Bristol October 31st 2019

Although it’s half term, I’ve been supposed to be doing work experience at Bristol 247. However I got ill yesterday and I’m too weak to go in. Perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew, doing a week’s work in journalism during half term.

It’s been good practice using my knowledge about writing articles from my diploma but it’s hard work working full time for a rag where there are always deadlines to meet. There’s just something about the team I’m working with. Is it only me who wants to communicate with other people? Maybe because I’m good at it I expect other people to take an interest but so often they don’t. Well, their loss.

I think there are no more than 8 or 10 people working for B247 and I’m pretty sure I’m the oldest and I’m the ‘workie’ as someone put it in an email (the work experience skivvy).

I did get to interview someone from Avon Fire and Rescue about water safety in Bristol harbour. It all felt a bit ‘Bridget Jones’.

I must try to continue to find freelance work when I start feeling better.

All in good time. It’s one of my new mantras.

I was at home with mum and dad last weekend and he seems to be ticking along although his movement is now very slow. As long as we can still be together and chat and reminisce then it’s OK. That’s all I’ve got to hold on to.

The clocks went back last Saturday and I feel like we’re looking down the long dark barrel of Winter. I doubt Dad will come out the other side, when the snowdrops and daffodils and those other symbols of new life remind us that the long cold months are coming to an end.

Imagine that thought.

It’s frustrating living so much in the dark. People leave their offices and it’s pitch black. It doesn’t inspire. Now is the time for engaging in winter pastimes – films, plays, exhibitions, etc..etc..and not to be getting too f*&ked up – so easy to do when all is cold and dark and I have no one to distract me.

For how long?

She is out there somewhere right now – doing her job, tieing up her shoelace, playing with her hair. Where is she? What’s her name? What does she like doing most of all? What makes her laugh?

I will find out. There’s time. We’ll lie in bed together on a Saturday morning staring at the ceiling and chatting without any sense or care of the outside world. Only caring about our chat and our thoughts. I will want her and she will want me – intensely – and we’ll be together til the end and it’ll be the best thing that will ever happen.


Dad very sweetly said to me the other day “Why don’t you go to a dance?”. The inference being that would be a good place to meet a girl. I had to explain you don’t really get dances like where he met mum (the story goes he was dancing with someone else and then trod on Mum’s dress, apologised and they immediately started chatting).

He said “Now I’m dancing with you.”

It would be great if there were more private parties where I could meet friends of friends but I seem to be at an age where it doesn’t happen anymore. 45. Jesus. But still want to party like I’m 25. Noone else does. They’ve all found someone, had kids and made the natural slide into middle age. I seem to think I can hold out like I’m James Bond.

James Blonde.

I am listening to William Boyd’s Bond book at the moment ‘Solo’. In it Bond is 45. Well what more encouragement do I need?

It’s a shame I’m ill. I could have gone to a Halloween party tonight. Well, there’s an After Hours viewing at the RWA. You see the paintings with all the lights turned down. Doesn’t that seem a bit pointless? What if you can’t see the paintings?

There’s also an international meetup at O’Neill’s in town. Fancy dress encouraged. Live music. Hmm..

I admit they’re not the best 2 options. Once again I feel the sense of aloneness which I seem to encourage. Why not ask Imilia to go the RWA? But most often I would normally end up going alone to a meetup to try and meet women.


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