So… the update continues. And to keep you entertained incase I fail…
A new love… so cool, so retro, so eighties, so Everything Everything….
I hope I’m not boring you. I really hope I’m not boring you, but I suppose I do it for me, you know, this diary thing, as much as for, more than for, you, and then I just hope that it’s somehow vaguely interesting. My life. Very arrogant really. Don’t think I don’t consider it. Double negative. I do! I do! Often. But hey ho… here we go again. You are not incidental by the way. Whoever you are. Well, some of you I know, but a lot of you I don’t. Anyway. Onwards. Someone once told me that self doubt was extremely unattractive… who was that? Oh, I remember… my ex-husband! Ha! Yes… Learn your lessons girl…
Where was I? Sunday…
So Monday- work- normal- only got really irritated once- oops!
Tuesday. At home. A writerly day. My first ‘legitimate’, read between the lines as you will, writerly day. Craig came round with Connor. Oh! But I nearly forgot!
Monday evening… two of my delightful ‘sons by other mothers’ dropped by with tesco bags full of fags, vodka, coke (the drink not the drug) and lambrini… We had a ball. The pre-text was that a CV needed some work on it… the subtext- Fuck knows! But they managed to keep me up until 5am so they must have been entertaining. CV got written, plus an alternative version incase ‘son by another mother AJB’ ever wants to apply for Broadmoor, as a client, not a service provider… Much Youtube was watched, much music listened to, much music played on guitar and sung, (how delightful) much alchohol drunk, (by them, not me, I moved onto tea at about 1am) much hair clipping undertaken, (they wanted to give me a ‘buzz’ cut, thank God I refused that vodka/lambrini cocktail and balked at fashion suicide, instead just insisting on ‘sorting’ their bad hair days.) I left them buzzing and talking about watching a movie. They were quiet and let me sleep, which was all that mattered to me at that moment so, as always, they are adorable in my eyes.
And yes… I awoke, as you do hopefully, (… the alternative is not good…), and Craig and Connor came round. God- I love that man. A true friend. Connor walked the dogs with Michelle and played killing games on the PS3 and Craig and I talked in the sun on the swingy basket chairs and did ‘Tarot.” And my cards are FUCKING BRILLIANT at the mo. And I was so happy I wrote a very happy poem… ‘Today.’ See a pre-previous post.
What a beautiful day. All of it. Beautiful.
Attended a great workshop at the Central Library in Leicester. An event organised in conjunction with ‘Everybody’s Reading’ week. Not sure when that is, but it’s a national thang so…
Jean Binta Breeze ran a workshop. They’re running for eight weeks. It was fab- she is- and I’m going to go to as many of them as I can. All to do with reading, writing and the inter-connection. Really fun.
Lunch. Home. Writing. I was moved by the riots and all the fucking bollocks shit that’s going on in England at the moment. Who wouldn’t be? It’s worrying. I worry about our country, our young people, my own kids and all the kids I know and love, and education, the state of the nation. Fuck!
We have to change. We have to change a lot of things. Now.
And I worry that I’m OK and other’s aren’t and I don’t want to feel guilty for having it good. I’ve worked hard. But I do. Feel guilty, that is and no doubt so I should… but I pay bloody heavy taxes- 60% of everything I earn goes to this government and it’s what they’re (not) doing with it that I’m not happy about.
It’s a difficult situation, I feel, trying to be political when you’re also comfortably off. I’m a socialist at heart, yet I’m a capitalist because of the way I live. I’m beset with middle class guilt and I don’t like it, but I didn’t vote them in. What to do? it’s difficult. I think things are shit and I don’t want them to be. There’s enough to go round. It should do and it needs to… But how? I don’t know. I don’t have the first fucking clue. That’s why I’m a fashion designer and trying to be a writer and I’m not, nor have I ever wanted to be, a self serving twat of a politician. My opinion. But we need to talk about it… as a nation. We need to sort it out. I love England, Great Britain, my country, my home.
And I want to feel proud.