Day 76 Thursday 21.xii.2017

A truly horrible realistic dream - was it 'Legally Blonde' 's fault - writing cheques, entering agreements, sex  / relationship therapy (sleeping with my ex-, not going well, my fault apparently), ending up in a departure lounge that was a really sordid little bar, with fag ends and glasses all over the place and a bunch of drunk losers waiting for flights. Then they all went off, I was stilling trying to do something illegal (something involving scissors add paste) with these cheques I had to hand over and then I woke up. And in my dream I actually walked into this sleaze hole and thought I want a drink! (Because of all the stress, and missing my flight, and travelling blah blah blah - in fact it was a drinking dream without me even drinking).

Diana in a frightful puss because she's been told she can't let her dog out while she's away in Ireland. Andrew thinks she'll move back to Ireland (she didn't get the job). He confirmed she hasn't paid rent for the two years she's been here. Laura went ballistic with her and Andrew because all her laundry was covered in dog and cat hair. Laura said Diana had washed her dog basket with the clothes. And dumped all the clothes on the floor after they'd been washed. She has been horrid since coming back from Ireland.

What a solstice! And I don't think it will be much of a sunrise. All misty. Take a photo anyway. Google still hasn't stapled my competition pics together.

And now I'm starting to feel rather sorry for Diana. She's such a hard nut on the outside, and yet I think she's a real softie inside. The way she was with Alba and Beep, or Esmé and Ted (she's getting tougher with him). And her reiki massage. Andrew says she only moved back two years' ago (just before I moved in, I think) because of the trouble they were having with Esmé when she was born and to be near the children. She has no money despite her well paid job (and she does work) and her desperate dating. And everyone hates her, or hates her animals anyway.  And her rooms are chaos - looks like a bag lady's moved in. Not cosy or comfortable. And she just seems to buy stuff, online, every day. She might as well be drinking (hardly touches a drop). I think she's deep down lonely. And unhappy (not just because of all the foregoing crap).

I need a shelf or potholder for my garden.

Laura says they won't get any oil until December 28th. Most people she asked wouldn't deliver until January. Just as well I'm going to be away over Christmas. Hate to think how much my little electric heater is costing them. They do seem to be shutting doors a bit more now.

Haven't bought Johnny a present. I could just get him a bottle of gin, but he's having to cut down - his pancreatitis turned out to be a swollen liver, as well. He never gets me one, or thanks me when I get him one. Something from Fram DIY maybe. Wrap Ingrid's present and go into town first thing to get baccy. Maybe the barbers can fit me in (she said yesterday they were fully booked all day today).

The weather all very appropriate for the mood - the low point of the year. It can only get better! Don't suppose Theresa May's having a very good day either. Her 'weak and stable' government has lost Damian Green, for having porn on his computer and lying about it and making a pass at someone.

Sorting out priorities. Avoiding overwhelm. Getting used to the new normal. Feeling crap, or unhappy, or anxious, and not being able to blame it all on drink.

Get paint for my table. Yesterday I introduced the Hairy Elf to facebook.

It is interesting and a bit frustrating to see how my liberty is curtailed by my addiction to tobacco, as it has been by my addiction to alcohol. That I have decide how to spend my time and energy today not on the basis of what I really want to do, but on the necessity of pedalling in to Fram or Sax in order to get more tobacco (which I can't really afford anyway - I barely have enough money to keep myself in smokes until the new year when my pension should arrive, never mind cover any other expenses, like as yet un-bought presents, or food).

Actually this is a bit silly. If Laura offered to buy me some tobacco today, I'd be delighted. Instead of which, I am forced to cycle 9 miles, which I wouldn't otherwise, and this is good for me. Or forced not to smoke, which would also be a bit good for me (and bad in lots of other ways) but only for a day, and I wouldn't poke my nose outside the door because the day is so horrible. So, on balance, having to cycle in to Fram to buy the ghastly weed is a good thing. As also, possibly, was my horrible nightmare.

I keep looking at my pallet plank table top, and how lovely it looks under glass - it's like varnishing a picture, all the colours and grains and rough bits, rusty nail holes, knots all just glowing a deep reddish mahogany under the sheen of the glass; do not paint this!

The other thing that's been nice about making my table is how useful and good my funny old tool set has turned out to be - my Opinel pen knife, which I've had for years, the rusty old Sabatier kitchen knife that Sukie and I bought soon after we got married, the sculpture hammer that Eleni got made for me in Athens; all much better and more versatile than the clever Stanley plane, for example. Toby's jig saw has been a great help though.

I did a cliff edge Brexit. I could have hung on, half in half out of a failed marriage and a crap job, but I just left. Best thing I ever did. And yes, now I have very little, but I am happier than I have ever been. We should just jump, tell the EU to stuff it, lose our financial services sector (oh dear), grow more of our own food, make our own clothes, cars, dishwashers, toys, and watch the EU fume with impotence and wait for others to join us (or not, and cling to nanny, but it won't be for fear of something worse because they will be able to see what didn't happen to us, which is what really frightens the Eurocracy).

Lionel Shriver in the Speccy is great on this sort of thing. She asked for the bill the other day - why haven't we seen it? Is there something on the menu we didn't order, or eat, or turned out to be a bit crap? Are they charging us double for something? Is there some sort of cover charge that no-one thought to mention? Because we have been shown no bill (by no-one, not even our own 'side') I am naturally suspicious there isn't really a bill at all - that we could just walk away, without paying another penny, and it's just another negotiating ploy ('if you pay this, we will let you have that').


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