Tuesday 18th September 2018 - Fatigue

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Four days since my last entry. Lax and undisciplined am I.

Feeling crushed by tiredness, I've become a bit of a zombie and have achieved zero recently, with crafting on hold and inspiration in short supply.

The socio-economic implications inherent in developing a new political system are vexing me. Unable to concentrate, I try to plant the broad notion into my sub-conscious before sleep, hoping it will do all the work the conscious me cannot. No joy so far. If a basic framework, at least, would evolve I'm certain that the fleshing out would come relatively easily. I'd like to take the ideas and either produce a work of fiction or my own grand manifesto.

Through the living room window, from where I sit,  my view is limited to the copper beech in the garden opposite, It shakes violently in short bursts, limbs akimbo in the blustery wind. There's still warmth in the sun, so much in fact that when combined with high humidity yesterday it became uncomfortable in the afternoon. Still, the last hurrah of Summer is to be savoured. We'll miss it when it's gone.

Friday 14th September 2018 - Autumn is Coming

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

The gradual descent into Winter seems tangible.

Today, even sitting in the garden, in full sun, requires a second layer of top clothing to ensure comfort, particularly when the breeze is blowing in from the North or East.

Small birds, tits and robins mostly, are frequenting the feeders again, to the annoyance of the pigeons who have held a virtual monopoly on the easy pickings since the start of Summer. The number of visitors has swollen noticeably, no doubt helped by a good crop of returning fledglings from the Spring matings.

The days are shortening quickly now as the Autumn Equinox approaches so post-dinner sojourns outdoors have ended.

Leaves and fruits drop from trees who've seen it all before, as they draw in their energy and rest beneath bark blankets.

Some welcome and embrace the new season; the jam makers, the game hunters, the football and rugby enthusiasts and the Christmas fanatics. I curse the faint light, the biting cold, the interminable wind and the spiteful precipitation. At least the beach will empty of holidaymakers now, traffic will move freely and there are those hot, slow-cooked dinners to look forward to.

Hoodie's on and I've moved to the garden to write. Dark clouds are rolling across what was a clear sky earlier and it's decidedly chilly. Stormy weather is forecast for the weekend and I fear we've lost the sun for a few days now.

I quite look forward to Fridays, the last day of the working week for most, even though I'm not 'employed' currently and may never be again. They do, I suppose, provide respite from the creditor 'phone calls and there are none on Sunday so my heart can tick with a more natural rhythm and the throat knots and stomach churns will abate somewhat.

As I consider the past week, I feel that matrimonial relations have improved slightly and I've returned to writing after a hiatus. Blog posts have been added retrospectively and links to these no-holds-barred musings have been posted on Twitter, where I'm active again in the #sixwordstory camp. There are more entries to copy to the blog and I'm chastising myself for committing yet more words to paper here but it just feels more natural and personal to use pen and paper.

In other productivity news, Wednesday's woodwork was missed through migraine but a brief willow weaving session garnered another bullrush for the garden.

Just added another couple of days' diary to the blog and was pleased to note that I only had one week left to transcribe. Unfortunately, it appears to be the most fertile week to date. Ah well ! Onwards and upwards.

Been pondering my synopsis that citizenship ought to be an option rather than an obligation. I've done some brainstorming and mind-mapping and it's fraught lwith issues and contradictions. I'm not sure if this is due to the limitations of intellect, a lifetime of indoctrination into the norms of the system or it's just an unworkable idea. I will return to this and write a blog post in due course (I think!). I should maybe research Engels and Marx and see how long it took them to write Das Kapital for reassurance, maybe.

I guess a forum to discuss 'ideas' of any nature would be useful. Maybe one exists already. If it doesn't I already have a name for a collaborative thought site: "THINGK TANGK".

Tuesday 11th September 2018 - Musings on Genius

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

There are those that walk or have walked amongst us to make mere mortals feel wholly inadequate.

I am certain that I could acquaint myself with many more if I could stand the mental torment but amongst those whose paths I've come across and who spring readily to mind include authors and broadcasters Stephen Fry and Clive James and scientists Richard Feynman and Stephen Hawking. S.F. and C.J. have had careers that span my mature life and I count myself fortunate to have followed the meat of both careers. S.H. obviously achieved popular fame with A Brief History of Time, an accessable but still difficult quantum physics introduction.

R.F. on the other hand was the subject of a Horizon (I think) programme a couple of years before his early demise which I happened upon by accident as a TV repeat or on YouTube. I recall him explaining some complex theory or other in such plain english that it was impossible not to be able to follow the thought processes. However, by the time he'd reached the end of his monologue I couldn't for the life of me remember where he'd started or how we'd reached his conclusion. Maybe, it's because the minds of great thinkers are wired differently.

What, then, is genius and how do those so endowed deal with it? I mean, how do they suffer 6 billion fools, where does the mental stimulation keep coming from and how are they able to release the energy of ideas?

Suffering fools is the most difficult for me to comprehend. Maybe it's as simple as never having known any different and they have developed systems of behaviour and the thought processes to enable them to dumb-down for interaction with us mortals. Afflicted with a high I.Q. myself (but not the 170+ of these gods) I find myself socially awkward, easily bored and endlessly frustrated by the stupid who seem to have been put in charge of everything.

The mental stimulation and release aspects are easier to fathom. They simply disseminate their original work through art, writing, lecturing and association with contemporaries.

How do we define genius? Da Vinci is universally held to fall into this category and it would be impossible to argue otherwise given the quantity and quality of work produced, much of which was years and even centuries ahead of it's time. But what of Van Gogh, an oft-called flawed genius? I beg to differ here. There is no evidence of the precociousness in youth generally associated with the label and frequently assigned to chess and musical maestros; Mozart springs immediately to mind and I've no doubt it applied equally to Kasparov, Fischer et al. Van Gogh on the other hand was a tortured soul , tortured by the folly of religious indoctrination whose focus became art and crutches were wine and women. It is easy to argue that he produced original and great art but this came from the intense focus of a damaged mind on a specific task - to paint what he felt.

But who am I to judge. I know I'm more Van Gogh than Feynman but without the focus or talent.

Monday 10th September 2018 - Alien State of Mind or Stephen Fry Saved My Life

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

I've woken today in the strangest, most alien state that I've known for years, and I do not exaggerate. I'm not prone to hyperbole, it's another of my pet hates as when TV talking heads refer to 'everyone' talking about or watching something or another when it's bleeding obvious they're not.

I am awake, alert, 'alive' and feeling 'normal'. I've just been in the garden, sitting beneath the crabapple tree, smoking and feeling calm and relaxed. I know this can't last and may only afflict me in the nicest sense of the word for an hour or two but it gives me such an immense sense of relief that I feel I must sit here and retrace my recent steps, in a probably vain attempt to uncover the reason for it. What has happened and what might I have done differently to bring about this strange state of affairs. I have my suspicions but mujst examine and consider each possibility in turn to draw any firm conclusions.

1. Medication - Lifting myself from the sofa I can tell by a glance at the weekly pill folder that Sunday night's doses were duly imbibed. I did skip Friday's allocation when I couldn't gather the enthusiasm to raise a tired body and mind from the reclined to reach for them but we'll probably discount this as a causal link.

2. Social Interaction - Della and Stephen visited us yesterday, as usual and nothing out of the ordinary in terms of discussion or revelation transpired. So, we'll park this one, too.

3. Diet - As normal coffee and cigarettes only this morning and it's now 10:00am. Yesterday, I prepared the traditional Sunday bacon butty brunch and ate nothing further until dinner later in the day; breaded pollock, chips and peas. Normal. A bar of chocolate in the evening, a fake snickers from Aldi or Lidl. Normal. Around 21:30 I had an abnormal bowl of corn flakes laced with raisins, demerara sugar and semi-skimmed. Unlikely but worth trying again is it not?

4. Exercise & Fresh Air - no significant amount of either. Discounted.

5. Personal Achievement - nothing to write home about. A disgruntled customer found fault with a locomotive sold on Ebay. A bit of ping-pong correspondence and a partial refund led to a satisfactory conclusion for both parties and preserved my cherished 100% positive feedback rating.

6. Mental Stimulation - now, here I have made a noteworthy change. Over the past 3 days I have been devouring Stephen Fry, not literary (sic literally) but metaphorically speaking. Over 300 pages of The Liar avidly consumed at every opportunity, even reading by LED light jafter dark when the others have retired to bed for the night. Is it too fanciful to start believing that exercising the old grey matter and a bit of escapism can effect such a change in energy and disposition? Healthy mind, healthy body to reverse an overused phrase. Since it is mental health that is the bane of my life and my consumption of literature has been minimal for so many years, the argument for this has some logic and is indeed persuasive. Or, it could just be wishful thinking. Either way, I still think it's the best 50 pence ever spent in a charity shop. Guess it's time to get back to the Trefusis and Adrian road trip.

10:45

Rude awakening time. The palpitations have been reignited. The clank of the letterbox and the fluttering thud of mail on the doormat is the portent of more doom and gloom. Dianne retrieves the deliveryand dishes out a whole pile of love-letter circulars from the bank. I'm encouraged to open them but have neither the mental fortitude  nor financial means to deal with them. I promise to open them later as I don't wish to lose the good mood. I'm lying, of course. The fragile mood has already taken a knock and I have no intention of darkening it further.

[Writing this retrospectively allows me to confirm that corn flakes are not a wonder cure for depression]

Friday 7th September 2018 - Private School

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

As usual, I feel that I've been lax with my writing but I notice it's only been 4 days since my last update, which isn't so bad for me.

It seems to have been a busy week one way or another, despite not much evidence of progress being made. Events of Monday and Tuesday are currently consigned to the mind's recycle bin and can't be readily restored. The passing of time isn't likely to aid their recovery.

Wednesday, however, is memorable though not miraculous. I attended the Men's Shed and made good progress scraping the garden varnish and detritus from the solid pine coffee table I've been rejuvenating. Managed to get a bloody war wound when the glass scraper I was using slipped in my grasp and we took delivery of our shiny new lathe, just prior to my early exit at 13:00 to collect Dianne for our regular D.I.A.L. meeting. I helped with constructing the stand before leaving but missed the christening of the machine later in the afternoon. I look forward to having a play next week.

Just remembered that Monday was a meeting with my 'work coach', a pointless and humiliating chore inflicted by a callous government [Ouch! Did I really write this?]

Thursday was more interesting. I signed up for and attended the first of 8 weekly sessions at Community Roots (Wild Haven) entitled 'Producing [something or other]'. It's all about manufacturing crafts to sell under the chaharity's banner. Yesterday, we spent our time learning to weave dragonflies and corn stalks whikch were more akin to bullrushes in my humble opinion. I guess it was enjoyable to the extent that I met and interacted with people in a relaxed, non-judgemental and friendly environment. I will persevere with this and look forward to the woodworking elements in future weeks.

Totally exhausted when I got home, I still managed to write emails to the utility companies, half promising payment of the outstanding accounts in the next couple of weeks. This being subject, of course, to Dianne's P.I.P. claim being reinstated and a lump sum back payment arriving.

Today, I feel as though I should be in the workshop producing but innstead I've picked up Stephen Fry's debut novel The Liar and read the first chapter. Sourced this from a charity shop for fifty pence a few weeks ago and opening it for the first time this morning lfound what appears to be the remains of the previous owner's breakfast inside the front cover. At least that's what I hope it is!

Unsurprisingly, the setting (or at least the background) for the book is a public school, though a prologue to chapter one describes a murder in Mozart's house in Salzburg, a place I visited on my own one day during a family ski trip in 1990. The first chapter gives no inkling as to the connection and simply introduces a few characters.

Reading it made me realise that I would have thrived in this environment; maybe not academically as there would have been others far more well read than I but as a personalijty. I would have undoubtedly fallen in with the rebellious, subversive crowd more easily than with the swots but the ideas, attitudes and experiences gained could only have shaped me for the better. Notwithstanding, of course, the need to attain a decent level of academic success to satisfy the scholarship requirements. If only I'd have applied myself to the interviewas concertedly as I had the entrance exams and not been so pig-headed about honesty at an early age Imight have achieved so much more.

Still no sales on Etsy but another loco and a couple of poistcards have gone from Ebay.

I've just re-read Monday's entry and note that I'm repeating myself here to some extent. Sigh!!

Monday 3rd September - Melancholy

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Feeling desperately melancholic today, so I'm puting pen to paper in thee hope of exorcising the demons. It sometimes helps.

It's one of those days when I want to be left alone, in peace with my thoughts and able to well up or even cry if I feel like it.

The craft fayre plan has hit the rails. I suppose it was ineveitable that the cash flow trickle would dry up at some point. The cinch point came last week. First, an unexpected (foreseeable I suppose) direct debit from the Paypal account for the annual FlickR subscription left the balance barely sufficient to cover the Ebay fees for the month and then the realisation that the upfront costs of attending organised fayres were greater than expected. Most ask that proof of Public Liabilijty Insurance be carried. The cheapest quote I could find was for 60 quid.

On top of that I need another £100 or so to pay for 'essential' items in my Ebay basket; padded envelopes, bracelet blanks, rust paint etc.

On the positive side, the sale of one of the remaining locomotives this morning helps a little. I can meet the Ebay fees for the month. I guess if turnover in the next week or two picks up, some forward momentum might ensue.

Had a mandatory Job Centre appointment this morning for Universal Credit even though I'm not required to seek employment whilst I continue to provide fit notes.

Anglian Water are chasing outstanding bills via recorded nuisance calls and E.On have similarly sent text messsages.

We still await the restarted P.I.P. payments following Dianne's successful appeal against their being stopped late last year. Once they are confirmed a backdated lump sum should allow us to clear the utility bills and I'll be able to instigate a claim for carer's allowance. At that point finances should be somewhat stabilised and maybe we can move forward. However, I'm at breaking point in the meantime; sad, helplessand dwelling on the futility of mere existence without purpose or hope of a bright future.

Thursday 30th August 2018 - An Epiphany?

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

I suddenly realised something about myself recently that I find quite profound. Why had it not occured to me before?

Planning and goal setting, which Id always felt were weaknesses, in fact aren't. At least in so far as setting short-term objectives are concerned. The issue which afflicts me is what happens once a goal is achieved.

For example, I wanted to be a computer programmer. Despite being told that there was no route in, from the role I was undertaking at the time, I managed to work my way through tht system and was duly appointed. I wanted to own and operate my own business. Roll up carpet cleaning and antique dealing and forex trading.

All these achievements filled me with satisfaction. However, I quickly became disaffected when the reality of the mundane, repetitive nature of things set in. I'm a junkie in need of the next fix.

You see, I have to constantly be trying something new and different. It's not a case of the grass being greener on the other side, it's an aching need for constant stimulation. I have a boredom theshold that is infinitessimally small and I have to believe that this a personality disorder that is the bane of my life.

I've often remarked in the past how much I envied those that are average. Average I.Q., average ambition, average earnings, average outlook and world view. Then, life would be so much simpler. Work 9-5, pay the bills, live in an average house, drive an average car, take family holidays on the Costa del Sol, work 40 years, draw an average pension and die peacefully at 78, without ever being overly concerned about the state of the world, the meaning of life or any of my other hopeless preoccupations.

My I.Q. is a curse.

Tuesday 28th August 2018 - Waiting Room

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's surgery, the most appropriately named room in history; the wait is interminable. I wouldn't mind so much if it was a quiet and peaceful place but the..........[interrupted train of thought as I'm called to my appointment. ON TIME!! I'm sure it's never happened before].......constant chatter at reception, the harsh creak of distant doors, the old lady who wants the world to know her life story by way of uninterrupted reminiscences that surely denote a constant preoccupation with the past and the inane tripe uttered by the DJ introducing this season's latest banal , manufactured tripe with unfettered enthusiasm, the like of which is normally reserved for shopping channel hosts. I will try to read but with the mind working overtime on all the distractions I find myself at the end of a paragraph with no recollection of it's substance. A further skim read normally commits the words to memory but makes progress painfully and irritably slow, thus taking away the enjoyment.

The weather's moody today, being on the cusp of Autumn as we are. Consequently, the headaches are starting again so not too many words on paper today.

I'm now sitting in the car with a grass-covered dune for a view. I don't think I'll venture down to the beach today.

Friday 24th August - Jellyfish

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Went to the men's group on Monday. The 'Group' consisted of Mark the facilitator, Kevin and myself. Both Kevin and myself were first-timers so, in our absence, Mark would have spent 2 hours talking to himself.

We drank coffee and talked about random shit the whole time. So, naturally I was fidgety at times, not being one for small talk. I consider it a waste of time unless accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol (I'm practically teetotal these days) or other brain bending drugs. Still, it got me out of the house and interacting with other members of the human race. Don't know what Kevin's story was, nor he mine but as he was of similar age to me and reliant on a walking stick one can hypothesise that nature's spite or an accident have brought physical impediments that vex his mind.

There was mention of an organised fishing trip in the future, subject to interest and of guests attending the sessions to talk on various topics. I'll probably give it another go next month but wouldn't be at all surprised if I were the only attendee.

Whilst there I saw and spoke to Scotty, an acquaintance of mine and friend of Dianne's and introduced myself to Pinky. Dianne had described him as having a penchant for pink but "he's not gay" as if it mattered. I can concur with both statements. Turns out his real name is Dave, he's there every day, carves wood on Tuesdays and would be celebrating his birthday yesterday.

On Wednesday I discovered through a misdialled call from Scotty's partner that she'd managed to impale herself on barbed wire Tuesday night and ended up under the surgeon's knife to clean out some debris from the deep abdominal wound she'd sustained. She was back home yesterday, so Dianne visited with some of her favourite salmon pate and crusty bread.

As I had a couple of Ebay sales to mail, I ventured out this morning and made the customary trip to the beach. I wasn't there long as I couldn't be sure of the whereabouts of my mobile phone and it was causing me some unwarranted angst. It was either left at the Post Office or at home, either way in safe keeping. I walked fairly briskly one and a half breakers along the shore, finding a few interesting pebbles along the way and spotted a marooned jellyfish on the shingle bank. Another was found on my last visit. Until this week I don't recall ever seeing one at Caister. I imagine that this uncommonly warm summer we're having has raised sea temperatures sufficiently for them to migrate further North than is usual. I recollect as a child in 1977 (I think that was the heatwave summer and Elvis's last) swimming in the sea at Hunstanton and the waters were full of them.

On the way back to the car I managed to collect a couple of small pieces of driftwood that Dianne had requested for some kind of sea-art project she means to undertake. It also involves shells, twine and stones apparently. The mind boggles!

Been feeling quite off colour all week. I think a virus took hold last Saturday when my whole body felt tired and achy. These symptoms persisted for a couple of days and a bloodshot eye developed. The weeping eye remains and today I have the symptoms of a head cold with sneezing, a runny snout and that clawing irritation you get at the back of the nasal passage that extends down into the throat. Hate summer colds. Particularly this year as the glorious weather is just beginning to become unsettled, signalling it's intent to draw the curtain on the warm season and usher in Autumn. Want to enjoy what's left of it, please!

It's been a frustrating week generally. I don't feel as if I've moved forward at all and I'm probably correct. Looking at the positives, I suppose I've had some social interaction, added a few necklaces to Etsy, made contact with the Principal at First Move Furnishaid with a view to volunteering and....and....Oh! domestic relations have improved slightly and I've sent off a self-referral application to MIND that arrived in the mail a couple of days ago.

I know there was more to put down here but my mind has misplaced it for the time being. I'm sure when I was young I had total recall of events and thoughts which could be dragged out when needed. These days memory seems to be a skeleton of ideas and happenings, left thus to be filled with reasonable logic or guesswork. Or, maybe it's the conscious becoming tired and lazy and leaving all the hard work to the sub-conscious. [not sure this makes sense to me now]. My conscious would like to know the answer to this but the research would be a bit of a brainache and it really can't be bothered.

I ought to be writing this on my blog but I still prefer pen and paper. Perhaps I'll write the blog retrospectively.  If you're reading this online, the decision was made and acted upon.

Monday 20th August 2018 - Self Loathing

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Here we are at the start of another 'working' week.

Dianne rose early today (for her) at 7:10am; a time I dread. I like to have some personal time at the start of the day to organise my thoughts, in the same way I like some end of day time to relax.

The first thing that happens is the TV goes on for at least half an hour and I'm inflicted with garbage for the illijterate masses; either This Morning or a soap catch-up. How can anyone concentrate or relax with all those shouty people talking shit in your living room.

The shouting from the box is intermittently interrupted by the first frets of the day; "I hate flies. Why are they always around when you don't want them?"; "I had to pick a dead wasp up from the kitchen floor. Will they come back again next year?"; "Is it going to rain today?", like I'd know; "What's on your list?", meaning how are YOU going to bring some money into the house. Never have I heard her say that she has an idea for something that she could do to bring in some extra income.

Apparently, she's not going out today as she's "got jobs to do around the house". For the past week she's been 'tidying' her bedroom. You ought to see the results!

At the weekend, both Friday and Saturday, I tried to get intimate with her but was rebuffed on both occasions. No reson was forthcoming, though on Saturday I suspect the imminent TV event she'd mentioned on several occasions during the day was more important. Probably explains my bad mood. [I haven't tried since]

Our relationship isn't working. I feel so very lonely. Della didn't visit yesterday and I miss her and the respite the visits provide.

There's a once-a-month men's group meeting run by MIND at Wild Haven today and I'm thinking of giving it a go. I can only countenance the negatives sitting here; it will be a bunch of 'loonies'; I won't have anything to contribute; advice will be as useful as teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. I subscribe to the theory that you are who you associate with and I can't help but think that association with other melancholic individuals can only be detrimental. It certainly hasn't done Dianne any good these past few years.

Give me a cause to fight for, something useful and meaningful to do with my time, a reason to live for fuck's sake. How have I managed to waste 53 years of my life without a plan or a vision or the mental fortitude to push forward and achieve something? My frustration with myself is wholly justified and pretty overwhelming at times.

Fuck it! Think I'll give this group a try. You never know, do you!?

Sunday 19th August 2018 - The Meaning of Life

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

It always surprises me how much deep thought runs through my mind that I decide can wait until I put pen to paper.

Then, I sit here amongst the breaker rocks on Caister beach on an overcast but warm Sunday molrning and it's all gone. Not forgotten, just temporarily misplaced and waiting to be taken out again like a dust-covered book on a shelf. This should be reason enough to commit thoughts to the page in a more timely manner.

I'm sure I've mentioned before how disillusioned I have become with life in general. Whilst this has always been the case to some extent, I feel it's manifestation now informs everything I think and do. I know that my life has to be different to have any meaning or purpose and to expereience contentment, if not happiness...............

I just broke off writing for about half an hour. The normally slow ebb and flow of the tide had been taken over by a sense of urgency (maybe on account of the strong wind) and the shoreline laps that were 10 yards away when I began jotting were nearing my feet. Whilst I wasn't immediately in danger of an unwanted salt bath, the distraction was sufficient to cause me to move.

Thus, I proceeded along the shoreline for, perhaps, another 100 yards but unusually the sense of despair, frustration, restlessness and foreboding that normally dissipates on a beachcombing trip remained. A wander higher up the beach and a trudge back to the car through clawingly soft sand followed. The search for driftwood and flat stones to carve took me pakst numerous sand hills and circles of nondescript stones left behind by holidaymakers.

The random distribution of small, burnt timbers that are found in some abundance always surprises but probably shouldn't. Presumably, the washed-up remains of reclaimed beach fires. I romanticise about them being the remains of sea-borne funeral pyres, if romanticise is the right word...............

Anyhow, back to the theme I started with. The loss of control, privacy and self-determination in my life is increasingly difficult to deal with. Whilst I can declare that suicide is not the only option under consideration I'm finding homelife more claustraphobic by the day and am beginning to ponder life as a single man again. Whether that involves intentional community living, a home in the woods, roaming the country in an old Transit or some as yet unconsidered option I really have no idea. If I could convince Dianne of the merits of I.C.L. that would still be my preferred option but it appears to be the least likely outcome.

Yesterday, I presented myself at my first craft fayre. The compliments and words of encouragement were welcome and convince me of the merits of pursuing mixed media and jewellery making further. The hard work of the pakst few weeks was made particularly worthwhile by one patron's genuine surprise that such a professional looking stall was a first visit to a fayre.

Having just proof read today's musings I must confess to some disappointment at the brevity of it all. Three pages of an A5 notebook don't seem to amount to much and leave me well short of the stream of consciousness writing that I would hope to achieve in the long run. More practise needed!

I think maybe I should get back to writing my blog. A reader or two might help with another of my dreads, dying in anonymity. This is a strange thing to fear for a private, introverted individual but perhaps ties in with the desire to lead a more purposeful and meaningful existence. I don't know!?

Wednesday June 20th - Medication

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Yesterday, I skipped the Sertraline on the basis that I can't pay for the prescription. They also don't appear to help much, I'm concerned about negative side-effects (Why?) and I'm struggling to function on a daily basis with them. I also received a call from the doctor's surgery telling me there was a prescription for Folic Acid waiting to be collected. No indication as to why this has been prescribed!

Yesterday was a better day overall. Dianne had a friend and her husband from Colorado visit in the afternoon so I hid away in the workshop, made some progress on the picture frame I'm upcycling and prepared a few price and attribtion labels for my completed mixed media projects.

Today, however, I'm back to feeling totally exhausted and helpless. In the mail was a letter from the surgery stating that I'd been referred to Urology. Dianne made me open it in front of her. We both hoped it was a follow-up from Wellbeing services but after 4 weeks, still nothing. Told Dianne that it was a general appointment confirmation letter with the G.P. (don't want her to worry or pester me). There was also another questionnaire from the E.S.A. people. I say questionnllaire but it's more like War and Peace. The Department for Work & Pensions could never be accused of brevity!

Made an Ebay sale and have boxed the locomoltive ready for dispatch but the thought of going to the Post Office fills me with dread after Monday's embarrassment. Expect I'll manage to get there somehow, though.

Dianne's just gone out but felt the need to ask me if I was going to be alright. She's obviously concerned and I must be making a bad job of hiding my mood now.

Late on Monday, I received a reply from the Old Hall Community in Constable country, near Colchester. They would welcome a visit from me/us on a convenient date. Some weeks ago I spoke to Dianne about the appeal I felt for 'intentional community living'. She wasn't keen then and I don't suppose she is now. I'd dearly love to organise something but I think it's a non-starter.

So, here I sit in the workshop pondering how someone with such a high I.Q. could finish up in such a predicament. I never fail to be frustrated, angry and disappointed with myself.

My sole lachievement in life has been to raise 2 children to adulthood in a safe environment with honesty, openness and a commitment to self-expression. They've turned out OK but at the expense of me kicking the financial ball further and further down the road to the point where it's rolling over the horizon.

At this point I'd like to return to the topic of intentional community living. I have long been disillusioned kwith modern life in general. Everything from celebrity culture, selfishness, greed, consumerism, 24-7 marketings, media propaganda and the corporate takeover of everything to environmental destruction, lying politicians, the business of war and narrow-mindedness. Whilst I.C.L. draws people in from varied backgrounds and belief systems , the important core values of working for the common good, preserving the environment, simplified living and respect for one another trump all the other bullcrap in life.

Dianne just returned from a fruitless trip to Citizens Advice with the grill missing from the front of the car. Apparently, she "heard something" but "didn't think much of it" and a search proved fruitless. What can I say; not even "never mind I'll order a new one". Good grief!!

To complete my self-assessment, I'm O.C.D. when it comes to organising and planning, have no respect for 'authority', resent being instructed unless I've asked for it and deplore a society that signs me up for citizenship as a newborn, then demands a code of behaviour and money from me but neglects me in my hour of need. Citizenship should be an option at one's coming of age, not a mechanism for a lifetime of conformity and slavery. Then, perhaps, the political class would work for the people, providing care and incentivisation, rather than selling themselves to the highest bidder.

This has always made me feel like an outsider looking in rather than a part of a dynamic organism. Life is too irrational, illogical, unreasonable and frustratiing. Or, maybe I'm just insane!?

June 18th 2018 A Low Point

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

The day started badly with a feeling of extreme exhaustion.

Every day starts exhausted but it's worse today. Though I tries to settle down for the night at around 11pm and woke at 00:20, 04:10 and for the final time at 07:15 this is a 'normal' sleep pattern, despite the nightly sleeping tablet. I put it down to the visit of my daughter yesterday, a very welcome visitor but always tiring.

I've been fretting over the weekend about today's visit to the doctor and anokther blood test. My kidneys ached on Saturday and I passed blood. My online research had indicated a worse-case scenario of bladder cancer (because of a previous episode a few weeks ago) or a best case of kidney stones. Either way it seemed inevitable that a referral to Urology would be forthcoming and this would mean invasive, uncomfortable and embarrassing tests.

Sure enough, having had a urine test a couple of weeks ago that was positive for elevated blood presence, she has referred me. I left another sample. Why she has not conlsidered the rare but known side-effect of haematuria for takers of Sertraline I have no idea.

Following the appointment I went to the Post Office for an overseas mailing, a bottle of milkand some tobacco. The debit card was declined for insufficient funds. Now what????

Straight to the beach I gandered to contemplate my options but the sun and heat proved too intense so I returned home.

I rang the doctors to book the appointment I should have made on the way out earlier and then Jobcentre Plus to find out the the results of my health assessment 5 weeks ago. I was told that this had resulted in a decision in my favour on June 7th but no benefit would be paid due to inadequate N.I. Contributions. Today just keeeps getting better!

My thoughts have returned to suicide and the methods I can face. A week's worth of Sertraline and sleepers might work but clinical intervention to treat the effects is likely to be sucessful. I'm now considering pitching a tent somewhere remote, without food or water and just letting nature take it's course.

Tuesday 30th January 2018 - Direction

The intent of this blog was to write about what I know about.

Since what I know most about is me, I had thought that it might become a diary or some kind of living biography. I'd probably pass comment on the weather & the day's propaganda feeds as well as my daily routine.

However, it seems to be going off at a tangent at present. My renewed enthusiasm for writing, as a distraction, has turned it into something of a scrapbook of randomness recently. Writing for the sake of writing? Yes. Why not? Site hits for my 'Inspiration' related musings are exponentially greater than those relating to my trials and tribulations. I guess we've all got our own issues, without burdening ourselves with those of strangers.

So, this blog needs to find some sense of direction and I'm unsure what that should be for now. As I remain unclear as to where I go personally in life. If I was merely undecided on these matters it would be a simple question of choice. Life's too bloody complicated!

Anyway, a bit of diary just for the record.

I've been prescribed Zopiclone & Sertraline. Three days in and the Zopiclone is working like a charm - wide awake at 03:45 this morning!!

It's not all negative, though. In many ways 3 to 4 a.m. is the day's happy hour. With such little human activity at this time, the peace and quiet has a meditative quality that provides space for uninterrupted thought. I enjoy writing at this hour, which is just as well since most other activity risks disturbing the rest of the household.

A timely, generous and selfless act from a close relative at the weekend has lifted the severe financial pressure on us. I sincerely hope the immense gratitude is apparent to them and that I prove worthy of the 'investment'.

Desperately tired and restless now. A combination of stress, insomnia, last week's event and the new drug regime I suppose. Not to mention all the personal attention being lavished, which I'm unaccustomed to! A couple of good nights sleep would be more than welcome and I'm pretty sure increase my positivity no end.

As always, any comment is appreciated. Particularly if you have any sense of the direction this blog or my life should be taking!

Monday 29th January - Character Study

Here's a character who's dying for a past and future to be written.

Scarface

Scarface bears the signs of a life lived.

Scar tissue runs like string from the corner of his right eye, at first horizontally across the eye socket, before tracing vertically down to mid-cheek and fading in to the 2 day stubble rising to meet it. It's neither ugly or intimidating.

Close observation reveals a small ear tear. Further evidence of battles fought. Maybe won, maybe lost; but survived. His wounds are all physical. There are no outward signs of mental fatigue. An upright, lightly muscled frame carries him around.

Sharp blue eyes busily survey his surroundings until they fix briefly on anything that requires greater attention.

His tousled, mid-grey hair is cut and washed but unbrushed. Brown suede shoes, Levis and an untucked thick, checked shirt complete the look. No jewellery. No body art. Practicality is more important than preening. You take him as you find him because he's a man unto himself.

Passive income comes from a couple of properties and various sleeping partnership arrangements. Floating income is supplied by deal-making. He buys and sells whatever he can turn a profit on. For pleasure as much as financial gain.

Well-known, liked and sociable he travels through life busily and purposefully without nurturing close friendships, perhaps hinting at a past of broken relationships. Confident, without a hint of arrogance his good nature appeases men and appeals to women.

Comment and criticism welcome. Thanks for dropping by.

Sunday 28th January 2018 - Make Strangers A Source Of Inspiration

On Sunday 14th January, I posted a piece entitled Struggling for Inspiration.

https://thereluctantdiarist.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/sunday-14th-january-2018-struggling-for.html

One of the options I put forward was to "Make strangers a source of inspiration".

Here's an example. She's not an interesting character but if you were to rock her world, all kinds of possibilities could be imagined.

The Bobette

The Bobette is characterised by shoulder length, cut too thick hair and tinted but only to preserve neutrality and cover any early grey strands - no reds, blues or greens for this girl.

Safe, comfortable, middle class, boring without realising it & married to Mr Dependable who leaves the house at 8 a.m.every morning and walks back through the door at 6 p.m. prompt. Typically aged 30-50, though sometimes the condition's onset is earlier, she's advertising that Mr Right has been found and the only flattery or attention she desires now is from her female friends.

She may keep a house cat but is wary of dogs - she heard some could be dangerous. The small car that ferries her around probably has a given name, rigidly obeys speed limits & all other road signage & is checked over by Mr Bobette every weekend at her behest. Naturally risk averse she 's never made a bungee jump, pillioned on a motorcycle, smoked, drunk more than 2 glasses of wine, visited a tropical country or driven without fastening her seatbelt.

She dresses neatly for comfort - trouser suits, knee-length skirts, blouses (not too clingy) and twinsets. She doesn't own a pair of jeans but has a cupboard full of low heeled, scuff-free shoes.

Her home is clean, neat & sparsely decorated. The lounge is functional with a plain wool mix carpet & seating pushed back against the walls.A nest of tables sits in a corner of the room and if there is sufficient space to allow the room to remain uncluttered, a coffee table beset with the obligatory cookery books, coasters & a small vase of dried flowers will rest on a neutral rug in the centre. The table will be just beyond arms reach of the sofa sitters but form prevails over functionality here. On the longest wall a tasteful, conventional, posed, professionally-taken A3 photograph of her nuclear family takes prominence. A smear-free glass fronted display cabinet houses more silver-framed family portraits - none of them show the subjects engaged in activity, just dutifully staring into the camera lens with their vacant smiles and safe haircuts.

The kitchen is rebuilt every few years with a contemporary but not bold design. Full sets of cutlery and crockery are neatly stored - loss or breakage demands replacement and a trip to the charity shop with the perfectly serviceable old sets.

The fitted bedroom is feminine, pastel and floral with functional, formal lighting and no allusion to a temptress's boudoir. Bathrooms are polished and fragranced with neatly arranged toiletries & a small bottle of after shave the only indication of a male presence.

When the kids are collected from school - which, of course, they must be given all the dangers of suburban life - she stands with the other Bobettes & talks proudly of Mr Bobette's promotion to deputy bean counter in accounts receivable and the fish pie that she's prepared for dinner.

The rest of her days are filled with cleaning, tidying, shopping, a flower arranging course and weight watchers.

And such will be her life. So long as the basic security & comfort she feels isn't rocked, her limited imagination & intelligence will permit a definite contentment with banality and good luck to her. It's not a life that most would choose but the malcontents amongst us might just hide a tiny bit of envy for an unremarkable, uncomplicated existence.

Please feel free to leave comments.

Thursday 25th January - Why?

Yesterday was a rather hazy recovery day. Apart from slight disequilibrium I experienced no nausea or other ill-effects. Presumably, I passed out before enough alcohol could be consumed.

Had a visit from my mother and a 'phone call from my daughter & a very pleasing text from my son.

They've hidden all the drugs in the house from me; even the migraine relief ones so quite how that is doing me a favour I'm at a loss to understand.

Feeling very down now that the effects have all worn off - helpless, impotent, lonely. Nothing has changed so another attempt will be made imminently, though the method is yet to be finalised.

Why carry on!?

Wednesday 24th January 2018 - This dog won't die!

Well, reader. As you can see yesterday didn't go according to plan. Else, there would be no entry today. My 'no resuscitation' instructions were ignored and i was whisked off in an ambulance to A&E.

At what point in the exercise the last blog post appeared I am unclear. I do recall having considerable trouble hitting the fight keyboard key despite trying to concentrate intensely. Somehow I must have thought it readable enough to post despite having been written in some form of hieroglyphics. I have chosen not to remove it as it tells it's own story.

Tired, deflated & dazed today so nothing more to add, except to mention a visit from social services and a first meal in 24 hours,

Perhaps we'll met again tomorrow.

TUEESD 22ND JNUARY 33

Still hearing but awakr, More akcohol rteqyred

Feej free ti -=o kann[[jw  FD-DUBN--Ntui-
Ni cgagre

Tuesday 23rd January 2018 - The Story Ends

So, my story ends a little sooner than I had predicted.

Letters are written, the office is tidy and the process has begun.

I will endeavour to send final messages to family before I lose consciousness completely.

Thank you to anyone who cared to read this blog & responded positively to my twitter postings.

I wish you all to lead full and happy lives.

Plesre take tthe ume to leacr o vonr commrnt or dontion :)
























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Goodbye and good luck.

Monday 22nd January 2018 - Still here

The letters from the bank have started to arrive, giving notice of declined payments. The trigger I had been expecting.

So, yesterday was to be the day. Last night in fact.

I had written some notes on the laptop, which was to be left open so that whoever discovered me in the morning would have a connection to the me that was a few hours earlier.

It begins, as it should do, with the following line:

"Please do not resuscitate - I am of sound mind and fully aware of the consequences of my actions."

There is a brief explanation of how I came to this point, directions as to where goodbye letters may be found on the pc, the funeral arrangements to be made (the service is written), who to contact about life and pensions, how a little money might be raised and a final goodbye.

However, I received a 'phone call in the morning from a relative who would like to visit this Saturday. I would like to see him and his partner one more time so I have resolved to try to make it to the weekend. It does seem a long way off, though.

To fill the days I will endeavour to do some work, engage on Twitter and keep home-life as normal as possible for my nearest and dearest. Having rediscovered my love of writing, the inability to continue with it will be my last great regret.

Things In Life That Irk Me

My word, this topic could fill a few books but I will start with a couple of minor rants & raise more in future posts.

The near universal use of 'try and' in verbal and written communication has always bothered me. To 'try' means to attempt to do something and thus implies more than one possible result , while the conjunction of 'and' suggests a certainty of outcome. That this should have become commonplace in the everyday vernacular almost permits me to excuse the populous at large. That Oxbridge educated TV fronts, newspaper hacks, politicians and professionals also use it denies them my pardon  It's 'try to', you morons! Stop doing it! It's bad english and makes no sense.

I happened to notice a commercial on the television today. This is unusual because if I happen to be within reach of a remote these are invariably muted and ignored, to the inexplicable chagrin of anyone else present. It is another gripe of mine that I pay both a TV licence fee and a monthly subscription to a 'content' provider for the dubious privilege of being sold crap I don't need.

But I digress. What appeared on the box was one of the most recognisable men on the planet. He isn't a great scientist, an inspirational leader (I believe these all but became extinct by the 1960s), a notorious criminal or even famous in the field of art. No, his name is David Gandy and he's a clothes horse. To my mind this is a sad indictment of the consumerist society we live in today. The absurdity of an individual commanding fame, fortune and reverence by dressing up ought to be evident to all. Then again, perhaps similarly trite distractions have been with us through the generations. That the history books don't record them doesn't mean they haven't existed. It merely points to the ephemeral nature of such things and the minimal long-term impact they have.

Comments are always welcome.

Tuesday 16th January 2018 - Surviving One Day At A Time

Here we are still.

'They' say that every day is a bonus but it doesn't feel like it. Constant worry, extreme exhaustion, loneliness & the inability to formulate a solution turn life into existence, not living. The end seems inevitable now - I'm just waiting for the trigger. I don't know where it will come from; a 'phone call, unwanted mail or a misplaced word but it's coming.

I agonise over the consequences.

A mentally ill wife, drugged up to the eyeballs, who "can't be bothered" or "doesn't feel like it" or "wishes" for or "wants" things but makes no effort or progress towards attaining them. Expecting them just to arrive, she numbs her intellect further with a diet of daytime TV, soaps & other nonsense, constantly informs me about every minor ailment that most of us would think nothing of, or unworthy of comment at least, and takes issue with every passing comment or minor event due to anxiety. All whilst grazing on junk food; the effects of which are now counteracted by the use of statins, rather than willpower or restraint. Traits and eccentricities that were once considered quirky, charming or quaint have become exaggerated over time, as seems to happen to us all as the years pass,I suppose. The daily ritual takes place without apparently noticing or considering others. The effect it has on my quality of life is akin to forced anonymity. At the same time, I feel the guilt and responsibility of someone who's shared so much of her life and who cannot reasonably be said to be blameless in the journey that brought us here.

In this situation, would my demise be the making or breaking of her. I try to convince myself that having to face up to life and responsibility may, after the initial shock phase, make her stronger in the long-term. The children will surely rally around with the support she will need in the beginning but that raises another issue. As young adults are they yet mature enough to accept and deal with this? Is it fair on them, anyway?

I spend every day treading on eggshells and with the spectre of debt collectors looming on the horizon. With nobody to turn to for support this really can't continue.

The recent return to reading and writing brings brief moments of solace but it's not enough.

To anyone reading this I apologise for the brevity, lack of structure & tone. And it feels like I'm abdicating responsibility which is disingenuous.  However, it's all I can manage today - maybe there'll be a 'bonus' day for elaboration and editing.

Sunday 14th January 2018 - Struggling for Inspiration?

#sixwords #sixwordstory #sixwordprompt

Struggling for inspiration? writer's bloc? Try a six word prompt to set off a chain of thought.

Some suggestions:

Capture philosophical thoughts before they evaporate

When your subconscious suddenly throws out a profound thought, grab it immediately. We've all had them, usually at times when the mind is left to wander - more often than not mine appear magically and without effort just before sleep. It's a chore to rise and record it at this time but well worth the effort. Maybe I won't use it straight away but I won't lose it. They are rarely retrievable when you wake despite that mental note you make to remember it.

Write the script that never was

Ever watched a movie or read a book & thought you knew where the story was going. You might have been surprised or disappointed with the direction it took. Why not rewrite it? If you thought it could have been executed better or differently, then surely so will others. It's not plagiarism - everything that has ever been said, written, discovered or made in human history has borrowed from one source or another.

Make strangers a source of inspiartion

Have you ever tried people watching? Most of us see but don't look as we go about our daily lives. Stop gawping at your mobile device. Next time you're sat in the car waiting to pick the kids up from school or for your partner to run an errand. Or you're sat in the park on your lunch break; or pausing at a beauty spot or on the promenade to take in the view, try looking beyond the physical landscape & start noticing the humans within it.

Find one that looks interesting to you. How are they dressed? Why are they there? What's their occupation? What are their physical characteristics? What's their life story? Do they remind you of anyone? What are their life views? Questions beget questions and soon you have a complete profile. Your creative juices have been stirred & maybe you have a new character for that book or at least a thought or two to commit to the page.

Correspondence & comments are very welcome, if you have the time. Thank you for reading.

Saturday 13th January 2018 - Who Am I? Part 2

Not really a follow-on per se as the previous post went off on a bit of a tangent but what moves, motivates or otherwise informs my self. A list with a social and moral compass summary at the end. There will be plenty missed but who keeps a record? Besides, brevity must prevail over completeness here, lest it becomes too much to digest.....

Passions & Interests :

Art
Photography
Social & Economic History
Politics
Humanities generally - wish I could really 'get' the sciences
Reading
Writing
Cricket, Grand Tour Cycling, International Rugby Union (all passive)
Skiing
Movies
Music

Movies:

Lost In Translation
Lord of the Rings
Matrix
Love Actually
Citizen Kane
Casablanca
African Queen
Animal House
Blues Brothers
Pulp Fiction
Lock, Stock...
RocknRolla

Writers:

Woolf
Orwell
Tom Sharpe
Clive James
Coleridge
Shakespeare
Dylan Thomas
Tolkien

Music:

Classical - favs are Mozart, Beethoven & Grieg
Blues
Rock/Metal
Techno

Skills :

Research
Systems Analysis & Design
Information Gathering
Logistics
Proof reading
Report Writing
Photography
Used to program

High I.Q., inquisitive, free thinking, free speech advocate, socially awkward, unfocused, put comedy over drama, peace over confrontation, love over hate, quality of life over standard of living, pissed off with the state of the world- consumerism, environmental destruction, inhumanity, selfishness, bad manners, celebrity culture, stupid political & religious ideologies? Then, you're a kindred spirit.

Would love to discuss any or all of the above - please get in touch.

Saturday 13th January 2018 - Who Am I?

Who Am I?

I'm the sum of all my actions & experiences. As are you. That's a given. Or, is it?

At this point, I have cause to pause for thought. My propensity to O.C.D. would require that two lists are now written, as comprehensive as possible in their scope, to support this statement.

However, since every action creates a reaction, then in our personal worlds this can be said to be an experience. Ergo, we are all simply sums of our individual experiences.

Since we are only in control of the inputs to self to some degree, our character formation is largely beyond our control.

At birth we arrive in the world pre-programmed to accept input from those around us and we must take this at face value since we are unknowing and helpless at this point. Our brains are chiefly concerned with physical functionality but at their most receptive to suggestion. So, we learn quickly from those in our immediate environment. First come the basic social interaction & motor skills such as facial expression & body language in order to start communicating in our world, then walking and taking and so on.

In order to thrive in this world we go on to adopt it's social conventions & belief systems. By the time we are early school age there is not a substantial amount of hard-wiring left to do. We are still open to any amount of new input but we have come to trust and rely on our own small social group of family & friends to such an extent that acceptance of alternative views & behaviours will be hard to accept. We may derive much benefit from a good teacher at this stage, while we still accept adults as oracles.

My assertion then is that personality is duly formed by this point. The programming (brainwashing) base is in place and we will simply build on this foundation for the rest of our lives, barring a particular emotional shock or concerted effort to change.

Have we ever been in control of our own lives or were our paths mapped out, with the occasional diversion along the way, for us before we knew any better?

I could go on to recant personal experience that I believe may have shaped me here but I think that's enough digression for now and some of those events will have been covered in previous posts. My next entry will be a simple view of the world in terms of my likes and dislikes, which this was intended to be before the mind wandered.

Thank you for getting this far. As always, I would welcome any feedback you might be willing to provide but as previously mentioned I believe these posts are only being scraped by robots, not humans.

Friday 12th January 2018 - Garden Musings

The feeders by and on the crab-apple in the back garden are well attended these days. Birds were rarely seen in our first years here but it's been 13 now so I guess familiarity and the maturing of the gardens hereabouts has facilitated this welcome development. That and the courage borne from tacit acceptance of the human interlopers in their environment.

Dianne provides them with a veritable feast of assorted nuts, seeds, fat balls & kitchen leftovers. Tits, Robins, Chaffinch, Sparrows, Wren, Magpie, Rook & the obligatory throngs of chattering Starlings are all regulars; Wagtails less so; Pigeons more so. A particularly plump pair, with the air of cargo planes, seem to have taken up permanent residence, appearing without fanfare at first light before fading away at dusk.They perch all day on a convenient branch to gorge, without having to move more than a neck muscle or beak, while looking upon the feverish activity of the tits with bemusement. Our bewilderment is in their ability to achieve flight.

These days the tree is festooned with and much of the garden embellished by assorted solar lighting which radiates all night during the summer to turn the back yard into a fairy grotto but flickers weakly into life for the briefest of moments during the English winter before fading into the blackness.

I worked somewhat yesterday in the daze that persists in the aftermath of a migraine and so the day wasn't completely wasted. The diary was left aside since no clear thought would enter my head -  it seemed the harder I tried to force an idea into the conscious the thicker the walls became, so I eventually had to accept my fate. Maybe this is what writer's block is. Must stop trying and just let it happen naturally. If inspiration visits there's always a device to capture it on before it escapes, or pen and paper on the desk.

For completeness..........

The first of the utility bills has arrived, so palpitations and dark thoughts - not today, though, as Dianne is excited to receive guests this afternoon and I've almost made it to another weekend, so Della may visit.

More regrets - I'll never draw anything worth hanging on a wall, take a great photograph, write anything readable, failed the family and myself etc. etc.

Wednesday 10th January 2018 - Music & Lyrics

I was very dissatisfied with my most recent entry. It was incoherent and lacked flow despite constant review and editing and I apologise to anyone who had the misfortune to stumble across it. Psychology obviously not a strong suit.

These heavy, damp, lightless days characteristic of low pressure systems in the UK winter play havoc with my concentration levels even when they aren't inducing full-blown migraines, as is the case today. Excuses done.

Managed to work a little yesterday but otherwise uneventful. No visitors as usual, one nuisance call & the dog followed me around limply whenever I moved.

Watched a light movie last night (Music & Lyrics) in company and afterwards amused myself on Twitter writing #sixwordstories to Classic FM in the background - got a few likes so they couldn't have all been bad. I find it odd how the approval of strangers becomes important but it is. The 'sleeping' hours were even more restless than usual on account of the headache.

Thoughts remain very dark & a constant preoccupation. An opportunity was missed yesterday when I was alone for most of the day. I have a plan but it may take a few hours (I'm a coward & don't want pain or struggle at the end) to be effective & by the time the courage was raised it was too late.

Not convinced that anyone has read anything I've written on this blog as no reaction or interaction has been forthcoming - visitor numbers are slightly up but I'm starting to think this is robots sweeping the link I leave on Twitter daily. Nevertheless, it will serve as some sort of record I suppose.

Wednesday 10th January 2018 - Regrets? I've had a few

I find it absurd and rather egotistical when people say they have no regrets in life.

It implies a lifetime of precise decision making and never a misplaced spoken or written word. A perfect life without a slip in word or deed. Balderdash!

No word or deed is ever unconsidered, if only for a moment, before being given life in the world & every action has implications. Cause & effect.

One need not dwell on past indiscretions or self-flagellate over missed opportunity, I suppose (though I admit I can't help myself). Particularly when an otherwise useful, productive and fulfilling existence has been had but surely only the psychopathic or sociopathic amongst us can be reminded of past events without feeling something; happiness, sadness, pride, remorse - the yin and yang experiences which serve to shape us. It is the weight that we choose to give each side that determines our own satisfaction and that is down to personality, which is largely formed in our early years and beyond our control.

My regrets are many. Chief amongst them, the soul-destroying years of unfulfilling office work, I always considered a necessary & selfless duty in order to put food on the table and a roof over the heads of a young family. On reflection, I should have done more to change the course of my life. It would not have been selfish to take the risk and explore other avenues more fully. Indeed, the angst and depression I felt must surely have affected my nearest and dearest to the point that any economic benefit from my persistence may have been offset entirely. Ergo, the consequences of inaction may be as detrimental as misplaced action.

I can have no regret about marriage and raising children. It's easy to rationalise that the whole point of anyone's existence is to ensure the survival of the species. Whether or not my own contributions to the human gene pool have been worthwhile, we may never know but to the extent that I have fulfilled my singular purpose for being I should be satisfied.

The question is, what is left to do now. Kids are fledged, I'm 53, broke & have almost no income. That roof I suffered selflessly for will surely be gone before long. Had I followed my artistic instincts and pursued photography and writing more vigorously, I might now be reaping the psychological & financial rewards. Both, I can confidently say, would at least have been much improved. Could I have played the game at interview & won that scholarship -Yes. Ought I to have taken that opportunity to study for a degree 15 years ago - Yes. Certainly, I have regrets and so should everyone else. Ultimately, it is to the degree that these affect others or they gnaw at your own psyche that really matters.

Comments and contributions are gratefully received, both positive and negative. Please leave something if you have the time. Thanks for reading.

Tuesday 9th January 2018 - Trains Of Thought & Reading Lists

Continue to thoroughly enjoy the Woolf diaries.

Whilst necessarily dealing with the mundane chores & typical events of daily life  there are numerous insightful physical and emotional characterisations & anecdotes that bring life to some of the great writers and thinkers of the day; Aldous Huxley, Maynard Keynes, Lytton Strachey to name but 3.

And all set against the Great War backdrop. Mention of the dead & wounded (and their aftercare or not), food & coal shortages, nightly bombing raids on the capital, conscription, pro & anti-war rhetoric. Most days bring reference to the weather - some of the worst for years by all accounts which sparks images of and provides explanation for the horrendous mud in the killing fields a few miles East.

On the political front there is suffrage, the early throes of the Labour party & open debate of socialist principles.

In the round all of these observations accidentally combine to give the reader a great feel for an interesting period of history, when the war to end all wars merely led to a change in tactics, emancipation began but remains unfinished, domestic service to the upper middle classes was waning as better wages & conditions could be found elsewhere and free-thinkers found audiences.

The honest & unedited end of day ramblings, written in a staccato style give the impression of a sense of urgency on the author's part to lay down thoughts whilst they are fresh or are remembered. Indeed, at some point she makes reference herself to this matter & the frustration she feels when guests stay late & trains of thought evaporate. We all suffer this fate and indeed I was just settling off to sleep myself last night when I was compelled to rise & get these musings down. As usual, the intent was to jot down some bullets & return to flesh things out in the morning but I ended up typing by the light of the laptop through the early hours.

A tremendous command of the english language & the now slightly antique sentence structure in Woolf's writing appeal greatly. I say 'antique' because my guess is that even today's 'serious' authors write prose in a more current lilt. Guessing is necessary because, as I remarked in a previous entry, my voracious reading days were in my youth.

Now, if one were to ask 10 different readers for a list of 10 must-read books I daresay there would be few duplicates in those 100 tomes presented for consideration. I would expect a spattering of Shakespeare, Greek Classics, perhaps some 19th century poetry anthologies, Brontes, Austen, Huxley, Orwell, a bit of French, Russian & North American, maybe a Booker winner or two. I will dust the cobwebs of my mind & try to come up with my own list presently.

Then, where should one begin?

Be very happy to hear from anyone with a list or comment.

Monday 8th January 2018 - Great War & Despair

I continue to read the Woolf diaries for relief and stimulation.

We have moved on to January 2018 now & the war has become much more of a preoccupation. Resources of all sorts are scarce, much is rationed & inflation is obviously rife.

I suspect that propaganda induced 'madness of crowds' euphoria has a natural shelf-life no matter how great the machinations of government & interested parties. The reality of casualties, hardship & bombings can only be withstood or glossed over for a definite period & the population becomes increasingly war-weary. I'm no historian and very aware of the horrendous troop attrition but my instinct is that it is this physical & mental debilitation of the populous on all sides, as much as who is 'winning' , that eventually prompts the pursuit of some kind of peace accord in most conflicts. There are those far more knowledgeable than I who will no doubt be able to put me straight on this matter.

Wife is using a  cheap return train ticket provided by a friend and is travelling to London for the day, so all is quiet. This ought to have been conducive to work but it's so damned cold in the house I'm sticking to the lounge. Brought a couple of boxes of what I thought would be good, saleable stock downstairs but was disappointed on opening them - would be a lot of effort for very little reward so here I am again. Would anyone hire a bright but flawed 53 year old with a patchy employment record to do something useful & constructive? Despair again.

I've noticed that nobody is alighting on my ramblings as the constant refresh of the stats page shows. Research suggests that WordPress is the best place for bloggers to inhabit but unfortunately I'm unable to pay even the modest fees on there. Maybe, I need to sex-up the content a bit. I'll try adding some sexy labels - 'XXX', 'Hardcore' and the like. Pretty sure any visits would be brief but it would be some respite from the loneliness. Let's give it a try!