I feel a duty

Is there supposed to be a deadline? A time limit within which I am supposed to write things on here? I swear I feel guilty if I don't write for a while. That's not what I signed up for. I came on here merely to find an outlet for words which would normally stay with me and therefore mean nothing to anyone else, however, when I haven't written anything for a few days I get all "ooooooh must update my blog!" Now why is that? It's not like I am getting paid, I don't have a heaving thrall of readers hanging on my every letter, I don't even have a quintet I reckon. Ah well, I am here now. Just going for a ciggie hang on .

Hi, I'm back. Miss me? Liar.

I didn't win the lotto again. I understand that you have got to be in it to win it, but I have been in it since the very first draw and in that time I reckon I have funded a sculptor in Norwich to create a life size depiction of Jennifer Saunders entirely from old soap, an aspiring olympian - training to be the first person with asthma to succesfully throw a javelin further than I can spit, and the renovation of a house, a very big house in the country. I have won less than I would garner if I visited all the houses in this town and asked to look behind their sofa cushions..."ooh an old werthers original..........oh...........hang on............yes.................awwwwwwwww it's a bottle cap".

I have run out of aftershave. I like smelling nice, yet my financial resources are limited (see bottle caps above). I have considered visiting various waiting rooms, finding magazines and rubbing my neck on the free samples. Trouble is, knowing my luck I will accidentally do that in a psychiatric doctor's waiting room and be sectioned for trying to get off with a copy of Loaded.

I can't think of anything else to say, so instead I shall say nothing.






See.

What to tell...?

My blogs I realise are getting fewer and further between. This is not because I am lazy (this time), but simply because I feel I have little news to impart. It's very cold here today. See...didn't really make a difference to your life now did it? Hmm? I am not a big fan of this time of year. The time where Winter is dragging its freezing heels and Spring hides timidly behind a yet-to-start blossoming bush, waiting nervously for her cue (yes I have decided Spring is female - problem?) When it is sunny, you are lulled into a false sense of security. Looks nice out there you think, wrongly of course. So out you venture, full of the joys of what is not yet Spring, only to return minutes later for scarf, hat, gloves, ski suit, huskies and your copy of "Surviving Arctic conditions in Kent" by Ray Mears. I think I have that SAD, where you get all pissed off with Winter. It seems to have been going on for nigh on 6 years this Winter. The cold is not a friend of mine, and I will not be taking it out for a latté any time soon.

What else has been going on in my life? Not an awful lot. I had a close friend of mine visit me this weekend when his relationship came to an abrupt and largely mystifying end. A normally vivacious and hilarious man, he struggled at times to form sentences. Isn't it absurd what love can do to you? It can make you feel like you are floating down a stream of sunlight on a personalised cloud, and the very next moment can make you feel like you have been psychologically mugged, stabbed and generally tampered with by the same person. One phrase I am quite proud of having come up with myself...love is a sensually transmitted disease. When you haven't got it you feel ill, when you have you feel deliciously sick. There is no cure, there are no injections to prevent it, you can't take anything to avoid or get rid of it. Love is hideous, brilliant, traumatic, beautiful, violent and utterly fulfilling. There are people who have gotten rich trying to explain it, how to get it, how to maintain it once you have it, pontificating about it's magnificence and it's malevolence, yet not one of these people understands it. Not one. Don't get me wrong, I don't either, but then, I don't claim to.

There it is then. If you are with someone you love, give them a cuddle and tell them. If you aren't, it is entirely possible that right now at least, you are better off that way. Confused? My work here is done.

Cheap chain hotels, not as comfy as Lenny Henry says.

I am in a room. The carpet is dark blue with a hypnotic pattern on it. There, on the far side of the room are the remnants of what I assume to once have been a sofa bed. It is covered in another blue, which clashes beautifully with the carpet. There, by the bed, sits a single, long silvery grey hair. I wonder who it once belonged to. I wonder if they miss it. The rest of my home for the night is bare. I mean really bare. The bible on the bedside table looks lonely, desperate to be picked up and thumbed. I wonder if the owner of the grey hair read it. I wonder if they noticed how sparse their surroundings were. The overgrown flannel cruelly masquerading as a duvet is so thin, it may well have been painstakingly weaved together from cigarette papers. I have yet to visit the bathroom, hang on...............................yeah, it's rank, one thing made me smile though, the soap. It is a thin slither in a packet marked (and I kid you not) "Pure Quality". I bet it smells of despair. I am going to try and go to sleep. Hopefully, the lorries that are thundering jauntily by my window will serve as some sort of horrific lullaby. Night night.