It's 8.50pm as I start writing this first sentence. That's late for me. I don't think I've ever attempted a post at this time. I'm "difficult". Okay, I know most of you know this about me, but I mean I'm difficult too when it comes to writing, insisting on the muse, the buzz of caffeine, or some kind of "inspiration" to fuel me. This insistence rules out this hour, as typically I tend to wind down, become sleepy, or maybe take a beer or two; coffee too is most certainly out of the question. So what's different tonight? I don't really know. I can guess, and say it's my third consecutive day off work and I've finally shed all the knots of tension that the working days create, so now I'm finally relaxed; but I've had time off before, and for longer periods too, and still I've not written at this hour. It's a mystery.
So what have I to say? Nothing much, just a repeat, or an edited version of what I've already written on Facebook. You know, it's occurred to me, instead of commenting on social networks, or putting out status statements, I might do best to save them up as they occur, and then work them into blog posts. Maybe that's the answer. Perhaps I've been guilty of writing myself out! Who knows? Anyway, here's my statement..
It's great being on my own. Especially as the sofa, normally a simple seating device for two persons, has now been transformed. The right side, where I sit to eat, compute, and watch tv, is clear but the other half is now acquiring stuff! There's my ipad, various handsets, a spectacle case, an off-the-shelf pair of reading glasses, sunglasses, an unused webcam, the post from the past three days, used and semi-used tissues (no, not in that way!) and, tonight's acquisition, a half-finished bag of grapes. The cat, who likes to get close, is not here as yet, but I'm sure she'll be settled in soon, amongst these bits and bobs, this veritable gallimaufry of 'stuff'. I'll keep you posted, maybe.
I've about a week left before the situation changes. Then, the other person, the other 'force' returns, so considerations have to be made. I've no doubt I'll remedy the situation, and tidy up, prior to her arrival, as I've done so in the past in similar circumstances. I'll probably give the vacuum a quick work-out too... yes, I know, you're surprised, but I do have the know-how, the experience. I shall leave the washing machine alone though. That's just too technical for me. I might work in the IT industry, but come on... do me a favour...
[as I'm writing the cat's arrived and is sitting on my mouse lead making it awkward for me to edit as I go... fucking animal!]
I'm wondering how it would be if I were alone permanently. Would I amass, for want of a better word, debris? Would the "paraphernalia" spread beyond the confines of the sofa, and spill out over the floor, into other rooms? I doubt it. I've lived alone before, though it was in the dim and distant past, and lasted no more than a few months. But even so, I was surprisingly tidy. I think now though, I'd play a game, a kind of brinkmanship, deliberately leaving dirty dishes and the remnants of foodstuffs, to the point where they're on the verge of cultivating new forms of life. I'd do this simply as a reaction to having been nagged for so many years, sniped at, having been a victim of attempted manipulation. I can't help it, I'm just not good, generally speaking, at "dancing to someone else's tune"
[I'll fucking kill that cat if it doesn't move its arse]
I'm clean, and I'm tidy, but I do like to do things at my leisure, in MY time.
Continuing the theme, though they go far beyond me, I urge you to read this, from the Script of Withnail & I. Go see the film too, if you haven't already.
Have you got soup? Why didn't I get any soup?
Why don't you use a cup like any other human being?
Why don't you wash up occasionally like any other human being?
How dare you!? How dare you!? How dare you call me inhumane!?
I didn't call you inhumane, you merely imagined it. Calm down.
Right you fucker - I'm going to do the washing up!
[He strides towards the kitchen. I jumps over the arm of the settee and
No no you can't. It's impossible I swear it. I've looked into it.
Listen to me listen to me. There are things in there, there's a
tea-bag growing. You haven't slept in sixty hours you're in no state
to tackle it. Wait till the morning we'll go in together.
This is the morning. Stand aside!
You don't understand. I think there may be something alive.
What do you mean? a rat?
It's possible, it's possible.
Withnail [brandishing his comb]:
Then the fucker will rue the day!
[He rushes up the the sink.]
Oh Christ Almighty. Synous nicotine based. Keep back, keep back. The
entire sink's gone rotten. I don't know what's in here.
[He picks up the kettle from the stove then throws it suddenly into the
I told you. you've been bitten!
Burnt, burnt, the fucking kettle's on fire.
There's something floating up.
Withnail [with a fork in his hand]:
No no no, I don't want to touch it.
You must you must. The poop will boil through the glaze. We'll never
be able to use the dinner service again.
[He rumages about in a drawer.]
Here, get it with the pliers!
No, no, no, no, no, no. Give me the gloves.
That's right, put on the gloves. Don't attempt anything without the