Hang on in

*******************************************************************8

I found this fern on one of my perambulations around the grounds. Many people walk past this spot, but I imagine few notice it. I did.

Not for this fern, the forest bower, sun-dappled, fragrant with the scent of woodland flowers, soothed by the music of babbling brook and gentle buzz of insect. This fern is growing out of the dirt lodged between a drainpipe and the sooty bricks of this old Gothic pile
But it is clinging on, and trying to grow towards the sunlight.  It is striving to be the best fern it can be in the circumstances, the environment in which it finds itself.

And I thought - Isn't that what we are all doing: clinging on, to our own little patch of dirt. Doing the best we can to grow toward the light. Striving to be the best human-being we can, given our own particular environment. And of course, I don’t just meant physical environment: I mean the genetic; the parenting; the life-experiences environment - unique to each one of us.

Someone said, “To understand all is to forgive all.” I’d go along with that. It is so difficult sometimes - but let's practice by forgiving ourselves.

Well, Anna, I'm staking everything on one final throw of the dice in the Last Chance saloon. I have been therapised enough. I have been medicated up to the gunwales. Now it is 'shit or bust' time. (please excuse the vulgarism but I can't think of any other way of putting it.)

What I am talking about is a paradigm shift.

I will tell you about it when I see you on Friday

Put your trousers back on, and we'll say no more about it.

****************************************************8

Anna, as you well know, it is not in my nature to be pedantic, but the great philosopher is Immanuel not Emmanuel Kant.

Having said that, I do take your point - and I wish I could get out of the habit of forever questioning - looking for meaning. But I came across this passage in a book, which goes to show I am not alone.

"The happy man does not look back. He doesn't look ahead. He lives in the present. But there's the rub. The present can never deliver one thing: meaning. The ways of happiness and meaning are not the same. To find happiness, a man need only live in the moment; he need only live for the moment But if he wants meaning - the meaning of his dreams, his secrets, his life - a man must reinhabit his past, however dark, and live for the future, however uncertain. Thus nature dangles happiness and meaning before us all, insisting only that we choose between them.
For myself, I have always chosen meaning."

I am not certain that I have actually chosen meaning - for me it is a sort of compulsion. But can I choose happiness instead?

I am so glad you remember our times on the boat - and I would love to see the photographs. I have an album myself - a sort of log - with photographs and writings of my time (and our time) on the boat 'OSCAR'. So I look forward to a trip down memory lane - or memory canal.

I am all agog to know what it is that you want to discuss with me. And Friday will be fine for your visit.

Until Friday then, my sweet.

PS. The book is called "The Interpretation of Murder" by Jed Rubenfeld.

I am not shallow – you impertinent English person. (I find word ‘impertinent’ in Thesaurus of Roger which also contain many other words to describe you, but I will use just this one).


It is so very annoying for a person who is learning your stupid language to be told a word which has been invented by someone who is a bit sick in the head. All the trouble I go to looking up in dictionary (several different dictionary) for the word SCRUTE.

Brian has a laugh but I am not laughing.

Anyway, what is all of this about glimpse things from corner of your eye? How possibly can you see things this way? I am joking because I know you mean how you (my Georgie) always have to examine closely all questions and sometimes make up questions so you will have something to answer. Have not I told you before that this is bad thing for you? This is all right for Mr Wittgenstein and Mr Hume and Mr Hegel and the others because this is their job. This is what they get paid for doing because they are philosophers. Like if someone say to Kant, for example, what do we mean by ‘knowledge’? Old Emmanuel, he says – let’s see the colour of your money, matey, before I start my philosophising.

And another thing. What for is all the funny writing with words all over page instead of in neat lines such as I am now typing? Is this what they are calling post-modernism? Or is perhaps because you are not taking your medication?

But I am sorry you have to sell your boat, which I remember from when you take me upon it. I also remember name, which is ‘OSCAR’. This I know to be a fine boat – very cosy on the winter evening when we have stove burning merrily. Also on the summer day too, when we cruise gently along, getting faint whiff of canal like you tell Mr Adams. This a very pleasant whiff (which canal people know) which always will be in my memory.

And we sleep on boat. Very close up together and with me having to bend knees because of short wideness of boat (this is why it is called narrowboat – it has to be to get in lock – see how much I remember?)

I remember also how you always make me run ahead when approaching such locks with the funny bent key thing and turn the handle to let out (or in) the water, while you drive the boat. I do not mind this because I meet some very interesting people this way – often being invited to see their boat. I always tell them I will bring you along. Sometimes this disappoint them and they make excuse of having suddenly remembered they have to be somewhere else by the fall of night. But others are very welcoming.

I enjoy so much being on the boat and think perhaps there may come a time when you buy another boat? I have album of photographs which I take on our boat trips and I will bring to show you when next I visit -which I would like to be the coming Friday of this week. Because Brian has day off from bus driving and will bring me.

I hope there will be no problem with this date because I have some important thing which I wish to talk about with you. This is not place on blog to discuss such a thing.

Reading back once again through the funny writing post I can see that you are not happy – and wish I could do something for you about it. I sometimes think that perhaps the sickness in the head causes your unhappiness, but then I think maybe the unhappiness has caused the sickness in the head.

Whatever. Do not you think that you have been therapised enough? Medicated enough? All these things you have so much of and still not well.

Anyway – I forgive you for being impertinent English person. You know I cannot angry be with you for so long, loving you so much as I do.

Until we meet on Friday

Your ex shipmate

Anna

Oh and PS. The lady Purple Cow seem to concern herself about you, and I think you should listen to what she says.

'There is a happy land/Far, far away'

************************************************

A grey area
                     Beyond despair.... Apathy
                                                                 Where it just isn't worth the effort of getting depressed

Suicide?      What's the point?

                                             As Peggy Lee sang, "I'm just not ready for that final disappointment"

At least when you are depressed, there is hope... you don't want to be like this

                           you realise something is wrong

But what if you moved beyond... so you just didn't care that there was something wrong?

                 And you just said - So what?

I once had a boat. It was a canal boat - this boat that I had.

      At one spot along the canal an abandoned, semi derelict boat was moored
                               It appeared to have once been occupied by 'hippies'. When you looked through the windows you could see a tangle of bedding, beer cans, a couple of dirty plates and other domestic debris

              The name of this boat was "So What"
                                                                          Then one day when I passed the spot the boat was gone - the men from British Waterways had towed it away. I felt sad

                              I never saw the boat again. But forever after I called that spot on the canal "So What"

Is the ultimate "Letting go", the letting go of your despair?

                But the thought that nothing matters is scary
 But wait
                If nothing matters then everything matters
                                                                                      how you tie your shoelaces
peel an orange
                                 sweep the floor
                                                                           blow your nose
Perhaps if you can be afraid - but still let go
                                                                   you will not fall off the edge of the earth
into insanity
                         you may find another land
                                                                             another you

Anyway, you can't put the skin back on a banana

"...the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"

******************************************

I don't know why I bother. I really don't. Here am I, pouring my heart out, and all I get is you telling me there is no such word as "scrute". How can someone so tall be so shallow?

I am not surprised you can't find the word "scrute" - I invented it!  But it will be in the dictionary one day - just you see!

Honestly, how much more can a chap take! Blow upon blow falls upon this (slightly greying) head of mine.
The latest being: I telephoned the dental surgery to make an appointment for a check up, only to find that my lovely lady dentist has left the practice! Quelle Horreur ! I used to look forward to my regular visits. I could have let her do anything to me with her drill, probes and pincers. No more will I gaze up, from my prone position, into those liquid brown eyes above the mask; so tender, so caring.  And when she has finished, and I thank her, to hear her say, in that breathy voice "My pleasure". Who will  be pleasuring her now? I wonder.
I know what I shall do: I'll ask the receptionist can she tell me where Sarah Jane has gone. I shouldn't think it would be classified information. And then - if it's not too far - I shall follow. My gums ache for her.

I've read your list. A bit of fantasy there, I'm thinking. (#10 for example! I've never known you to ride a bicycle.)

Anyway, when are you coming to see me? I have to warn you that I may not be here. Things are getting on top of me (no jokes please) and I may do a runner. The Arabs have a saying: To run away is the bravest thing. And I think they are right.

Yours in limbo

George

These are ten things about myself. (Anna)

1.  When I am 16 years age I win Longest Legs (female) contest in town of Visby. This what set me off on road to showbiz career.

2.  I do not smoke - except occasionally for recreational purposes.

3.  I like red shoes with very tall heels (these make legs look even longer).

4.  I have one brother. He is name Sven. I do not know of present whereabouts except in Sweden someplace.

5.  I did work in branch of showbiz called Pornography. Here I am very successful in tasteful, well lighted video stories. No kink type stuff like the BDSM and such. But good wholesome sex between consenting adult people, such as would not offend a person's grandmama - providing she have open mind. Sadly, I have to leave this creative world for personal reasons.

6.  I work as au pair for Mr George Turner at his house called Wynorin. During such time I also act as (unpaid) sex therapist to son Sydney to work on the boy's issues of sexuality identity. In this I am successful.

7.  I love cheese. Also chocolate ( but not American muck.). I also as well like champagne, which make me giddy. This can be very satisfactory.

8.  I am bi-lingual. Also bi-sexual. Both these skills have I found to be great advantage in my life.

9. I love the dancing. Especially type like Tango and other such sexual dances. Being of the long legs I extol in the performance. Also I am responsible for arousal, not only in partner, but in audience also.

10. My  favourite authors are - Proust, Sartre, Wittgenstein, Hegel and Nietzsche. And I like to ride a bicycle.
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Oh, and Georgie - there is no such word as SCRUTE  because I try to look up in dictionary and is not there.

GLIMPSES

****************************************

Life is perhaps better glimpsed out the corner of your eye, rather than subjected to intense scrutiny.

So why do I always want to have a damn good scrute at everything? Tell me that Anna?

Why does everybody call me Big-head?

************************************************


I was reading a book this morning,  Anna - I haven’t read for a while because I can’t concentrate - and I thought to myself, every time I read a book my head expands a bit. You wouldn’t notice it; it’s too small even to measure. But it does – it expands. Well, to be more accurate, more scientific, it is my brain that expands, but in expanding it pushes my skull that little bit further forward. This is, of course, the reason why a human has a bigger forehead than his simian cousin. (Have you ever, when visiting the zoo, seen a monkey sitting down quietly, reading a book? No, neither have I – they’re either scratching themselves or showing you their bottom.)

Now, my reason for mentioning this important relationship between learning and cranium size is do with evolution. Or, rather, to suggest a possible leap forward in our evolutionary process. Suppose we humans could evolve is such a way that puberty (for male and female) occurred much later in life. Let’s say, around 30 years old – or even older. Just think how many more books we could have read; how much further our brains expanded and, crucially, how this expansion could be passed on genetically. Instead of evolution being such a slow process, it would suddenly be accelerated. Instead of it being in tiny incremental steps over millions of years, evolution would become exponential.

Of course, this would involve our heads becoming bigger and bigger but we would soon get used to this. Our vastly increased knowledge (not just scientific but philosophical, psychological, sociological and humanistic.) would help us to quickly come to terms with the radical change in our appearance.

Obviously some people read more than others and now they would be recognisable by their (considerably) larger heads. For the first time in the history of the species, intellectuality would be manifested in physical appearance. It follows, that the big-heads would be attracted to each other now on a physical as well as intellectual basis. They would, therefore, tend to partner with their own kind and the resultant offspring would be advanced exponentially (of their parents), not only intellectually, but in head size.

You might ask me: But how would the physical body keep up with all this? How would it develop so as to become strong enough to support a gigantic head?

My reply to you would be: Do you want me to do everything for you? I’ve given you the main idea – the blueprint. Don’t be so bloody lazy. Work it out for yourselves!

I haven’t taken my medication for ten days. They think I’m taking it but when they’re not looking I drop it down my pyjama top. (I’ve got to wear these damn things in here but, as you know, Anna, I wear nothing in bed. I cannot bear being restricted by clothing of any kind.)

Anyway, when they have gone I put the pills in the tin I used to keep my resin in. I’ve got quite a collection now - for a ‘rainy day’. Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink!

I have had some disturbing - even distressing - news which has set me back a bit. I cannot bring myself to tell you about it now - I am too depressed.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Love, as always

George

A candyfloss head

*****************************************

Anna, Anna, do not distress yourself. Surely you did not think I would leave you out of all of this. And also, have you noticed that Purple Cow sends her regards AND points out that the award is for the 'George Says' Blog and so it is for you as well? I too would be interested to see what 10 things you will list. As for my 'peculiar habits'... well, you never compained before!

But enough of you - let's talk about me.

Red-rimmed eyes in a desperate face stare out at me from the mirror. Who is this stranger? What is he doing in my bathroom? Call Security!


Okay, so I had a drink last night. Well, a couple. I had promised myself that when I finished this course of antibiotics I would drink lots of beer,and then fall over; actually, I had a pint of lager and a whisky (or three). I didn't fall over.  I slept well but the next morning I had a candyfloss head.

Well of course Brian would know all about ‘Georgie Porgie’, lover of King James I! But Georgie (or George Villiers, first duke of Buckingham, as he was better known) was happy to swing both ways, and managed to keep a lot of ladies happy (including Anne of Austria, who was married to Louis XIII of France at the time). Oh yes, Georgie was a bit of a bugger (no pun intended), and it was only the King’s patronage that kept him out of serious trouble. Finally parliament had had enough (no doubt they were jealous) and stopped the King from intervening on the duke’s behalf, thereby putting a bit of a dampener on Georgie’s career.

I know that you are aware of this, Anna, but perhaps you could tell Brian that I am not attracted, in any way, to my own sex. I had a few chums at school, and okay one of them was the captain of the First XI, but that was as far as it went.

You know the old joke, Anna: Life is a sexually transmitted disease, with a 100%  mortality?
Well, I think Life should come with a government health warning:

Not: "This product can kill you." But: "This product WILL kill you – in the end."
Still, as the hero in “The Black Obelisk” says: 'Since we lose in the end, anyway, we can give ourselves the luxury of winning beforehand.'
Let's do that - shall we?

I was so glad to hear from you, Anna. (I am feeling pretty dire at the moment). And it is good to know that your love for me is undemolished. I am not sure, though, that I like the idea of you talking to Freddie about me; discussing my case, it sounds like. Still, I suppose you both are doing your best for me. And believe me, I certainly need somebody's best being done for me.

I am beset by problems. Decisions of a fiscal (and emotional) nature which I do not intend to burden you with right now. I keep thinking of the song 'Irene, Goodnight':

Sometimes I live in the country,
Sometimes I live in the town -
Sometimes I take a great notion
To go jump in the river and drown.

They say drowning is not a bad way to die, that once you give up fighting for breath it is relatively peaceful. The river here used to be very polluted, but they cleaned it up and now salmon swim in it. So it would not really be fair on the salmon to suddenly have a human being threshing about in their midst, and then expiring and sinking to the bottom. Well, you wouldn't want it in your living room.

(note: In the final verse of the original 'Leadbelly' song he sings I'll take morphine and die. )

Marianne Faithful sings about Sister Morphine, and I can understand why. Some years ago I  had back pain so severe that a doctor was called, and he gave me a shot of morphine. Almost immediately I felt like I was floating away on a lovely warm sea. What a way to go.

When you think about it, Religion is a dying trade.

 If people were not afraid of dying there would be no religion. Religion deals in death – even though it sells ‘eternal life’.

Some people are so afraid of facing this great leap into the unknown that they will clutch at any bent straw; swallow any old load of nonsense, if it promises them ‘eternal life’.
I am afraid of dying – but I am trying to get along without religion. (Spirituality is something else. Sally Brampton quotes an ex alcoholic: Religion is for those who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituallity is for those who have been there.

I find it hard to conceive of a time when I will not exist. In fact, I consider it a damn shame if I cease to exist; what a waste of talent. But I have to consider that if I can survive death then so can my cat; and so can all the other animals, and the worms in my garden, and all the insects and the fishes. And, I mean, where are they going to put us all?

This is not a trivial question. And here is another important question: Suppose I have been married three times, my first two spouses having died, then to whom shall I be wed in the afterlife?
Ah, but – say the clerics – there is no marriage in heaven. Oh, so it’s ‘free love’ then? I'm afraid not, they tell me: you won’t need sex because you won’t have a body; bodies are only for this earthly plane. Fair enough. But my friend, Gervaise, says he lives for sex – so he’s going to be disappointed then. Best take Andrew Marvel’s advice to his Coy Mistress, and get it on while you can.

And without a body you can’t drink beer, wine or whisky; you can't smoke, enjoy chololate. If you haven't got a body  you won't be able to ride a horse or a motor-bike, or swim or skate or play tennis. So what are we going to do in the 'afterlife'? Sit around and sing hymns? But no, you can't even sit around, because you haven't got an arse.

Yes, you need to think carefully about the eternal life package they are selling you. Read the small print; get a another quote.


(And by the way, Anna, Gervaise is the 'friend' whose name you could not remember - and why on earth does Freddie say I should be careful of my friends?)

It occurred to me the other day, what were things before they were cool?
Of course, in the sixties things were Fab. The Beatles being the "Fab Four".

Jazz musicians used to talk about things being solid. "Solid man, solid." Other expressions came from jazz: "He plays a mean trombone." And, of course, hip.
Did hip give rise to the "Hippies".?
And before the Hippies there were the Beatniks. What expression did they use?


Talking of the Beatniks, I recall a scene from a black and white film: A room, with beatniks lying about on the floor, smoking; off their heads on dope.

1st. Beatnik: Hey, what's that up there, man?
2nd Beatnik: That's the ceiling.
1st. Beatnik: Best place for it.

Ah, golden days. Where have they all gone?

Why do we bother, Anna? All this time, this effort, this sweating and grunting and straining - and for what? A couple of lines in the obituary column of the local paper?
And all this writing - what's all that about?
Magritte, when asked why he painted, said "Life compels me to do something - so I paint."
Maybe that's as good an answer as anything.

I still haven't recovered my taste or smell  after this ferocious infection. If you can't taste and you can't smell, there's two dimensions of your life gone. The sense of smell is so important. One of the 'ten things I love' - which I was going to write down but didn't - is 'The smell of memories'.

I should like to end this piece on an optimistic note - a sort of  'Top C' - that would be real solid, man; mean, hip, cool. But I cannot hit Top C this morning. Maybe tomorrow?

So I think I will let Clive have the last word (he still hasn't started his own blog)

It comes as no surprise to me,
To learn I once lived in a tree
And that a monkey is my cousin -
Well not just one, but several dozen -
For often, when I go outdoors,
The urge to walk upon all fours,
Swing from a lamp-post, just for fun,
Quite suddenly comes over one.

Yes, though you think you're very cute,
You're just a monkey in a suit.

I am feeling much anger, Georgie. What is all this about rewards... awards.... whatever? Eh? Why does no one ask me ten things about myself? Tell me that?  And also I could tell all these people a lot many more things about George than what you put in your list. Oh yes! How about that? Like some of George's peculiar habits which I will not mention of for fear of embarassing, but which I may do in future sometime if I do not get satisfactory outcome.
I am so angry I tell Brian. He say - Do not distress yourself Annakins (this is his pet name for me - why do you not have pet name for me, eh? Never mind for now.). Brian say - George may just have forgotten in his excitement of being awarded. But I say, this no excuse. I would not forget him in such circumstances. But Brian put arms around me (which is very nice) and say - Come, let us go to pub where I will buy you pint of strong lager to calm you down. Which we do. But it take two pints before I am calm. But I am still angry.

So I am deciding to take bull by his horns. I am writing down (with much thought) ten things about me - which will be bloody sight more intersting than yours. Sorry, but still angry. Then  these things will I post to the blog.

Your, still angry

Anna

AWARDS

Thank you Purple Cow for this award - and for the other one (so it really was meant for me)
And for inviting me to join the party.

I am not much good at talking about myself, but I will have a go. And I will try to keep the silly stuff  to a minimum. Can't guarantee though.

Okay, 10 random things about me.

1. I was an only child (and, sadly, still am)
 I was brought up in a household of women, and cats. This probably explains why I befriend stray women - but have an ambivalent attitude towards cats.

2. I have a motor bike, and ride when I can. I once went to America and hired a Harley Davidson for a week.

3. I bought my first jazz record when I was seventeen ('Get out of here and go on home' by Humphrey Lyttleton) and from then on I have been hooked on jazz - all sorts, shapes and sizes.  I had a go at playing the trumpet when I was in the Air Force - I now play the drums.

4. Writing (anything and everything) is for me a kind of therapy.  I have read a lot but now prefer to write. (I still read though - anything that takes my fancy). I also take the odd photograph - 'odd' being the operative word.

5. I am an idealist, a romantic, a dreamer (my favourite food is 'pie in the sky'). Some people say I can be very analytical. I am still trying to find out who I am - I think that is why I write so much.

6. I like jellies and cakes, and elephant steaks/And peppermint creams and haricot beans... that was a silly rhyme I learnt when I was a child. I've never eaten an elephant steak, but the other stuff, I like.  I enjoy chocolate too.  I don't particularly like the taste of alcohol but I enjoy the effect it produces.
I tried smoking but never quite mastered the  technique - so I gave it up. Well, one cannot be good at everything.

7. I am a 'late developer'. After ducking out of Grammar School before taking any exams I came back into education and did a degree and a couple of diplomas and stuff. I trained as a neurotic, and later as a psychotherapist, and I also lectured. Now I just continue to develop.

8. I love children. I believe them to be both wise and vulnerable. So we should listen to them, and protect them. And we should not try to 'educate' the wisdom out of them - nor blunt their vulnerability.

9. I sometimes type on a manual typewriter. I like the clunk and thwack of  the metal keys as they cut my thoughts into virgin velum.

10. I can hypnotise goldfish (and people)

I am a bit new to this award game, but here are a few blogs I would like to award because,

1. Australian in Athens.

You invited me to join the party

You (probably) saved George and Anna's lives.

 My fascination with your life  grows with every post.

2. Propoquerian

Your sense of humour - guy or no guy - is great.

3. number87x

LIZ - You have such a bouncy inner-child, and she writes so beautifully.

4. Liyalolita

You can take pictures without a camera - and tell us about them.

5. Yellowstonetrailblazer

I don't think you are just an 'average, everyday, normal guy.

6. Sparrowchat

Underneath the caustic comments, the acerbic wit, I get a faint whiff of canals - a gentler world.

Georgie Porgie
Pudding a and pie,
Kissed the girls
And made them cry –
When the boys came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.


Brian tells me of this English what you call nursery rhyme. And I am hoping it is making you smile. Of course typical of English girls that kissing should make them cry. Never make me cry, kissing. Specially not with my Georgie.

Please be forgiving me for the lateness of my writing to you. My head has been dried up of what to say. Please do not be thinking that a lack of copulation on the Sunday visit is the cause. No, it is not. It was lovely to see you after such long times – more than my words can be telling. And my love for you is undemolished. So I want for you to get better so we can be together.

But Freddie speaks to me privately before I leave. Saying it is not good for you to be experiencing extremes of emotion at such delicate stage in your treatment. And so he ask me to go slowly. Well, you know me, I have never in my life gone slowly – only the fast lane for Anna. But for you, I now do this.

You WILL get better George. This I know. So please believe. Just need to be patient. But Freddie tells me about these people like Clive and Eric and Carmen and that other person whose name I do not remember who you talk to. I think you need to be careful of these people and not be believing everything they are telling you.

Anyway, I am pleased to see how you are looking not one day older than when we last conjoin at Wynorin, which is such long a time ago. Maybe perhaps a few more grey hairs in beard. I do not tell Brian what is your age, and I can now inform you that he thinks you are ten years younger than what you really are! Now, does this not make you happy?

I wish you could be happy, George – or just ordinary miserable, like Mr Freud say.

I think you need love of good woman – which is me. But first you must get better. I know I am repeating what I have said previous, but need to emphasise this fact. But complication is, that all this thinking and stuff what batter that poor head of yours is also YOU George. And it would not be good to blast it all out with millions of the electric voltage. It is much of this which make you creative and funny and which I am in love with. Freddie tell me he is trying to help you manage all this stuff, and not just chuck it away. This is really important.

Know that I am here for you always. And I will come to visit you when Brian has next day off the bus driving. They are bit short on the staffing at the moment on account of many drivers off sick with the type of shitty bug you have had. Poor Georgie, what a time of it you must have been suffering through, not knowing when next you will be running for lavatory before bowel explodes again. So exhausting this must also be because of efforts your insides are making to squeeze all nasty bacteria out of you – at both ends too. Anyway I am glad you are much better – I think you must have been run down (is that correct expression?) and I also think the mental sickness has probably added to your running down.

It is also nice to see that you are being thought about by Purple Cow lady - you see I do read comments! And good that you comment back to thank her. Do not worry – I am not jealous!! Oh, and am also glad to see that your National Health Service is working well for you. I think you should perhaps (when you are really better) send e mail to man who runs service to tell him. Because newspapers always full of stories of people who get killed in your hospitals by various mistakes and bugs. I am sure this must be very dispiriting for Mr Cameron (such a good looking man), so he will welcome a bit of praise. I bet he will read your e mail out to his wife at breakfast time and say – there you are, at least one bugger is grateful for what I am doing.

Brian is a good man – even though he does not fancy me for the sex he has been really kind to me. And as I said, he will bring me at first opportunity he is getting. You know, I think he likes you, Georgie – not in a homosexual way. He just think you are a nice man. Which of course you are, so do not be forgetting. And also do not be too hard upon yourself. Do not so much try for being the perfectionist. It is ok to make mistakes. I know, because I make plenty (and hope to make plenty more – such a naughty girl am I). No, but I am serious about this, Georgie because I think a lot of your mental sickness in the head comes from trying too hard. Always trying to ‘get it right’. Why not have a go at getting it wrong?

Anyway, I am ending here as it is late and I make cocoa for when Brian returns.

So much looking  forward to seeing you soon.

Your ever loving Anna.