-hoo!) Poor Pete Doherty went straight to a "travellers' site" under a Shepherd's Bush flyover (reportedly to stay there; but I think to score and use) and had all his guitars etc dumped in a tower block in Hackney (hardly North-East London's most salubrious "quarter")... Having put out so many records, gone on so many tours, has he really got nowhere better to stay? I'm flabberghasted. I mean, I might be bad at budgeting on a pittance, but if I had a few hundred a week (surely he earns at least that) then I'd have the nous to buy up Premium Bonds, stash the money in bank accounts and otherwise invest at least some of it ... come on!
Premium Bonds, by the way, are a piece of genius. Boring old government bonds. You must buy a minimum £100 worth at a time. But all interest, instead of being accrued and scattered stingily into every "account" at a measy four point something percent ... is instead all lumped together, divided into one million pound lot, then quarter million and hundred thousand, fifty thousand and so on down to £100 and £50 chunks... a machine called ERNIE generates random numbers and if these match any currently held bonds ~ hey! You're a winner. That is investment genius! When I have £30,000 to spare (sadly that is the maximum investment) I know what I'm going to do with it ...
OK and back to the story:
But hats off to Kate for being strong enough to see this was never going to work before she married the loser.
What ye North American bloggers seem to miss in your "how does he get away with it?" posts is that he doesn't!
Only last week he was in court on repeated drug possession (heroin, ketamine, crack ~ arguably the three strongest most mindbending substances known to man) charges and for driving a vehicle for which he was uninsured! The judge said to him basically the choice is yours. Keep on using and you're definitely going to jail. Detox and come back to me (on a certain date) and we'll see what we can do.
Doherty has been in jail once already ~ yes, for drug possession and related offences. He does not wish to return.
Is it his funny face and penchant for knobbish hats that gets him in repeated trouble? Does he not know the gentle art of actually stashing ones "stash"? I don't know. Presumably all Metropolitan Police officers have a bounty they can claim for "nicking Doherty" ~ a £50 cash prize or something. I've never known him to be "nicked" clean ...
So out with the Doherty; in with the new.
One question remains: what on earth did she see in him in the first place~??

AND LAST BUT BY NO MEANS LEAST...some

Hey, you can count on The Sun to phrase it best (bottom left, p7):

The paragraphs below are an excercise in great tabloid journalism. If you think Sun journalists "can't write" then just you try telling the following tale so succinctly:

Horse 'n' Carnage:
A DRUNK woman hijacked a horse-drawn wedding carriage and ran down a one-legged man on a mobility scooter.
One-tonne shire horses Charlie and Buster were outside a pub when the woman and her daughter climbed on and whipped them into bolting.
They knocked Bob Tiller off his scooter and ran over the nags' owner.
Bob, 63, suffered a fractured wrist outside the Good Companion in Peacehaven, East Sussex.
The horses got tangled up on a Ford Fiesta which they wrote off ("totalled"), along with the £10,000 carriage. Police appealed for witnesses.

Boilered To Death II

THIS POST COMES OUT OF MY RESPONSE TO TODAY'S EARLIER COMMENTS ...

The leaking whatever (what is it? a pipe? or just the gap where the hulking great old boiler was ripped from the wall..?) is below my room and so posing no immediate dampness threat. In fact, because of the peculiar lay-out of the house, nobody is at threat. But having just braved the dank dripping dark hallway (no lights in bathroom or toilet, no lights anywhere down the passageway)... it feels like the bucket has overflowed already. The carpet is sopping. When I return I will change it in the dark... you don't need to be able to see to know where to put it back as obviously you can hear it drip drip dripping down on the right place. NB the bucket is only there bc I put it there. Matran and Laundretta who claim to keep the bathroom so clean never bothered. I called him Matran bc it is a spoonerism of Rat-Man. She is Laundretta bc she is outwardly very clean (has to be for her job) ... but the accumulated nasties have ... well: I don't think she's clean on the inside... let's just say that.

Vincent: they came up and turned off the water at one point. The boiler man, who I heard talking on the phone... I get the impression he's v good but v expensive. I don't understand why they can't fix it. But maybe they would rather let everyone have water and just patch up the damage later..(?)

Something I want to make clear! When I stated that "my head is full of schemes.." I meant schemes for the future (ie ambitions). No I'm not wasting my energy on avenging myself on people like those two. They invite calamity on themselves~ I'll never need to get my hands dirty!! I'll let you in on my first scheme just as soon as I've got it started. I don't like talking things up before doing them too much. I think it dissipates the energy you could better spend on the project itself.

Which, come to think of it, is why I'm against those reality talent shows so much... Contestants being kept in a constrained, restricted environment with limited access to or contact with the outside world. This means that (especially as most of the participants in such shows tend to be between 18 and 25 years old) and emotional over-reliance on the new surroundings and those "inexplicable" outbursts of tears that so many people deride so much. I'm sorry but they're only crying bc they've been living, sleeping, thinking, breathing, doing nothing but that show for many weeks of their lives. An unthinkably glittering prize (like a £1000000 record deal) is dangling at the end of it. Trapped in the moment their entire self-esteem now seems to depend upon staying or going.

The other thing (and this was my original point) I loathe is the way these young people are put through their paces and expected not only to perform well but judged on how much seeming enthusiasm they put in (or: put another way. How much good old BS). Then, when they don't make their instructors' ludicrously high grade they are told they "don't want it enough" ... when they do. It's just bc they're starring in a sliced and spliced TV docu we don't realize quite how tired these people get at times. Anyway my point was (and my advice to self is:)if you have energy for something stop telling the world you want to do it. Do it!

Righto! And my post on today's papers might well have to wait until tomorrow!

Cheerio. As bank managers say to their wives in Worthing, "of" a morning ...

Boilered To Death

I NEARLY GOT RUN OVER BY A PRISON VAN JUST NOW... ok slight exaggeration. It did whizz right in front of my nose tho. I just thought that might be an "arresting" way to commence a post ...

Our house is still all boilered out. I had a wash in a bucket of freezing cold water, just like in Tudor times. Just like every day for the last seemingly six months ... Some tank in the ceiling has sprung a leak. Though it is only drip-dripping through it's filled two entire buckets in about half a day. The plaster's not come down from the ceiling yet (not like last time) so it's not that bad. I'm trying to remember where I was and when the entire ceiling caved in like mushy tea-soaked toast. Ook! It was horrible. It got everywhere! Ukk! Where was that now? Possibly (quite possibly) in my present house. My memory's gone so patchy at times. E.g. I can remember conversations yet cannot recall who with. Which, as you'll imagine, is rather inconvenient...

Laundretta and Matran have been remarkably quiet. People have asked me how/why I put up with them. All I can say is, when they first came on the scene I was in such a state that their objectionable behaviours pretty much went over my head. In one ear; out the other. Whatever. I was gradually emerging from a sitting in the middle of the floor all day and staring into space stage of life and so nothing they did or said could really faze me. As I said yesterday I was well aware of what she'd been saying about me; it was just hearing it with my own ears that offended me so.

I could not sleep properly last night and so wound up sleeping all through much of the day. Then at three o'clock Dr Evilstein, my landlord barged the door in (no lock or catch on my door so it's just swinging open all the time. Has been for months. And people wonder why I don't bother keeping the place nice??!) anyway he said "keep the taps shut" (bc he can't speak proper English: he meant keep 'em turned off.) So I ran a big bucket of water and got up and now I'm saying this....

I don't know what else to say now... my head is full of schemes... I have realized I am too good for this life and have been slumming it for far too long. That's why I don't feel any need to avenge myself on Laundretta for basicaly lying about me (saying I was leaving the most disgusting mess in the bathroom - when I've told her repeatedly who does that). Because I will leave this nasty life behind me. Her and her Ratman will in all probability remain wallowing in it for the rest of their lives. So that's that.

Right I'm off!
See I did update my links as promised.
But they are still not finished. I am just racking my brains for a power ballad of the day...