to talk about, you know, stuff….and that

Bah…No, actually. Start again.

Woo. A strange weekend, and things haven’t improved entirely. A version of me more confident about writing openly on blogs* would go through the reasons why, but then that would only cuase….issues. So…there are about…three, or at the most four, current problems. One is my financies, then there’s the house, then…certain grouped sub-problems I’ll label “of the heart”….then a separate group I’ll call “of the mind, body, and spirit”. This does read very playground, I know, but given the readership of this blog is probably no more than a dozen, I doubt it really matters.

I am usually a little lighter than this. I have made one definate decision; not to stand for election this year. I know our local party is financially crippled, at a general loss of membership, and needs all the help it can possibly get, but I just cannot go through all the leg work for another disastorous loss. I’ll support all the other LibDems here, because I believe we have a viable programme for the city, but standing again when my personal life is at such a position would do nobody any good…

I am upbeat about an upcoming gig, for which I will submit a review for the local paper. The woman who agreed to me doing it has not yet confirmed the full score on details, so I’ll have to push her on this tomorrow. It feels very good to be writing for a purpose, and not just robotic rent-a-quote speil for local websites. Yeah, I am grateful for them but…well, certain people…..certain people, and et cetera.

I need a computer at home. It is quite bizarre, laughable, and perhaps suitably “left field” for a wannabe journo to be reduced to using a free Internet booth at snatched moments in a windy, exposed railway station. If “Aim 1” for this year is to find a place of my own to live – rented, natch, with one or two friends, “Aim 2” is a home PC, with reliable broadband Internet access. For now, though, I need to walk home.


Right, okay, things are okay. Very strange dreams, although this makes sense, under the circumstances.

There are common themes. Train stations, railway tracks…A cornfield, bordered by neat little cottages, pretty gardens, disused railway platforms with rusted signal boxes…I walk along this path, and there’s a brook, with pebbles, people fishing…and then I turn the corner and it all turns black, bleak, grimy industrial estates, petrol in the puddles of rain.
I dream also of elevators, car parks…A miner’s lift shaft….The time 17:12 means something. Was I in an office? There was also my mates and I playing pool, before the room flooded. I woke up, at 3am, an echo of recent events drubbing the brain…And I kissed Morrissey, who was scared off…

All is…..better, but not well. But you’ve heard this before.

and on the eighth day…

It has been a somewhat busy week. Work has had me in at 6am, and until 7pm, for unpaid overtime. They no longer promise Argos vouchers. It’s just “expected”. It’s just “that which needs to be done”. So I walk from Preston at 4am to get things done. My unbalanced mind is not a pretty place without the added waste of a boss who “knows better”.

I am doing okay. Things are messy. Vague, eh? Well, an audience is an audience. People know who they are. I feel awkward because it involves people with whom I am becoming good, stronger friends. And yeah, context…I don’t wan’t to gossip. Nor make crass jokes. I broke through a police fence to get here. Just finished boozing. Putting the world to rights. I want to sleep. I need less drink and more time away. No holidays planned…

Spent the week at work, and sleeping late for 4am starts. The steps in my house creak, so I think the housemate is just as annoyed as I. Then..nothing. Talked to my mate about some crazy dreams. They all stem from “The Friday Incident”. In one my mates A and J are playing pool with me when the room floods..In another I lose all my teeth, but there is a coloured rainbow against the monochrome sky…And recently my sister, or a character with that implied role, telling me off for…..was it eating? It was something minor…It woke me up before my alarm, this morning. I do not know what my dreams imply. They all suggest memory, regret, and death.

I need sleep. It’s been a hard day’s night…

False dawn

Okay, so starting the New Year again, again. I really do hate the way this year has started. All I can think about are mistakes, errors, regrets…Last week, when I woke myself up to a devestating truth, the assumption was that I could move forward with focus, desire, credibility, confidence…Now the days are worse than before….It takes history to frame context…No, sorry, it takes the present to frame history with context. My mate’s engagement do, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve, and this weekend gone, with my heavy drinking, acts I regret, memories I wish would fade…Good nights all, because my mates are the best in the world, but….All this must sound so playground…

The events of the week past have proven to be a false dawn. I awake still to all the old problems. My housemate says I can only mull over things if I live on the Isle of Mull. “If I ever see you mulling again, I’ll buy you a ticket,” he quipped. I needed that laugh. It’s all quite messy, though. I thought writing things down would help, but the paper remains folded, in my diary, amongst a lot of other prose and text I cannot say I remember writing…Some of it comes and goes, some of it is drawn from the subconscious. My mate…I should start naming them to avoid confusion (and to provide context)…my mate is anti-blog. He points out the irony in a public viewing place of private thoughts. How open I have been here is not within my usual characteristic nature. Maybe this blog is….different for some reason.

More time spent thinking, then. What else this year (hah! this week alone….) will bring up I just do not know….


Right, I think my new year starts…..Now. Or then. It is best pratice to not replicate here what I write either a) in my diary; or b) on my other blog. No, actually, I could do the latter, for all that would achieve. I think most of the subjects have been flogged donkey fashion before, so quite why they are needed again..

So, yeah, credit cards. With the interest rate at 5.25%, and my bank more likely to pass on that than give my ISA a boost (the piggs fly o’er the moon), drastic action is needed. Some of you know this already. Part I of Plan B is to give my c/c to my mate, who will ensure (as far as is practicable) my complete transformation from spender to saver is put at the central post of thias year’s developments.

I am better, but not well. So many dreams. They crash into morning, and jolt me awake. The lonliness is a tightening belt. All my hopes are….well, the dreams must first be tamed. Questions need answers.

Yesterday, I showed problems still persist with my temper, and my paranoid tendencies. Whispers drown the sound. Another echo from times past. Solutions come.

It’s a new year. Again, again. I have the character but yet no place to act.


Better, but not well.

There are elements of the previous weeks which should be considered for entry here, in the spirit of light and dark, and the democracy of discourse which this medium promotes. Given how uneasy I feel about remembering the events, even to myself through the diary, the idea of putting details here…Not sure who would benefit.

My behaviour needs to change. I have to re-evaluate certain parts of my life, maybe all parts, maybe certain specifc points before others. At one point this week, there was no consideration at all, and…I don’t know how much detail can be sketched here.

I owe a debt to Fate, to Jesus Christ, and to my dear friends. All the lights that lead the way are blinding…