Sorted

I'VE SORTED out THREE pressing things today that were doing my head in.

1: the council wanted to perform a Residence Check ~ to make sure that the person living at the address really was me

2: my Service Charge payments have been messed up since I signed a form authorizing their direct withdrawal from my account. Nothing has been withdrawn, making me look like a freeloading fraudster

3: and worst of all my only bank account has been hit by FRAUDSTERS trying to take a direct debit off my account and putting it £200 in the red (that's over $300) ~ give or take a few pennies. I rang up their helpline ENRAGED and got told to enter my nearest branch where I was considerably less enraged thanks to chainsmoking and alcohol (which calms me down). Turns out nobody had tried to fraud me. A direct debit from another customer had been typed incorrectly hitting MY account not theirs. Now all £197 has been refunded and I am a fully fledged human being with a bank account once more!

Illustrated: a map of London highlighting Islington, where I don't live... or DO I??!?




HARD TRANCE



ARCHANGEL GABRIEL: TRANCE TEKNO



"AWESOME SEGMENT"

What I'm trying not to be...

Gott
Oh Gott
Unser himmelischer Vater
Oh Gott
Und mein Vater,
der du ebenfalls in Himmel bist.
Möge das Licht
Dieser flackernden Kerze
Die Nacht erleuchten, so wie dein Geist
Meine Seele erleuchtet
Papa...
Kannst du mich hören?
Papa, kannst du mich sehen?
Papa, kannst du mich des Nachts finden?

Barbra is singing German out of my telly. I am trying not to feel depressed. I'm taking risperidone again. If you read yesterday's dollop you'll know I just found out I'm to grow women's breasts because of the side effects. I just hope they grow by Sunday so I can start out on the game. I really need some cash by the weekend. I'm down to my last £1.

I really wish Anna Grace's Anonymous would send me a gun. Then I would shoot Anonymous then shoot myself, har har. Nah: just kidding. I just made note of my goals: to speak fluent Chinese, Japanese, Cantonese, French, German and Spanish. As well as Greek and Hebrew (to read the Bible in the original). And Latin (to be educated). That makes 10 languages in all including English and I've always wanted to speak 10 languages fluently. I also want to be a bestselling novelist with sales exceeding one billion. I want over £100,000,000 in today's money. I want a house. Or ideally a collection of homes across the world. And I want to get rehoused somewhere posher. And I want £10 to tide me through till Monday. So where do I start?

I looked up Chinese characters last night. I've found a website that teaches the stroke order. Which just to confuse things is slightly different, in some cases, from Japanese. Once you get the hang you know, for example that horizontals tend to come before verticals (so you draw a cross the opposite way round to most Europeans). If you don't bother with stroke order you'll end up with dodgy looking characters.

Oh shit I've cooked sweet chili chicken pizza but forgotten the cloudy lemonade to go with it. Now I've got to blow my last 50p down Morrisons. If I really end up broke I'll have to beg on the streets. Hey they do non-cloudy for 21p. Even chips cost £1.30 a bag. The stingy govt never increased benefits when prices went up. Personally I think the sick and disabled (as well as poor people and unemployed people) should be shot dead to save money for the able bodied. There was some really good dolt on BBC Question Time saying rioters should be thrown out of council accommodation and cut off the dole. Yeah so people who've already demonstrated they're up for theiving and have very little respect for the society they live in ~ they should be made destitute so they're forcedinto thieving off the rest of us. Yeah bright idea. The former chief constable of London pointed out there's already a system where money is taken off benefits it's called a FINE. Fucking idiot people. I think rioters should be pilloried and whipped in minor cases or gassed to death in major ones. If prison is used, nobody should get less than ten years' solitary. And if they run out of cells ~ use London zoo! Prisons should take paying visitors anyhow. Wouldn't YOU have paid £100 to throw sticky buns at child killers like Myra Hindley or nutters like Charles Bronson? Most people would. They could have a torture channel on TV where you bid to be able to remotely operate callipers or red hot pokers on to paedophiles, rapists and especially burglars and muggers.

Do you think I'll get in when I run as Emperor of London? It's my ambition to throw the Queen out of Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle and to live there myself.


I'm not really manic. Like I said I'm trying not to be depressed. My friend Pinky, whose hair I wanted to dye varying shades of blue and green like a rocket lolly, phoned me up just now. She can tell I'm not manic any more. I'm no longer ranting and cackling at every opportunity. I wish I could be manic without the chaos. My house was in such disarray earlier I just wanted to curl up and sleep rather than deal with it all. Whenever I sleep I have nightmares about crackhouses up tower blocks.

OK I'm off to Morrisons for that 20p lemonade.... Please someone send me some money. I'm broke till Monday! And no it didn't go on drugs. I haven't spent ANY of my DSS money on drugs. And I gave up the tiny bit I drink about a week ago (don't know what day, don't wanna know). I just want to be able to go to AA as an EX-drinker. NA-wise I'm still a user, as I'm on methadone, which is more addictive and more evil than heroin. If only I won the lottery I'd go to a private doctor for morphine pills. Failing that I'd go back on street heroin and just reduce myself. Better for the mental health. No wonder I'm falling apart ~ methadone does nobody any good. It's appalling stuff. Well I'm stopping this rant before it starts have a nice day y'all...


THE WAY HE MAKES ME FEEL



MY COLORING BOOK

Weekend Ramblings

IT’S FIVE MINUTES to midnight. (Saturday night.) Awful music is playing on TV. I have chicken jalfrezi and “tricoloured rice” (800 cals the lot) but I can’t eat it till tomorrow. Else I’ll be out of money and out of food to boot.

I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. I hate Sundays. And what use is a Sunday without drugs to kill the misery. I don’t think I will ever be OK ever again after that psychiatrist gave me bipolar disorder. My family pointed out that a psychiatric titles are mere descriptions. Life is not a Chinese restaurant menu. As my old counsellor said, you don’t get to pick what cross you bear. But I do feel the psychiatrists have made me mad. I was fine before I went to any shrink. Interesting I supposedly had depression for years and yet my depression doesn’t match the extremes described in Manic-Depressive Insanity and Paranoia, the alltime classic text on the subject. My overexcitement is exactly as described in the book, but the depression isn’t. So by Victorian standards I’m a maniac with a moody temperament. Which means I don’t need medication. I’m not taking medication anyway. Medication is a way of keeping people subjugated and compliant.

I think most people who feel depressed have reason to be depressed. I feel evil and full of death. I think I’m going to have to dig out a baseball cap. They don’t suit me at all. But together with dark glasses, they hide the eyes. I cannot handle people looking me in the eye. And I really cannot stomach this nauseating drug clinic I have to go to. The absolute falseness between me and my worker. All she wants is a show of positivity so that’s what I show. On Tuesday I was feeling a bit amped up so the energy I gave out was real. By Friday I wasn’t happy at all and the effort required to bullshit through my encounters is just too much. I am not looking forward to going there on Tuesday. Fucking group therapy. What I find intrusive and offensive is that you have to say your name. Not like NA where you can skulk in and out saying nothing.

My only goal left in life is to become rich. I want money because I know it will never bring happiness, but like heroin, money is tangible. I want money so I can isolate myself. I want to be unconscious and unremembered. I am too tired to go on.

On a positive note I am planning to go to NA this Monday. I would like to say life on drugs was miserable but that wasn’t the core problem. Drug addiction is disempowering and drug addicts are slaves. That’s what’s bad about addiction. All this crap about how much better I’ll feel. I know of many many cases who left behind drugs ~ and I mean opiate drugs that kill pain and stabilize mood ~ and these people all have bipolar disorder, schizophrenia or depressive psychosis. We all knew that the drugs were holding these people together. Without exception they broke down AFTER the addiction ended.

My problem is that if I am not weak then I am powerless. Money gives power of a fashion. I can’t think of a single person I admire who was poor. Only exceptions are the New Testament Bible characters, but they somehow had means to pay passage all across the road. One of the apostles went as far as Japan. As for the old testament: Abraham had audiences with kings. Joseph and Daniel both reached the status of Prime Minister.

Ugh. And talking about money there’s a nauseating miniseries about the Kennedys playing on BBC2. What people find fascinating about Jackie Kennedy I do not understand. I have a paperback about her and only read the bits about Aristotle Onassis ~ a far more interesting personality.

I have drunk cokehead neighbours. Yelling and bawling across the street. Least it’s not quiet I suppose. I despise cocaine. It’s powdered excitement for people too dull and drab to make entertainment of their own. O shit it’s 0041 hours. I’ve gotta sleep.

IT’S 10PM (Sunday night) NOW. I stayed awake most of the night, thinking I was doing a good thing depriving myself of sleep, as sleep is supposedly the fuel of depression. By about five a.m. I couldn’t decide whether or not to stay up the whole day through, but eventually went to bed. I was woken up just before 2pm by the most terrible nightmares. So I woke up in a bad mood and stayed in a bad mood all day until I eventually gave in and scored heroin.

The drug had some effect because suddenly I was depressed no more, or depressed a lot less. This effect lasted a mere three hours and as I write the bad mood is creeping back on me, making £10 seem a very dear price for a couple of hours’ normality. Now if only methadone had this remarkable effect I might find sticking to my script a lot easier. As it is, I had been about ten days without using. I knew I was going to be tested by the doctor next Tuesday and I refuse to remain clean merely to impress another person. I never have and never will avoid drugs due to external pressures. I am only detoxing (or at least reducing my metha-dose) because I have lived the junkie life. Nothing came of it bar a handful of experiences an ordinary person wouldn’t want to experience anyhow. As an addict, there was never any tomorrow. Just one constant mono-day. Same, same, same every day. Nothing new ever happened, except when some crisis came to a head. There was nothing to look forward to, except more of the same drug. And for a long, long time the main pleasure of heroin was that a day on it was a hundred times more tolerable than a day without. No amount of methadone did very much to inhibit my desire for heroin. And unless I took a dose many times larger than the one I was accustomed to I never felt any euphoriant effect at all from methadone. Any progress I have made was despite, not because of methadone. Some ill-informed people appear to believe that this substance possesses some special property that makes it especially suitable for addicts who wish to give up heroin. It does not.
The only reason methadone was selected as a treatment for addicts was that it could be dosed orally once daily under supervision whereas nearly every other opiate required two or more doses a day. This is no longer the case. There is a sustained-release preparation of hydromorphone (Jurnista) that can be dosed once daily. As far as I know there’s a similar preparation of morphine.

Methadone is preferred because methadone is cheap and in the words of the medical manuals “produces less euphoria than heroin and other opiates”. To a miserable junkie, the so-called “euphoria” of heroin, which is no more intense than the intoxicant effect of a double Scotch, becomes the only tolerable reality they know. On methadone, addicts tend to feel flat and listless. In my darkest days I did so badly on methadone because I simply could not bear the intensity of depression that resulted after taking it. It’s no coincidence in my mind that I also became psychotically manic while taking no other drug but methadone. If I were a doctor I could in no good conscience prescribe a drug which I knew to have effects this extreme on my patient. I believe I am in fact the victim of medical negligence. I’m only willing to endure the intensely malign effects of this substance in an effort to get off all opiates as quickly as humanly possible. The more depressed I feel the more my craving for heroin increases. But strangely the desire to get off opiates does not diminish at all. Bear in mind that a methadone addict is in every way as much of an addict as a heroin addict. Methadone is known to affect more receptor sites in the brain than heroin, including ones that are known to promote dysphoria. Milligram for milligram the methadone withdrawal syndrome is far harsher than that of heroin and it goes on for weeks, not days. I consider methadone a poison and I want it out of my body as swiftly as humanly possible.

There’s nothing good to write because I see no future until I am free of this rubbishy drug the government insist I take. If I won the lottery I would gladly leave this awful new drug clinic I have been saddled with and take my custom to a private doctor who would prescribe morphine continus tablets. I’ve experimented with Oromorph solution. It feels the same as heroin without the so-called rush of injecting. In other words it does everything methadone is supposed to do but doesn’t. Gets an addict away from illicit heroin and needles, allows them to stabilize. And keeps them feeling OK. I don’t think I have ever known anyone stick to methadone without either using heroin on top at every opportunity, or else swapping heroin for alcohol or benzodiazepines. True, methadone is better than nothing. But this is the year 2011. Surely it is time for the Powers That Be to start looking at something a little more effectual than oral methadone with its 4% success rate?
Until that day comes, expect the opiate problem to continue to grow. Expect more crime. More lives wasted. More overdoses. More suicides. An ever more crowded criminal justice system and fuller prisons. If methadone worked as well as its advocates claim it to, nobody would ever use on top of it, just as street heroin addicts don’t use on top of their doses. Now that stands to reason. Methadone does work for some people. 4% of addicts are treated successfully on methadone. But the other 96% deserve something else. Something better. And they need it NOW.

Oh roll on tomorrow. Money. Phone top-up. Can ring Deshane, find out about my supposed house move etc. Roll on fucking Specsavers with my Reactions lenses so I can get my other pair tinted blue. I know blue lenses are meant to be bad for the eyes but surely the UV filter will cancel that out. Blue light triggers wakefulness in the brain, which red light cancels out. So amber lenses are very good for insomniacs to wear while trying to sleep when it’s light outside. Blue lenses would if anything make one more wide awake and chirpy. I used to wear dark blue sunglasses all the time until a freak wave in Goa swept them away…
… then there’s that poor goldfinch hopping forlornly from perch to bleak perch in a gloomy cage in a shop he hates. They say caged birds don’t sing. This one doesn’t. Part of me believes he wants me to rescue him. The other part tells me this is sheer folly, that I’m in no position to be taking on new pets and what would happen if I became ill? A hamster can be left for a week or longer. Nocturnal hamsters can happily live hidden away in closets in the dark; daylight loving birds can be bundled into cupboards when landlords pay unexpected calls and the dark will shut up their chirpings but that is a far from ideal solution. I kept my robbies hidden from view at all times when I was out of the house and nobody ever discovered them. I’ve now found a female golden hamster sleeping in a ball… there are also lback and white ones going at £5 each in the goldfinch shop but the man has a very dismissive attitude. This is the same man who said “oh they’re not Syrian hamsters; I think they’re normal ones” DUR!

Oh I’ve got to go the more I think the worse I feel. I’ve been trying to access the local wireless networks free of charge. I wouldn’t make a good professional hacker. For example “Mary”’s network I tried passwords contrary, Magdalene, London, the part of London we’re in, the name of my road, what I assume to be Mary’s road and so on. The anti-hack security is wise to this and pauses pregnantly when I enter anything raringly obvious like password or secret… I think I’m going to have to stick with Starbucks in future…





THIS IS THE BEST EUPHORIC TRANCE TUNE EVER

binary finary 1998/1999
the version i knew came out 1998

Going Right Into One

GOING RIGHT INTO ONE. i forgot to take my medication last night now i'm hyper hi hi high high up high going into spiral (tribe describe imbibe) drink ink link pink link think pink blue for a boy powder blue i love you blue.... i love that colour blue.... i love you.... love from above.... power powder power power flower power how are your powers? powers that be... to me ... free. set you free. free to be me.

I wrote this earlier:

I'll tell ya what makes the world go round. Money, let's be frank. That makes today's world go round. Money and a lot of bad things. Doesn't the Bible say that the love of money is the root of all evil? And Energy. That makes the world go round, the literal force of energy, the energy of you and me; the energy of God the all-powerful. Love would make the world go round if only people weren't too scared to love. Because to love you must open up and to be open is to be vulnerable to attack. If only people weren't too scared to love, the world would be a very different place than it is today.

Still flying

MAN I AM DROWNING in DVD cases. It just took a psychological half hour (ie about 3 mins 20 seconds) to locate the case for Dr Zhivago which I tried to watch last night but just cannot concentrate on. I like the music, I like the snow and I like Lara.

Oh I can't even remember what I was going to say. Oh yeah I actually have my glasses. Which I usually lose for days on end when I go mental. I also lose money, the cards to get the money and keys, which just vanish in my house. Keys being the priority and because I never put them anywhere too stupid, I always find them within the hour. Everything else goes walkies for days on end.

I slept for hours and hours last night and don't feel nauseated any more. But I do feel physically tired whenever I sit down. When I go walking down the street I get brought right up into a beautiful high. Talking on the phone, anything else brings me up. Other times I think I'm normal, which is bad. Because normal leads to depression and I'd rather be high as a kite to be frank.

No not on drugs high on my Higher Power. I'm really into this Higher Power thing it's fantastic way better than drugs. Ask anyone in NA. Though they don't seem to get intoxicated by theirs. Which makes them all the poorer than me, to be frank.

Well not much doing except Mamma Mia which plays round and round because I like to sleep with Abba blaring in the background and meet the Fockers which I actually watched twice, I caught about a quarter of the actual film each time, so another 2 times and I'm done.

Syd asked why I don't hire them from the library but I'm in deep trouble with them for having taken out books last summer which I still have and having lost one on a bus and not told them. When you take books back the weirdos who work there seem to feel they have to calculate what is owed. I do not want or need unnecessary information but they won't listen. Actually they might if I come in blazingly hyper I will ensure I don't get told anything I don't want to hear. People visibly back off from me in this state. It's fantastic.

[Also our library charges about £2 for DVD hire and you can buy 'em new for £3 without the hassle of having to return them so I buy. With my grated cheese style attention span I have to watch everything x5 these days so I pretty much need to own it to get the story...]

Oh man I'm so exhausted it's unreal my body feels like I've gone skiing nonstop for 3 days. Bloody hell this French film is so boring I'm changing it. Why don't French people just learn to speak English? It would save so much time and trouble reading fucking subtitles. Yeah I can read Paris Match but actually following the crap they spout in real life: that's hard. Way harder than Real German. French people speak about 60% "argot" (slang) 40% proper French. Germans speak about 98% proper 2% slang. English people use more slang than Germans but far less than the French. Also Germans speak very distinctly. English are in between. The French, as y'all know speak as if they're eating something too tasty to bother opening their mouths properly. Plus they run all their words together.

I once met a French maniac who tried to speak to me dans le langue superieur (francais) mais je suis desole je comprenais rien! Can't find the accents for French. Sorry. And French keyboards go AZERTY not QWERTY which is the biggest headfucker {several other letters are in different places}. German goes QWERTZ ie Y and Z are swapped round and the cuckoo clock umlauted vowels are were ;'and[ are.

Well I'm off I don't know what the point of any of this was really I'm just saying hi and I wish I had a decent film to watch. I mean one that's either VERY FUNNY or FULL OF GOOD MUSIC. That I haven't watched at least twice in the past 2 days. I do have Young Victoria but it's far too ponderous for my frame of mind. The Queen was very good. Helen Mirren certainly seems to sum up the Queen's character which is quite witty, pragmatic and level headed but not boring. I noted nobody played Princess Margo. She was only referred to. Adding characters to fiction adds a lot of length so that might be why Margaret's not in there.

Well I'm off I'm totally skint I thought I had money in the bank but it's absolutely bare till Monday and I'm not even on heroin I don't know what I did {apart from buy a DVD player, a digibox and only 35 or so DVDs} but I fucked up somehow. OK over and out.

Saturday Afternoon Quick

I am rushing faster than I thought I was. Two cups of tea set it off, if you want blame. Should I blame something or was it just me? I felt anxious, then had to find my keys, then had to go get methadone after going post office to get out money to lend someone else. Then I went saw Paddadadster gave him £25 then I felt PHEWWWEWWWW!! Deflated, down to the ground, but in a good way, then I was hyper again by the public library, pacing, racing. Pinging in all directions inside there. Found a Readers Digest Family Health guide, right there on the shelf-end, found myself in there, didn’t like what I saw. Snapped book shut. Pinged out, up the road, phone rang someone had seen me who was in that Magical Mystery Tour Car last Saturday saying I saw you from the bus how’s it going. Very well. Very quick. I didn’t say quick, but talked it.

Now I’m in bedroom as other room so chilly my hands barely move. Open windows no heating. My own heater’s broken or the fuse has gone.

Last night I slept maybe 11 or 12 hours. 10:30 to 10:30 with some awake “uuuuuuh?!?” in between. First time I got up it was just after nine, but I was sure the click was broken and it was 7pm ie not 0900 but 1900 hours but no. It just felt like I slept hours and hours and hours MORE than I did. I had a weird dream about a servant girl from Upstairs Downstairs in our house sneaking upstairs to take the dogs for a walk.

I went to NA last night but was only there for the chair [life story given at beginning]. I was tripping* with “auditory hallucinations” all day and all night.

Yesterday day time I went to the laundrette but again was tripping. And trying not to drink too much as people think I’m an alcoholic when I just was off on one anyway.
That’s my diary for today and yesterday. Hope it makes sense.

Hope y’all are OK. Take care XX



*I haven't taken a drugs trip for over 10 years, this tripping/hallucinating is just me, what happens

JAM AND SPOON
thanks Lizzie
part of that's the tune from moby's GO. jam and spoon did AGE OF LOVE BY AGE OF LOVE remix
which is fantastic trance classic, from a Tsuyoshi psychotrance mix tape we had back in 1994 which seems ANCIENT now!



AGE OF LOVE AGE OF LOVE
this tune is transcendently beautiful. note the foreign voice "come on, dance with me, move your body..." trance was & is international
VIDEO the waters are Goa-green. When I went to India, the water I saw was emerald green, not sapphire blue I was expecting... except perhaps in Tamil Nadu, which is on the Bay of Bengal-cum-Indian Ocean (not the Arabian Sea as is Goa) ... I'd love to Goa back...
for non-trance-party purposes, i thik this mix is better than the one at the bottom



AGE OF LOVE AGE OF LOVE JAM & SPOON REMIX same as above but longer 6 mins not 3



MOBY GO 2 VIDEOS the distinctive tune is the twin peaks music, not the theme tune, the tune that made it seem so dreamlike in-sequence ...
apart from the awful piano break i quite like this one:~~~~~~~~



different visuals, different mix

Keeping Mum

A KINDLY GANG-MEMBER from Da Local Baby Gangsta Crew let me have some drugs on tick today. I paid half and owe half. I only had money to spare because all plans for today fell through, leaving me at a loose end, exceedingly "peeved", to put it mildly and in need, so I thought, of a chemical emollient. (Not an exfoliant, that gets off hair. An emollient. That soothes.)

O man the effort I put into today. All for nothing!

I was supposed to see my Mum. I got up, crystal clear. Cleaned myself up as best I could, physically speaking. But to be frank I just looked like a heroin addict on a daytrip.

I had checked train times and prices etc etc etc. I had the option of going in and out of London or taking a long couple of bus rides across town. The bus rides seemed cheaper and got me to a station further up the right line.

So I took this bus. Got to station. All was silent. The ticket machine utterly refused to take my £5 note. Not that it was bulimically constantly regurgitating the thing. I think this machine was anorexic. Its mouth refused even to open.

By the way I know someone who used to work on the Eating Disorders Helpline in Norwich who said that without exception bulimics verbally spewed and spewed, while anorexics were barely willing to open their mouths and thus said barely anything at all... Isn't that fascinating...

So anyway this ticket machine refused my money, which hardly bothered me. I chucked 10p in the Permit to Travel machine. This meant I was covered if an evil ticket inspector chose to pounce on me like a barn owl on an unsuspecting harvest mouse... as frequently happens on London suburban trains. If he queried whether or not the machine was in fact working, I would just tell them to check CCTV. Britain does not have the oft-stated 4 million cameras (surely it's many more than that now as that figure's a decade old) for nothing. For once I might use one to my advantage. I do not trust ticket inspectors after having the most almighty altercation with two on a platform having been told my ticket, which I'd checked in advance was good for it, was invalid on my chosen route. Something, incidentally, which tended not to happen before rail privatization. The worst ever move by the Tory party, in that particular line of activity. I got my money back and a grovelling apology. I always do. Or did. When I could be bothered with such things.

Anyway long story short, I got to the interchange station to find it surprisingly quiet. I hadn't taken the train, I'd walked because it was so near the other one (but wrong for the bus). I thought I'd let the train take the strain. In the end my feet did. And this station was empty with almost unreadable electronic notices saying something I could not understand. It transpired the entire line was down, and if I did want to see my Mum I'd have to take two trains in the wrong direction, with no guarantee how long they might take.

Full of misery and fury I phoned her and said this is impossible. So we had to leave it for another day. Such a shame as Branzy my step-Dad wouldn't have been there earwigging in every word. In other words we might have done something else except discuss 25 topics I don't care about, skating merrily over life's surfaces, yet barely scratching them.

I went directly to the nearest cyder-selling shop and got two White Stars. Well I wasn't gonna need this money for train fares any more. Poured them into Lucozade bottles to spare myself disgusted glances. Jumped on bus. It was well over an hour till I got home, and then I phoned that heroin dealer who "kindly" ~ if you wanna call it that ~ provided that lump for half price.

If I don't cough up tomorrow I get a bullet through my brainbox!

Anyway all this just goes to show, I'm stone cold sober and it still goes mammaries up. Oh what a day ...



Illustrated: selection of ultra-modern British trains. Especially the top one.
Very top pic: HM the Queen mysteriously riding public train (no wonder she looks glum)...

Money Monday

This is in response to Gattina's shout for Fun Monday Money participants. We are to show our wallets and money (if any) inside.
Since I never use a wallet I cannot show that, but here's our newest banknote, the Purple Twenty. Reversing the trend for a decline in aesthetic standards, this, the Bank of England's latest effort is quite classy in my view.
TODAY IS THE DAY most of the layabouts, the sick, depraved, work-&-claiming and desperately-seeking-employment brigades get paid by British Social Security.

Our country's benefits bill is so enormous that all revenue from Income Tax covers this and this alone. All other government expenditure derives from the VAT sales tax, (which is levied not only on goods but professional services ~ when my book finally comes out I will have to pay VAT as a writer, once I go over about £45,000 ~ which I hope, of course, that I will... and the multitude of levies raised principally from smokers, drinkers and motorists (no wonder our country's in a mess!)

If and when I do ever get out of the nasty Benefits Trap, and truly am well enough to work and have a life (not going straight to bed suicidally exhausted and barely able to get out when the time rolls round for work again) ~ if I ever manage this, I will be so overjoyed I plan on leaving the country!

Then I'll have a whole new set of banknotes to play with...

... hopefully piles and piles of 'em!!

Plotting... (& "only" $50million!)

NOT MY WIZZY NEW NOVEL, I'm afraid; though I wish it was. I've been plotting the course of what might eventually become part of another book (if it gets into my memoirs)... And that is: my FUTURE.

I sat up for what seemed like hours last night, penning all manner of conceptions to paper...

I would particularly like to set up a Gledwood podcast. Surely that's the way forward for "freestyling" radio these days rather than taking the hospital or pirate radio route...

(Just what would I cast about? Not more hamsters and heroin; it has to be grown-up stuff...)

Well that's about it. No point telling ideas before they're done. That's called "fiction" or, to put it perhaps more kindly; tends to turn into "plans never executed"... I'm only into planning the future present. The only kind of planning worth doing!

*

AND I NEARLY FORGOT! LEGAL EVENT OF THE YEAR: Heather Mills McCartney yesterday obtained a £24.3 million (ie $50 million give or take a couple of months' interest) divorce settlement from Sir Paul.

The press have had a field day baring all of Miss Mills's "porno past" etc. Even the judge insisted on taking the slightly unusual step of making his decision public... his judgement branded her an "unreliable witness"... and awarded her a fifth of the alleged £125/$250million she had claimed from Sir Paul's £400/$800 fortune (though the press have claimed he is worth double that...)

Poor Heather Mills. Though I'm hardly her biggest fan I don't hate her as the tabloid press do... If you click on this link the full tabloid post mortem plus some lovely photos should pop up, showing her seemingly utterly deranged. The press are so clever at getting these. My diagnosis is of a single-minded lady of great determination whose mind has become focused on this divorce to the exclusion of nearly all else: which has led her to become over-wrought... so over-wrought, in fact that as soon as the case was over she allegedly ran up to Sir Paul's lawyer and doused her over the head with mineral water (it was a posh brand though).

Hopefully Miss Mills and her $50million can now move on to fresh pastures and poor Sir Paul can retire in peace to his Scottish hideaway and live out the rest of his days $50million poorer, but with $750million still intact...

BLOGTHING OF THE DAY:
American "high end" motorhomes (poshest personal coaches I've ever seen: these are fantastic... if you could get one shipped over you could have SUCH a lark driving around Europe in one... (so much more glamorous, as I said in their comments than camping in the awning of a shivery 1960s Dormabile!!!)

BLOG II Spanish-seeming person's Wales-looking photos...

PS why are Chinese and Japanese schoolgirls into such candy-coloured kitch like this..?