Andrew says he's spoken to Marie-Dominique and she says not to worry and don't bother even writing to the mayor or trying to hide the caravan when she visits. The mayor isn't worried about a caravan, she's worried about a caravan site / hippy fest. And anyway it's private land and she can't dictate who we have to stay or where. Andrew still doesn't want me to show a chimney until she's been and gone - 'sends the wrong message' - smoke signals presumably. And the Hairy Elf should probably make himself scarce as well.
the 100 day problem
what next?
1,000 days?
give up smoking?
resume drinking?
stop bothering. don't drink, routinely, but don't get antsy about a glass of wine
with a meal, or an occasional whisky.
how to celebrate it? cook a meaty meal in my caravan, for myself (with a bottle of wine. and then I think, and a beer, and a whisky. A whisky? just the one? and what about the brandy for after?). And of course, for each of these, I will need to buy a bottle - of wine, a beer, of whisky (just 35cl), of brandy. Which I will then need to finish, probably that night - or the next, and then I will definitely need a drink on day two. OR - take myself out for a slap up meal, with drinks (but no take homes). And do this on Day 101 - not Day 100. be nice to have someone to share it with. but if i say asked suzanne, or rebecca, or daniel, or andrew and delyth, to join me, would they think it odd that I was drinking?
there was another problem but I can't remember what it was. i think the previous paragraph is enough of a problem in itself.
talked all about not drinking to Swiss Suzanne while doing the washing up after supper (and Andrew and Rebecca in the background no doubt earwigging it all, while pretending to be having a very serious conversation about something completely different). And talked all about my two marriages over lunch with Rebecca and how I ended up on Naxos. All in all a rather revealing day.
A nice long chat with H after supper. Listening to Belle's duck ponderings.
the caravan problem - this is my home, not my weekend away, or a poor imitation of my other, real, home. more like a round the world yacht than a caravan or a mobile home or a tent. what i might be prepared to do for a couple of days, no way am i going to do every day for a year. e.g. the bed. a hammock? a proper mattress? easy way to stow bedding, or cover it up. proper nice bedding - sheets, pillow cases, duvet, duvet cover.
the weird way a caravan seeks to emulate a house, with a kitchen, a bathroom, a sitting room / dining room which can then be transformed into a bedroom - I don't need this, don't want to live like this. I need to re-think the whole thing. Dump the bathroom (a space if I used it I would only use twice a day - what a waste). I pee in a chamber pot, I wash my face and teeth in the kitchen sink and if I want a shower I'd have one outside, or use the one in the farm (bit of a cheat, but it is there, and ditto the loo) - if I was in a wood, or a bit further from the big house, I'd build myself a shower and a composting toilet, outside the caravan. What I want is a big flexible easy to manage space, that feels comfortable and cosy to me. You might not like it, but you don't live here.
I don't/didn't drink 'because' (belle on husbands / children / excuses). I drink because I like drinking and I like feeling drunk. But . . .
And in fact when I stopped pretending I was drinking 'because', and I admitted I just like it, I then realised, actually, I don't like it, and I don't like myself drunk (in retrospect) and I don't like the effect it has on others (mainly my children, but also exes, siblings, friends, the world) and I definitely did not like the way it was making me feel - crap, basically, and dying. And I really like being sober, and being the best I can be, and being capable, and to the extent that it is ever really possible or true, I like being in control - just not fucking knocking things over, or crashing the car, or losing a job (even if I hated it) or the almshouse (even if I didn't really want it), because I'm drunk, or hungover, or just way below par because I drank so much, all or most of the time. So that, even when 'sober' I wasn't really, I was just waiting for the next fucking drink.
quite glad I can't start playing freecell - no internet in the caravan - I'm just typing this while listening to Belle's duck ponderings. I should give her something (even if I'm over budget on Belle expenses - I'm not due to make her another payment until June or July). And my chrome's about to run out of juice, so i'll have to turn it off, and read my book, or just turn off the light and go to sleep - which I am now able to do, being sober. Not pass out, lights on, telly on, but just decide to go to sleep, and do so. I do fuck up sometimes - read too late, or watch some boxed set until 4 in the morning.
and I am so fucking pissed off that the next (and I think last) series of Game of Thrones won't apparently be until next year. What are they playing at? Maybe they don't have an ending? AAAAAAAAAAAAAArGGGGGGGGGGGGGhhhhhhhhhhh.
(this swearing thing's a bit catching - Belle does it a lot, it's quite cathartic).
Could I have a fold up bed? need a wall to fold it up against (don't want to block a window - but why not - the back window's looking at a stone wall. But it won't be always. so what? I might be dead before the wall goes away.
treat for 100 days - buy myself a decent laptop? do i really want an Apple or a Microsoft PC? (short answer - no). Or a smart phone with a decent contract - Andrew says his costs him 25 euros a month from Bougytel. And I could use it to make wifi hotspot for my Chrome.
(send all this to Belle, or the link to it anyway). her special blend tea sounds nice - it doesn't have any f---g fruit in it. i don't want to turn her off, but i want to read my book for a bit and go to sleep - I've listened to all the duck ponders parts 1 to 6 on the trot. must be two or three hours all told.
And all that was before I went to sleep at 1am. Lie in this morning, med at 8.15, so I had time for tea and a smoke and carried on the letter I started last night to Sukie about Thomas. Handwritten on biro and scraps of waste paper, but I don't want to type it in here and email it to her. Before meditation Andrew said he wanted me to Fire Safety Officer for the estate so I spent the whole meditation thinking about being a fire safety officer, and had no idea I knew so much about being a fire safety officer - more than enough to keep me off meditating for half an hour. Fire drills, emergency numbers, exit signs, types and numbers of extinguishers, daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly and annual checks and procedures, warning / info notices (I noticed the Citroen dealer has them posted up, but no useful info like the nearest firestation's number, or the Citroen member of staff responsible).
Then a quick meet in the farm over their breakfast and off to Vivonne to get cash for Andrew, butane gas for the cooker, tobacco, a decent ordnance survey map and retrieve the new tyre from the Citroen dealer, which I left until last. Got there at 10am - there was a slight delay while he sold another customer a car, and proceeded to give her a driving leçon. Another bloke was sitting in the showroom when I arrived. He was finally dealt with just before I left, at 12. I queried the bill (350 euros for a tyre seemed a bit stiff) but he said they'd replaced 2 tyres, which seemed like overkill. Actually when he explained it was quite reasonable - both tyres were worn almost to their legal limit (the car was second hand when we bought it 2 months ago) and it would have been stupid to put one brand new tyre on with a worn out one on the other side. So I left, finally, after 2 hours. Fortunately I had my book, and tobacco, and a sunny morning and a sandwich Parisien and got back in time for midday meditation, and then lunch cooked by Columbian Daniel. Rebecca in a bad way, the Bonnevaux lurgy, stomach cramps and exhaustion, so couldn't lunch and went to bed.
This explains why, whenever Andrew went out last time, to get a pint of milk, or a nail, he would disappear for several hours. I thought he was taking the piss. He was just being Frenched.
Sun's coming out so I may go and play solar panels.
Now I have a decent map, if the weather is nice I may go for a ride tomorrow and have lunch out, for my 100 day celebration.
the 100 day problem
what next?
1,000 days?
give up smoking?
resume drinking?
stop bothering. don't drink, routinely, but don't get antsy about a glass of wine
with a meal, or an occasional whisky.
how to celebrate it? cook a meaty meal in my caravan, for myself (with a bottle of wine. and then I think, and a beer, and a whisky. A whisky? just the one? and what about the brandy for after?). And of course, for each of these, I will need to buy a bottle - of wine, a beer, of whisky (just 35cl), of brandy. Which I will then need to finish, probably that night - or the next, and then I will definitely need a drink on day two. OR - take myself out for a slap up meal, with drinks (but no take homes). And do this on Day 101 - not Day 100. be nice to have someone to share it with. but if i say asked suzanne, or rebecca, or daniel, or andrew and delyth, to join me, would they think it odd that I was drinking?
there was another problem but I can't remember what it was. i think the previous paragraph is enough of a problem in itself.
talked all about not drinking to Swiss Suzanne while doing the washing up after supper (and Andrew and Rebecca in the background no doubt earwigging it all, while pretending to be having a very serious conversation about something completely different). And talked all about my two marriages over lunch with Rebecca and how I ended up on Naxos. All in all a rather revealing day.
A nice long chat with H after supper. Listening to Belle's duck ponderings.
the caravan problem - this is my home, not my weekend away, or a poor imitation of my other, real, home. more like a round the world yacht than a caravan or a mobile home or a tent. what i might be prepared to do for a couple of days, no way am i going to do every day for a year. e.g. the bed. a hammock? a proper mattress? easy way to stow bedding, or cover it up. proper nice bedding - sheets, pillow cases, duvet, duvet cover.
the weird way a caravan seeks to emulate a house, with a kitchen, a bathroom, a sitting room / dining room which can then be transformed into a bedroom - I don't need this, don't want to live like this. I need to re-think the whole thing. Dump the bathroom (a space if I used it I would only use twice a day - what a waste). I pee in a chamber pot, I wash my face and teeth in the kitchen sink and if I want a shower I'd have one outside, or use the one in the farm (bit of a cheat, but it is there, and ditto the loo) - if I was in a wood, or a bit further from the big house, I'd build myself a shower and a composting toilet, outside the caravan. What I want is a big flexible easy to manage space, that feels comfortable and cosy to me. You might not like it, but you don't live here.
I don't/didn't drink 'because' (belle on husbands / children / excuses). I drink because I like drinking and I like feeling drunk. But . . .
And in fact when I stopped pretending I was drinking 'because', and I admitted I just like it, I then realised, actually, I don't like it, and I don't like myself drunk (in retrospect) and I don't like the effect it has on others (mainly my children, but also exes, siblings, friends, the world) and I definitely did not like the way it was making me feel - crap, basically, and dying. And I really like being sober, and being the best I can be, and being capable, and to the extent that it is ever really possible or true, I like being in control - just not fucking knocking things over, or crashing the car, or losing a job (even if I hated it) or the almshouse (even if I didn't really want it), because I'm drunk, or hungover, or just way below par because I drank so much, all or most of the time. So that, even when 'sober' I wasn't really, I was just waiting for the next fucking drink.
quite glad I can't start playing freecell - no internet in the caravan - I'm just typing this while listening to Belle's duck ponderings. I should give her something (even if I'm over budget on Belle expenses - I'm not due to make her another payment until June or July). And my chrome's about to run out of juice, so i'll have to turn it off, and read my book, or just turn off the light and go to sleep - which I am now able to do, being sober. Not pass out, lights on, telly on, but just decide to go to sleep, and do so. I do fuck up sometimes - read too late, or watch some boxed set until 4 in the morning.
and I am so fucking pissed off that the next (and I think last) series of Game of Thrones won't apparently be until next year. What are they playing at? Maybe they don't have an ending? AAAAAAAAAAAAAArGGGGGGGGGGGGGhhhhhhhhhhh.
(this swearing thing's a bit catching - Belle does it a lot, it's quite cathartic).
Could I have a fold up bed? need a wall to fold it up against (don't want to block a window - but why not - the back window's looking at a stone wall. But it won't be always. so what? I might be dead before the wall goes away.
treat for 100 days - buy myself a decent laptop? do i really want an Apple or a Microsoft PC? (short answer - no). Or a smart phone with a decent contract - Andrew says his costs him 25 euros a month from Bougytel. And I could use it to make wifi hotspot for my Chrome.
(send all this to Belle, or the link to it anyway). her special blend tea sounds nice - it doesn't have any f---g fruit in it. i don't want to turn her off, but i want to read my book for a bit and go to sleep - I've listened to all the duck ponders parts 1 to 6 on the trot. must be two or three hours all told.
And all that was before I went to sleep at 1am. Lie in this morning, med at 8.15, so I had time for tea and a smoke and carried on the letter I started last night to Sukie about Thomas. Handwritten on biro and scraps of waste paper, but I don't want to type it in here and email it to her. Before meditation Andrew said he wanted me to Fire Safety Officer for the estate so I spent the whole meditation thinking about being a fire safety officer, and had no idea I knew so much about being a fire safety officer - more than enough to keep me off meditating for half an hour. Fire drills, emergency numbers, exit signs, types and numbers of extinguishers, daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly and annual checks and procedures, warning / info notices (I noticed the Citroen dealer has them posted up, but no useful info like the nearest firestation's number, or the Citroen member of staff responsible).
Then a quick meet in the farm over their breakfast and off to Vivonne to get cash for Andrew, butane gas for the cooker, tobacco, a decent ordnance survey map and retrieve the new tyre from the Citroen dealer, which I left until last. Got there at 10am - there was a slight delay while he sold another customer a car, and proceeded to give her a driving leçon. Another bloke was sitting in the showroom when I arrived. He was finally dealt with just before I left, at 12. I queried the bill (350 euros for a tyre seemed a bit stiff) but he said they'd replaced 2 tyres, which seemed like overkill. Actually when he explained it was quite reasonable - both tyres were worn almost to their legal limit (the car was second hand when we bought it 2 months ago) and it would have been stupid to put one brand new tyre on with a worn out one on the other side. So I left, finally, after 2 hours. Fortunately I had my book, and tobacco, and a sunny morning and a sandwich Parisien and got back in time for midday meditation, and then lunch cooked by Columbian Daniel. Rebecca in a bad way, the Bonnevaux lurgy, stomach cramps and exhaustion, so couldn't lunch and went to bed.
This explains why, whenever Andrew went out last time, to get a pint of milk, or a nail, he would disappear for several hours. I thought he was taking the piss. He was just being Frenched.
Sun's coming out so I may go and play solar panels.
Now I have a decent map, if the weather is nice I may go for a ride tomorrow and have lunch out, for my 100 day celebration.
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