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