It seems most of the day is now spent looking for love, appreciation, reaction, shared agreement (the worst) or just a response. It all smacks of phoniness. The more we chat the less it means. And get in a room together. Otherwise the conversation will take a different course.Guaranteed.
An eventful Sunday. One of those a bit like a crime thriller whi ch trwists and turns and makes you never really sit easy especially when you’re at the centre of it all. Woke to the jangles and a sense of deflation but, full of optimisim, jumped up twisted boxernonsense and headed straight for the pool. Fuck, the flukeiness of living so close. And, like Romania, the sparkle appears when I jump in unthinking, unconscious. Newborn.
First it’s a drink. And mostly 2 or 3 is enough now.But sometimes the urge is there and why not? You can become too cosnervative. Too fucking mindful. There’s a cult of me happening – the new religion is to worship yourself. Our decadence knows no bounds. Forgive the irony (when reading this). And then something to eat. And then…why not? BUt now after the traditional class A embrace I have a whole arsenal at my disposal and I can create my own twists and turns and you know how I love variety.
That saying. ‘Thing happen in 3s’. Oh, the superstition. I hate it. I’ve let enough of it into my life. Oh, but it was laid perectly on me today. A promise to see Natalie in hosppital. She is in pain. She feels blown up like her body is trying to invert itself. It could be a virus. It could be MS.
I leave the house. To the garage. To a bike, squishy tyred. Disused. And then to my car. Overnight literally smothered with shit. Irremoveable shit. The curse of Clifton. I try unsuccessfully to wipe off these encrustations. And an old familiar rumble as I take off, like indigestion. I insticively reverse and wait before getting out. Flat. Then. No spare. Is this new? Is this a con? I have bought a car without a spare tyre. WTF! How desperate can they be? But I am almost defeated by this. Or at least greatly confused. An animal running in circles for a good half hour. Not good. The need for normality.
I speak to my neighbour, the little blonde woman who vents spleen at anyone parking within 2 metres of her 5 metre black tank. She is all about defence.
‘Er. can I ask you a favour?’
‘It depends what itis.’
‘Do you have a bicycle pump I could borrow?’
‘Sorry. No…. Uber?’
As I guessed about Clifton neighbourliness. ‘Uber it is.’
Found a new flatmate today. It’s taken 3 months. Parker is from Texas but has been living in Oregon until 2 weeks ago. He is built like an Oregon barn – solid, safe – and I look forward to hearing his story. He works as a sound recordist for the BBC wildlife unit and so spends a third of the year in places that the rest of have probably never even heard of.