"Another suitcase in another hall"?

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Did you know that if you lay a hen on the ground it looks like a map of Australia? You have to turn it through 180% and lose the legs, but it really does. Now I think this is more than just coincidence, but I must leave this interesting line of study for the moment

Oh, Anna, what am I going to do? I know the police are not very bright but after that little incident at Hendon Tube Station. They have got me on their database. And, if you remember I was released into the custody of my brother Hector so they will have Myra’s address. They will go to see her and say something like they are concerned for my safety (the police will not hesitate to lie if they feel it will get them somewhere) and ask it she knows my present address. Innocently she will direct them to No 29 Arcadia Close. And I will have my collar well and truly felt.

It’s funny when you think about it, crime keeps the police in employment, just as doctors depend on disease; the clergy’s stipend is the ‘wages of sin’ and the pornographer… well, where would he be without sex?

In ‘Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance’ the author’s son says to his father, “You’re not very brave, are you?” To which his dad replies, “No, but you’d be surprised how smart I am.”

But what if you are neither brave, nor smart? No, I am not talking about me, but that cowardly, wooden headed brother of yours.

I am not blaming you Anna, please don’t think that.

But I am tired of all this running, this “ducking and diving”. It is so humiliating. Why should I have to live like this? Especially since I have done nothing wrong. I don’t even have the bloody videos. But of course the police won’t believe me.

I have a corn on my right little toe, and it hurts. Also I have arthritis in my finger joints and in my neck.

You can see the state of mind I am in by the disjointed, fragmented writing, so unlike my usual lucid, elegant prose.

But I am not going to give in. And if I do run I will not run far. For one thing, I have appointments with my therapist – who, by the way, is not from one of the hotter lands, she is Scottish. And I am hoping to sort something out with her. She has asked me to do a ‘Time Line’ of my life, from birth to the present day, indicating significant events (especially those which caused trauma). I am amazed how illuminating it is proving. I won’t say I see a pattern emerging but I certainly see where the concentrations of trauma occur. But I will say no more of this since it is between me and my therapist.

I have had a difficult couple of days on the home front. A photograph has disappeared out of one of my albums. I am pretty sure I have not removed it but when I asked Gwen if she had seen it she kicked off: accused me of accusing her. I was doing nothing of the sort. It left me feeling strangely depressed, and also doubting my own reality. But I must not do that.

I have a lot more to tell you, but my mind is in a whirl. I wish you were here to comfort me.

Thinking of you as I sit here in the library.

George