Oy. Back on my sofa. Younger Daughter has been here with the new BF since Saturday lunchtime and they've been on the sofa of an evening. It's been good, easy. Can't believe I only met him last weekend and YD not that much before. He is frail, though so is she and they seem to be looking out for each other. I seem to have slept for most of the weekend.
Long term readers may remember the rapist step-grandson. We discovered yesterday that he'd been released on license last week. I read a good blog entry posted a few days ago by %%diary-horvendile%% about the urge to punish the wicked. In theory, I believe in forgiveness, that people change, but I'm not stupid enough to think they all change for the better. I haven't seen SGS since before he did it so I don't have any sense of where his head's at and a large part of me doesn't want to know, doesn't care. But it fucks my head up.
I've just deleted a few paragraphs of analysing it from every angle. I'd hardly started, I could write about it forever and not be any the wiser but I've thought about it most of the evening.
So I can feel the anxiety rising and my new aim for the immediate future is to look after my self. Tomorrow J is coming round at 11, while her (as of Saturday) ex BF removes the last of his belongings from her house. Then art class at 1.30, about architecture, which means a timely reminder of perspective. I've been invited for coffee afterwards with K, but I may cancel him as I need to do a proper food shop and some washing. (I'm taking things out of the washing basket and wearing them again, clinging to my comfort clothes (long green skirt, Day of the Dead dress). It's not a good sign.) From here that seems a lot for one day, especially as I'm bound to check the letting agents sites, no matter what I say now.
Revised plan. Take all the washing down for a service wash at some point. Another day won't make any difference but having it bagged up will be a good start. Or not even worry about any of it tomorrow - just see J, go to art, have coffee with K if I feel like it at the time, buy a pie on the way home, and start again on Wednesday.
Grateful for: a plan; my little house; my health, which while not great is pretty good considering; my furry slippers; acupuncture
Sweet dreams xxx
Monday, 7 November 2011
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Sleepy
Slept. Woke up. Checked emails (one possible, but no pets), went to the loo, slept some more.
Woke up. Had shower, fell asleep on sofa before my hair was even dry.
Woke up. Defrosted, heated and ate chicken and veg soup made earlier this week.
Nearly fell asleep again. Think I might postpone moving/thinking about moving till the new year. I have a bit of capital that I wanted to save for a rainy day, but perhaps this is a rainy day. Can't work it out right now.
Woke up. Had shower, fell asleep on sofa before my hair was even dry.
Woke up. Defrosted, heated and ate chicken and veg soup made earlier this week.
Nearly fell asleep again. Think I might postpone moving/thinking about moving till the new year. I have a bit of capital that I wanted to save for a rainy day, but perhaps this is a rainy day. Can't work it out right now.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
I'm still a bit 'GAH!' about it all. I kind of want to detail it every day, as I never do with these extended wind-ups and then later I can't remember, but as always, it's bad enough living through it, without repeating it, with all that fruitless effort and dashed hope.
So I'll just say six emails and one phone call from agents today, about thirty-eight different properties, most of which were studios, though some were on the third floor, or over a grand a month. A couple were worth a phone call, but one of them had gone and the other was with an agent that doesn't open on Saturdays.
It seems OK on paper - theoretically meets all requirements, though lower ground floor so I'll have to see the steps - but has been 'reduced' to less than the maximum benefit rent payment, which means it has some massive drawback that's putting people off. It is in an avenue that runs off a street which is the centre of gay 'scene' night life in the city. It does get a bit hardcore of an evening - my friend M (no not that M, Nursey M) lived there for a while and found it too much, and he'd been a keen participant for many a long year.
One evening this summer, when Younger Daughter and Grandson were here, we wanted fish and chips and drove to a chippie in this street at about 9.30 on a Saturday evening. It's really narrow, just wide enough for a bus to drive one way between the pavements, full of delis and bars, late night chemists, take away food etc so always busy, always lots of out and proud gay people, and on Saturday nights they're out on the pull. The men, that is - in big numbers, fuelled by alcohol and everything else a lad might consume to enhance the party spirit.
While our order was cooked we sat in the window seat of the chippie, the three of us, and Grandson blethered away about a poster or something that caught his eye on the noticeboard, over the pounding music and loud voices coming in off the street. As we waited a stream of (mostly) young men (and a few oldest swingers in town), all groomed to within an inch of their lives, came in and bought a single saveloy each. (It's a kind of very cheap lurid pink sausage, that looks like a semi - I'd noticed a big pile of them, next to the meat pies and a dodgy looking fish cake - these guys knew their customers.) Everyone who came in was visibly buzzing, wild eyes, tapping and nodding to the beat of the music. There was a very early to mid-evening vibe, loads of people about, things were starting to move, the pace was quickening, and the night was still young, anything was possible. There was a palpable torrent of sexual tension that we sat absolutely outside, me, YD, and Grandson over here, and on the other side of the counter the two young, tired East European women, wrapping up the saveloys and handing them over to these handsome, buzzing, horny men.
We were there for about fifteen minutes, by which time we were all nodding to the music too, grooving along, eavesdropping shamelessly, then our food was ready, we were out and back in the car and it was all quiet again. Far more intense an experience than the purchase of fish and chips tends to be. Left me feeling glad I'd not grown up in the city - I was bad enough in a small town - I'd have probably not survived the choices I'd have made in a city.
Anyway, I'm not averse to living in the midst of that - I love being tucked up in bed, falling asleep to the sound of people partying, but M (Nursey M) said that come the early hours there'd always be ambulances and fights and screaming and vomit and in the morning you had to step over people sleeping it off, winter and summer alike. He moved back in with his mum to get away from it. So it depends how far down the avenue towards the street this flat is. Or it might be near the top but damp. I left a message that I want to see it anyway - you never know.
So I'll just say six emails and one phone call from agents today, about thirty-eight different properties, most of which were studios, though some were on the third floor, or over a grand a month. A couple were worth a phone call, but one of them had gone and the other was with an agent that doesn't open on Saturdays.
It seems OK on paper - theoretically meets all requirements, though lower ground floor so I'll have to see the steps - but has been 'reduced' to less than the maximum benefit rent payment, which means it has some massive drawback that's putting people off. It is in an avenue that runs off a street which is the centre of gay 'scene' night life in the city. It does get a bit hardcore of an evening - my friend M (no not that M, Nursey M) lived there for a while and found it too much, and he'd been a keen participant for many a long year.
One evening this summer, when Younger Daughter and Grandson were here, we wanted fish and chips and drove to a chippie in this street at about 9.30 on a Saturday evening. It's really narrow, just wide enough for a bus to drive one way between the pavements, full of delis and bars, late night chemists, take away food etc so always busy, always lots of out and proud gay people, and on Saturday nights they're out on the pull. The men, that is - in big numbers, fuelled by alcohol and everything else a lad might consume to enhance the party spirit.
While our order was cooked we sat in the window seat of the chippie, the three of us, and Grandson blethered away about a poster or something that caught his eye on the noticeboard, over the pounding music and loud voices coming in off the street. As we waited a stream of (mostly) young men (and a few oldest swingers in town), all groomed to within an inch of their lives, came in and bought a single saveloy each. (It's a kind of very cheap lurid pink sausage, that looks like a semi - I'd noticed a big pile of them, next to the meat pies and a dodgy looking fish cake - these guys knew their customers.) Everyone who came in was visibly buzzing, wild eyes, tapping and nodding to the beat of the music. There was a very early to mid-evening vibe, loads of people about, things were starting to move, the pace was quickening, and the night was still young, anything was possible. There was a palpable torrent of sexual tension that we sat absolutely outside, me, YD, and Grandson over here, and on the other side of the counter the two young, tired East European women, wrapping up the saveloys and handing them over to these handsome, buzzing, horny men.
We were there for about fifteen minutes, by which time we were all nodding to the music too, grooving along, eavesdropping shamelessly, then our food was ready, we were out and back in the car and it was all quiet again. Far more intense an experience than the purchase of fish and chips tends to be. Left me feeling glad I'd not grown up in the city - I was bad enough in a small town - I'd have probably not survived the choices I'd have made in a city.
Anyway, I'm not averse to living in the midst of that - I love being tucked up in bed, falling asleep to the sound of people partying, but M (Nursey M) said that come the early hours there'd always be ambulances and fights and screaming and vomit and in the morning you had to step over people sleeping it off, winter and summer alike. He moved back in with his mum to get away from it. So it depends how far down the avenue towards the street this flat is. Or it might be near the top but damp. I left a message that I want to see it anyway - you never know.
Friday, 4 November 2011
Hove sweet hove
Gah. Me and my mouth. Or my typing fingers, at least. That flat I saw today was the ultimate wind-up. Lovely street, gorgeous front room, with fireplace, bay windows, high ceilings with original coving, loads of room - in fact so much room that the current tenant has her bed in there as well as a sofa and a telly. So is this the 'large double bedroom' or the lounge/diner? There was a great kitchen, lovely garden with original mosaic round the edge of the patio, lawn, borders, tree, old stone wall. Hideously overlooked by tall buildings, but who cares? But where's the other room? It's a fucking corridor, with recesses - you could only get a single bed in there and you'd have to squeeze past it. Fucking lying bastard fucking estate agents - I mean yes, I know, I know - I've seen more estate-agents-are-lying-bastards-based comedy than I can shake a stick at, but still - it's a studio flat and I'm a bloody grandmother. I'm too old to be receiving callers in my bedroom without becoming unbearably miserable about the decisions in my life that have led me to such a state at such an age.
I was in the flat for quite a while, trying to work out a way to do it - I even contemplated giving up my sleigh bed (and I do love my bed and how safe I feel, all snuggled up in it), but there just wasn't enough space. It was a good thing Bloke was there. He went off and I walked the bloody walk again, calling in on my friend MK (since I went discreet I've noticed how many of my friends have names beginning with either M or S), to have a quick cry and hear about her progress towards getting funding from Channel 4 for a documentary - she's passed through several gateway stages - yay for her and back round the agents. I walked two and a half miles (love www.mapometer) and managed to a) cry all over a nice young man, who was SO young and so like a kid I used to teach that I had to bite my tongue to not say, fondly, 'Look at you in your suit, all grown up, doing a proper job!' and b) book a viewing for a flat in one of the squares of the seafront which is not only on the first floor but also way above my budget. I cancelled it just now - it was just despair and exhaustion. I'd decided I'd have to either consider a first floor (second floor USA) or be prepared to pay a bit more, but not both.
There's some guy who owns a big chunk of one of the conservation areas and is letting out flats at a good rate - I keep almost booking to see different places but they're all furnished and not cheap enough for me to pay to store furniture for a couple of years. He seems to have different places with different agents - my eyes kept alighting on the word Montpelier in the address, sliding across to the rent, the description, the pic. Ah the hope - the fickle bloody hope.
I'm stopping now to watch a documentary about Susan Boyle, as recommended on twitter by Julian Clary.
I was in the flat for quite a while, trying to work out a way to do it - I even contemplated giving up my sleigh bed (and I do love my bed and how safe I feel, all snuggled up in it), but there just wasn't enough space. It was a good thing Bloke was there. He went off and I walked the bloody walk again, calling in on my friend MK (since I went discreet I've noticed how many of my friends have names beginning with either M or S), to have a quick cry and hear about her progress towards getting funding from Channel 4 for a documentary - she's passed through several gateway stages - yay for her and back round the agents. I walked two and a half miles (love www.mapometer) and managed to a) cry all over a nice young man, who was SO young and so like a kid I used to teach that I had to bite my tongue to not say, fondly, 'Look at you in your suit, all grown up, doing a proper job!' and b) book a viewing for a flat in one of the squares of the seafront which is not only on the first floor but also way above my budget. I cancelled it just now - it was just despair and exhaustion. I'd decided I'd have to either consider a first floor (second floor USA) or be prepared to pay a bit more, but not both.
There's some guy who owns a big chunk of one of the conservation areas and is letting out flats at a good rate - I keep almost booking to see different places but they're all furnished and not cheap enough for me to pay to store furniture for a couple of years. He seems to have different places with different agents - my eyes kept alighting on the word Montpelier in the address, sliding across to the rent, the description, the pic. Ah the hope - the fickle bloody hope.
I'm stopping now to watch a documentary about Susan Boyle, as recommended on twitter by Julian Clary.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Today I was woken up by a text from an agent, about a massive flat at an affordable price, in that Crescent by the sea I've been tempted by before. I called them back at once - top floor. Fantastic views but no wheelchair access. Fuckers. Still, I seem to have passed some test that has moved me up as a prospective tenant and I've received a mind-boggling amount of texts, calls and emails today. The place I'm due to see tomorrow sounds perfect - big and reasonable, with a garden (called a garden not a patio), about 400yds walk from the beach. Rooms described as kitchen/diner and living room/diner, Victorian bay fronted, white painted. I'm allowing myself some tentative fantasies about loving it, securing it and moving in by Christmas. I can see meeting MG in the new Ikea on the coast to get some curtains, calling in on Stepfie on the way home... Actually that will probably stand wherever I move to - they tend not to come with curtains...
Bloke's coming with me to view it. The agent called me this evening and asked if I'd change to a later time. No, I said, I think this is my flat and I want first look at it, all assertive like, so I'm going earlier. I called Bloke to tell him about the time change and he said not to get too optimistic, it probably won't suit, blah blah, avoid disappointment, hopes dashed etc etc. This reminds me why I don't live with him any more. I can live with disappointment - I feel a pang of regret then move on. If this isn't the one I may have a little bout of despair and frustration, but then I'll just keep on. I'm into a rhythm with it now, almost. I've given up trying to visit all the agents, but I look on the sites that trawl all the agents (then charge you 4p a minute to call), call the agents direct and sign up with all the new ones. I enjoy having these little visualisations of living in this street, or in that terrace. I enjoy believing things are possible. Sometimes they're not, but I've never been averse to a plan b. Better than expecting the worst all the time.
I went and took some pics for my next painting, but the camera ran out of battery before I got to the pub I really want to draw. I've done some sketching of other bits and pieces from it this evening, but didn't have the oomph to get right into it.
I'd had a visit from my friend J and her little dog that I used to walk. J has come to the end with her BF of three years and is quite sad about it, but also optimistic about a new life once he's gone. I kept my gob shut on the subject of what a knob I think he is, which was some feat when I went right off him a couple of years ago. She was a big part of my life when she was single and I do love her. Time will tell how close we become again - we're both teachers, both writers, both have 'challenging' adult kids and do just get along. She tried to keep me in her life when with the BF but was so obsessed with him that I grew weary of hearing about him and drifted away.
Time for bed now.
Grateful for everything - for a new stage of my life opening up in front of me, for those determined souls camping out in defence of our right not to be ripped off by rich arseholes in every area of our lives; for friends; for family; for little Bobcat on a cushion next to me, sleeping the sleep of the just.
sweet dreams xx
Bloke's coming with me to view it. The agent called me this evening and asked if I'd change to a later time. No, I said, I think this is my flat and I want first look at it, all assertive like, so I'm going earlier. I called Bloke to tell him about the time change and he said not to get too optimistic, it probably won't suit, blah blah, avoid disappointment, hopes dashed etc etc. This reminds me why I don't live with him any more. I can live with disappointment - I feel a pang of regret then move on. If this isn't the one I may have a little bout of despair and frustration, but then I'll just keep on. I'm into a rhythm with it now, almost. I've given up trying to visit all the agents, but I look on the sites that trawl all the agents (then charge you 4p a minute to call), call the agents direct and sign up with all the new ones. I enjoy having these little visualisations of living in this street, or in that terrace. I enjoy believing things are possible. Sometimes they're not, but I've never been averse to a plan b. Better than expecting the worst all the time.
I went and took some pics for my next painting, but the camera ran out of battery before I got to the pub I really want to draw. I've done some sketching of other bits and pieces from it this evening, but didn't have the oomph to get right into it.
I'd had a visit from my friend J and her little dog that I used to walk. J has come to the end with her BF of three years and is quite sad about it, but also optimistic about a new life once he's gone. I kept my gob shut on the subject of what a knob I think he is, which was some feat when I went right off him a couple of years ago. She was a big part of my life when she was single and I do love her. Time will tell how close we become again - we're both teachers, both writers, both have 'challenging' adult kids and do just get along. She tried to keep me in her life when with the BF but was so obsessed with him that I grew weary of hearing about him and drifted away.
Time for bed now.
Grateful for everything - for a new stage of my life opening up in front of me, for those determined souls camping out in defence of our right not to be ripped off by rich arseholes in every area of our lives; for friends; for family; for little Bobcat on a cushion next to me, sleeping the sleep of the just.
sweet dreams xx
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Today was definitely A Good Day, in the life and times of me. Things I achieved:
1. I asserted myself with Elder Daughter who wanted to come and visit me this weekend with her friend K (who has just discovered her husband has been unfaithful), and her two young boys. We have been here before and it was hideous for both me and ED. K and her husband have been together since they were fourteen, which either means they're solid and this'll be lived through, or he's had enough. Last time she came down with her kids and ED, she was upset about something that was actually sorted out as soon as she went home. She spent the whole time crying to ED, ignoring her boys who became increasingly attention seeking. Periodically she'd notice their behaviour, snap at them, realise what they were going through, apologise to them, me, and ED, then become consumed with guilt at being a bad mother and start crying again. I'm not passing any judgement on her - she's a darling woman, but it's all too much for me. I end up as chief cook, tidier-up (have to when ED's there as she needs a clear path), dish-washer and child entertainer - the only time I spend with my daughter is hijacked by every conversation leading back to K's bloody husband. Both ED and I emerged shell-shocked and annoyed after two days of it last time, and now we'd have to factor a commode in as well. No. I'm building up to moving house here and am conserving my energy.
2. I spent a lot of the day lying in my bed, chatting on the phone to son and various daughters and letting agents. They've started calling me, though not with anything I'm excited about. I've been encouraged by all and sundry to believe that the right place will turn up and I do feel optimistic again. Excellent resting today.
3. I went for a walk with my camera, in search of the perfect local street scene to paint. It doesn't exist, and I finally grasped that I can make one up with bits of different photos. This constitutes a major development for me. Having tried it today, I want to go out again tomorrow and take slightly different pics - I want a pub on the corner and some details of what's on the pavement - you can't see because there are cars parked on both sides of the roads, nose to tail, but there's stuff everywhere and I want to try and make it a bit more specific. Anyway, Bob enjoyed it:
This is the 'finished' painting:
and I'd like to say in my defence that I was very patient with the background and am quite pleased with that, but am generally over the moon at having made something of my own. I might try the one tomorrow in gouache.
Grateful for: A roof over my head and a few quid in the bank; my children; long chat with Sis this evening; a peaceful day; my pot of chicken and veg soup was truly delicious on its second day today and I had enough to freeze three more servings of it - very pleasing
Sweet dreams xx
1. I asserted myself with Elder Daughter who wanted to come and visit me this weekend with her friend K (who has just discovered her husband has been unfaithful), and her two young boys. We have been here before and it was hideous for both me and ED. K and her husband have been together since they were fourteen, which either means they're solid and this'll be lived through, or he's had enough. Last time she came down with her kids and ED, she was upset about something that was actually sorted out as soon as she went home. She spent the whole time crying to ED, ignoring her boys who became increasingly attention seeking. Periodically she'd notice their behaviour, snap at them, realise what they were going through, apologise to them, me, and ED, then become consumed with guilt at being a bad mother and start crying again. I'm not passing any judgement on her - she's a darling woman, but it's all too much for me. I end up as chief cook, tidier-up (have to when ED's there as she needs a clear path), dish-washer and child entertainer - the only time I spend with my daughter is hijacked by every conversation leading back to K's bloody husband. Both ED and I emerged shell-shocked and annoyed after two days of it last time, and now we'd have to factor a commode in as well. No. I'm building up to moving house here and am conserving my energy.
2. I spent a lot of the day lying in my bed, chatting on the phone to son and various daughters and letting agents. They've started calling me, though not with anything I'm excited about. I've been encouraged by all and sundry to believe that the right place will turn up and I do feel optimistic again. Excellent resting today.
3. I went for a walk with my camera, in search of the perfect local street scene to paint. It doesn't exist, and I finally grasped that I can make one up with bits of different photos. This constitutes a major development for me. Having tried it today, I want to go out again tomorrow and take slightly different pics - I want a pub on the corner and some details of what's on the pavement - you can't see because there are cars parked on both sides of the roads, nose to tail, but there's stuff everywhere and I want to try and make it a bit more specific. Anyway, Bob enjoyed it:
This is the 'finished' painting:
and I'd like to say in my defence that I was very patient with the background and am quite pleased with that, but am generally over the moon at having made something of my own. I might try the one tomorrow in gouache.
Grateful for: A roof over my head and a few quid in the bank; my children; long chat with Sis this evening; a peaceful day; my pot of chicken and veg soup was truly delicious on its second day today and I had enough to freeze three more servings of it - very pleasing
Sweet dreams xx
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
Didn't go and look at that flat - woke up early enough but fell to pieces with premature anxiety about whether or not to put down the necessary non-refundable deposit to secure the place if the rooms were big enough. Luckily Bloke phoned, heard from my voice that I was agitated and talked me through it. I cancelled. Too tired, too big a decision, too dangerous for Bobcat.
Had a moment (or several) of despair at the task of finding anywhere that I'd know was all right, but managed to tidy front room a bit while sobbing with anger at it all. Then toddled off to art class.
Hurrah for art class. I teetered on the brink of walking out for the first ten minutes or so - I couldn't get myself focused on the teacher and what she was saying about landscapes in pen and wash - her words went into my ears as sounds, but didn't reach my brain. But I stayed and painted another picture based on the photo Bloke took a few years ago. It's OK, a bit better than the one I did before and I managed to stop before I fucked it up completely:
I like this one, copied (more or less) from a painting, much more:
although It's not finished, I was too impatient with putting the paint on when time was running out and it's on sketchbook paper, which Teacher says doesn't help. So I might go down town and buy a sheet of water colour paper tomorrow and have a go at doing something else in that kind of style. I have a photo of the area I live in that lends itself to having a go.
Younger Daughter's best mate from college is sleeping here tonight as she has some internship in town tomorrow. We managed to yak for several hours, putting the world to rights. She's a bit of an event, if you know what I mean - generally high maintenance, but on good behaviour at her friend's mother's house as she's a good girl really.
Grateful for: a home people come and stay in - seven people have slept in that room since YD went back to college; a big pot of chicken and veg soup that will last a few days; my lovely bed; ending the day better than I started it.
Sweet dreams xx
Had a moment (or several) of despair at the task of finding anywhere that I'd know was all right, but managed to tidy front room a bit while sobbing with anger at it all. Then toddled off to art class.
Hurrah for art class. I teetered on the brink of walking out for the first ten minutes or so - I couldn't get myself focused on the teacher and what she was saying about landscapes in pen and wash - her words went into my ears as sounds, but didn't reach my brain. But I stayed and painted another picture based on the photo Bloke took a few years ago. It's OK, a bit better than the one I did before and I managed to stop before I fucked it up completely:
I like this one, copied (more or less) from a painting, much more:
although It's not finished, I was too impatient with putting the paint on when time was running out and it's on sketchbook paper, which Teacher says doesn't help. So I might go down town and buy a sheet of water colour paper tomorrow and have a go at doing something else in that kind of style. I have a photo of the area I live in that lends itself to having a go.
Younger Daughter's best mate from college is sleeping here tonight as she has some internship in town tomorrow. We managed to yak for several hours, putting the world to rights. She's a bit of an event, if you know what I mean - generally high maintenance, but on good behaviour at her friend's mother's house as she's a good girl really.
Grateful for: a home people come and stay in - seven people have slept in that room since YD went back to college; a big pot of chicken and veg soup that will last a few days; my lovely bed; ending the day better than I started it.
Sweet dreams xx
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