I am fuming

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

I am fuming, Anna.

I have had a letter from that no good half-brother of mine and I am reproducing here so that you can see it for yourself.

I have blanked out his address for his own safety. I would not want your brother Sven and a couple of his friends to pay him a visit because of the disrespectful way the blackguard refers to you! Although I have half a mind to go up there myself and give him a damn good thrashing.

Needless to say, he is not getting a penny out of me. The mountebank has evidently got himself caught up in some sort of religious cult. Well, that's his lookout. 

Anyway, I am off down to the shops to spend my 'Boots' coupons.
(Wouldn't you think a firm with that name would sell boots - I'd buy a new pair if they did)

Hoping you are well and looking forward to the next time we meet.

Your George

So romantic it was Georgie meeting under the station clock. Like in one of your old British films on the black and white variety which can be so evocating. For example the one called 'Brief Encounter' which I remember you taking me to see when I was doing the au pairing at Wynorin.

The only thing was missing was the old steaming trains with the lovely smell and hiss of steam and that chug chug sound. Of course in Sweden we have very efficient transport system of the road as well as railways but not so romantic, eh?

It is never long enough, is it? Our times together? But though we are perforced to live this fugitive life for now things will be different when we sort out our severeal problems. And also when I am finishing my degree which I am in final year of, as you know. Dave expects that I should get excellent grade. 

I have photo you give me on bedside table beside clock. You are looking younger than ever in such picture. And I hope you place my  photo by your bed the same. 


This in all for times being.

Hoping your stinkaroo of cold is better. No I did not catch this despite intimate proximity we enjoyed.

Your Anna

Merry Christmas

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

MERRY CHRISTMAS, ANNA

Have you seen the comment from R J Adams?

I think we should wish him a MERRY CHRISTMAS too...

and all our other friends...

See you later... 12.15 under the station clock.

Your George  

We're still here

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

Oh, Anna, what a time we have had of it, eh?

Just think, could you have ever had imagined all that's gone on in these past few weeks?

I don't know about you but I am both exhilarated and exhausted.

And we are still here! This Mayan calender thing... what was that all about? Scholars say that it predicted the end of a cycle, and not the end of the world.

Well, I have seen the end of a cycle - someone has nicked my bike from outside the library.

But someone else has given me one... a mountain bike. Needs some attention but it's a good bike.

A verse for you:

When you and I recede from view
We'll be replaced by someone new,
Of course they won't be half as good -
I really don't see how they could -

But we're still here, and in full view -
And we've got lots of things to do.

As ever

George

Allo Georgie

Very much do I like the song and the pictures also. Although this not exact hotel at which we stay it gets right the atmosphere and    all feelings.

As regarding the up hill to bed, well, it was worth the walk would not you say! (I put exclaiming mark because question is what you call rhetorical)

Mr Wormold say he like having us at his hotel and we may stay again if we should like to so do. 

As regarding publishing of the photos, I leave this to your discretionary. I know you have good taste and so I trust judgement.

Dave is in bit of state. Date for tribunal is fixed. I say to him, do not be upsetting oneself for I will accompany you and even perhaps act as what you call character witness.

Dave is alarmed by my suggestion and say that would not be wise in circumstance because they would know he is cohabiting (what a strange word) with female student.
I say to him, so what - is not this one of perks of profession? Which compensate for low wages and shit working conditions?

Dave say, this may be true but is not stated anywhere in contract of employment and would make matters worse if I attend. Especially if wearing one's usual provocative clothing. 

I am deeply offended and tell him my clothing is not provocative, and if he wants provocative I give him provocative! 

He say, sorry, and he like way I dress but tribunal are old fuddled duddies (?)

So I tell him, ok buster you are on your own then.

I will comfort him though, at home.

Well, what does one think about Mr Wormold's kind offer?

Write soon

Your Anna

The Railway Hotel

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

Just for you, Anna.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHvnMB1ee2A


Your George

How was it for you?

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

WOW! What a weekend that was, Anna. I've done nothing but sleep since I got back - it must have been all the fresh air.

It was good to get back in the saddle. I had forgotten how the simple pleasures of life can be the most enjoyable: pedals, turning, wheels spinning, the wind in your hair. Wonderful.

It was decent of Mr Wormold to fix us up with cycles. Did you notice how his eyes filled with tears when he handed over his wife's bike to you? And he said how good it was to see two young (?)people enjoying what his wife and he used to do so often - before she left him.

Actually, I found the seat of his bike quite hard. But he said he likes a hard leather one - its more manly. 

And what a great job they've made in turning that disused railway line into a cycle track. Mr Wormold told me it is part of the Trans-Leicester Way and is used by cyclists from all over the midlands - and further afield.

I asked him if Railway Hotel was a listed building. But he said, No, it was just a bit of subsidence. (it is the only hotel room I have stayed in where you walk, uphill to the bed). Still, I am not grumbling; the bed was lovely and soft, and springy.

I was wondering if I should publish (on the blog) some of the photos we took. What do you think? Perhaps they are a bit personal? To us, I mean. And yet the autumn colours were so lovely: the leaves and the mellow stone of the old railway arches in the late afternoon sun, that I feel I want to share them with everybody.

Well, I have lots more to say so will write again.

George

Oh dear Georgie 

You are getting yourself into that state again which you must be careful of avoiding.  Do not be concerning oneself about everybody. You are like man in The catcher in the rye - but this I have told you previously.

As you know Sweden is the mainly secular country but do have some churches of which I am not member. Recently I see there comes Church of Kopimism which believe sharing of information to be holy. They taking the piss - or what? Anyways I also believe it good to share information when I got any to share, and I have.

Remember how I tell you of how Dave is depressed and acting strangely, well two days since he say to me, I think I need to see doctor about mental condition, like my depression which is now considerably bothering me. But I am fearful to go because he might send me to the hospital for treatment, and I do not wish to be connected to electricity supply and given the ECT.

I therefore say to him, do not be worrying. I shall accompany you to see physician, for I have much experience regarding mental disturbance - and I tell him about you. I say you were much more mentally disturbed than what he is, and that you making recovery, although slowly.

He is grateful for my kind offer and so we go, and doctor ask lots of questions and then he says, I will prescribe for you these medication anti-depressants which you must take in mornings, two. And I say to doctor, and what is name of this medication? And then he says name (which I will not include here for certain reasons) and I say to him, hang about there, doc, this drug is banned in Sweden for its addictification. And doctor says, well we are in UK and is not banned here. And I say, but how can drug be addictive in Sweden but not in this country?

Then he say to me, if you do not mind my asking - what is your relationship to the patient (he mean Dave). And I say, but I do mind you asking such personal question. Relations as Dave and oneself enjoy are our own business.

And he say, I mean are you his spouse, or his partner or friend? Or perhaps you are his carer?

But I refuse to answer this question and we leave with piece of prescription paper, which look like been signed by small toddler who cannot yet write his name.

Then we go to pharmacy in big store and on counter is notice which say - Mr Wilkins is today's Responsible Pharmacist.( actually name is not Mr Wilkins but a foreign one which I do not wish to replicate  in case one is accused of racial intimidation.)

Anyways, Dave -seeking to make joke - say "But I would like to see the IRRESPONSIBLE Pharmacist." And girl behind counter does not smile but say "Yes, everybody says that." 

Dave experience embarrassment so I quickly interject myself by saying "He is a bit mentally disturbed, so if you please be giving us medication as written on paper."

But then after we wait for long time, silly cow come back and say we do not have these medications in at this time so could you come back tomorrow?

No - I tell her. Give back to me prescription and we go find proper chemist. Which we do, in back street. And he supply us with pills.

So now I have shared this information with you I shall return to your problems of which I do not trivialise them. This depression is very bad thing - sometimes called BLACK DOG - which has Mr Churchill prime minister. But also to have feeling of treacle in veins must be scarifying like you can't move about with ease. What I say to you is to keep taking the medications and also take the exercise, regular because this great help.

As regarding those persons who will not talk nor yet discus, they probably cannot help themself in being such way,  but  neither be wasting time with this type of person.  Bid them farewell, with perhaps appropriate phrase such as "Bugger off".

Another thing to help you would be to do something  like take action. And to help you thus I have arrange weekend at Cycle track hotel. Where I will look after your every need and cheer you up.

Hoping you are both up for it and up to it.

Look forwards to hearing you.

Your loving Anna.

Ok, Noah...so it's raining - it's not the end of the world

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

I wonder if that's what they said to him; all them there sinners. I mean didn't they notice all the animals walking past, two by two?

It could be the end of the world now. It has been rain, rain, rain for days... weeks even. At least where I am. Cold, dark, dreary.

I'm in a fix, Anna.

Treacle in my veins. That's what I've got. At least that's what it feels like

And you have not replied to my last communication. What does this mean? Are you devoting all your attention to the depressed Dave? Don't forget that I am depressed as well; in fact I am becoming glummer by the day.

I wonder why people won't discuss things; talk about things. Are they afraid that they may not have an "answer" and so would prefer not to risk talking about it? Do they not know that talking about some problem or other sometimes produces an answer? Even if it doesn't produce an answer, just the process of talking often helps.

The Buddhists say that two things should be avoided at all costs: Hope and Fear. Most people would agree about fear but not about hope. I can understand what the Buddhists mean. Fear and hope are both about the future. Live in the present. If you can.

Actually, I think that both Hope and Fear (as we know it) were acquired when we attained consciousness (self consciousness). You can see why Fear is a useful emotion: it forces you to do something when faced with immediate danger.

The caveman hears the bellow of the woolly mammoth and legs it back to his cave. But I bet he didn't spend a sleepless night worrying about all the woolly mammoths he might meet the following day. Also, I don't imagine he hoped that the woolly mammoths would die out - or anything else, in fact. You can only hope and fear (as we practice it) if your 
brain is developed enough to have a sense of the future.

I am having a cup of tea. That's what we English do when things look bleak: we make a cup of tea.
I am not writing any more just now. This doesn't mean that I have nothing to say... but I shall wait until I hear from you.

George

A damp Sunday morning

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

I wonder what you are doing this morning Anna. And with whom.

I am sitting here looking through the square window at a damp Sunday morning. Funny how you can always tell it's Sunday. There's something about the atmosphere, the feel of a Sunday.
I bet I could be alone in the middle of the Ghobi desert or at the  North Pole and I would know if it were a Sunday..

A neighbour walks past with two small children. She is on her way home from church. What on earth does she think she is doing; inculcating two small children (not even her own) into a myth; getting them to believe a fairy story to be fact.

It strikes me how like Father Christmas is God: a benevolent old gentleman with a white beard, somewhere up there in the sky, ready to bestow  upon us wondrous gifts - if we are good. Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare might have said. (I wonder did Shakespeare believe in God? I guess you had to, in those days - or at least pretend to .Otherwise you could have been in for an early morning fry-up, at the stake.).

And who will define what "being good" is for those two children who have just walked past? Those two children who don't really understand the ritual, the bit of theatre they have just been put through? The vicar? The priest? Aided and abetted by parents; those unwitting agents of the establishment?

And by the time they are old enough to realise it is not" Father Christmas" who brings the presents, they are hooked into the myth at a deep level. Disappointment and confusion awaits.

If only the could be taught 'reality' instead.

But we must look on the bright side, Anna, and so I shall finish with a few lines that came to me from the back of my head:


She didn't respond when I kissed her -
In fact she said: less of that, mister,
I am pledged to another -
So I gave her another -
She's gone - now I'm kissing her sister.

Here's to our coming weekend

George

I'm not afraid of Virginia Woolf

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

In fact, I am immersed in her; and I would never have thought I could become so enthralled in a novel in which nothing really happens. Well, that's not quite true; but most of it happens in the minds of her characters

Some people find Virginia Woolf's writing depressing. But she wrote about how she saw life; and she saw so much more than most. Maybe her "depression" gave her greater insights, and her command of language the ability to express and share those insights with others.

I sometimes wonder if we are like rats in an experimenter's cage: running around pressing levers to get food pellets, but what we don't know is that the levers are not connected to anything; the food pellets are delivered randomly. We think we have control - but we haven't.

But surely it's not like that, Anna - is it?

I like the idea of the Cycle-track Hotel. Perhaps we could hire bicycles and go for a spin. What do you say?

I don't mean to turn the weekend into an 'activity holiday'. In fact I have always seen activity holidays as a contradiction in terms. But 30 minutes pedalling is wonderful for getting the endorphins going.

I am tired, and my bed awaits.

I shall dream of the Cycle-track Hotel.

George

This bloody awful English weather is making one wish to be back in Sweden. Also with the depressing Dave who is still in state of suspension from employment and is getting under one's feet all the time, is pissing one off and no mistake.

Well, Georgie, what you say about other way of knowing, this I think is correct. I always go with what you call gut reaction:
I have got to know a lot of things by feeling them.

And one is of the opinion that sometimes all this talk talk gets in way of real stuff. I am reminded of song which say "Don't talk of love - show me." That will do me, buster.

I look at this page 3 in paper what Dave is now reading and see these girls which look like big plastic dolls what have been pumped up in pneumatic manner. Totally non sexual are these women to me.

I tell this to Dave and he says, well I will not pin behind lavatory door then. And then he laugh and say he is joking.

I remember how you tell me previously about this girl with diminutive breasts called Polly, who work in circus as contortionist and you call her your flexible friend. Am I correct? You say she dump you because you can never see things from her angle?

I think you are perhaps making up this story - not the breasts bit but circus and contortionist part. Because how come you get to know circus peoples? You will be telling one next as how you did work yourself in circus as human canonball. Ha, ha. Just because I come from Sweden do not think I was born day before yesterday.

But to come back to breasts - I am agreeing with you as how size of bodily components do not matter. Except perhaps in adult movie business. Although example of democratic nature of such business is how it cater for ladies who are not well blessed in this respect, having created what one might call a niche market especially for these ladies. But that is by the by.

Now we are coming to the more important question of our next venue.

Well, I have surprise for you. I have been working part of the time in Railway Hotel as barmaid, in order to be substantiating my income while doing student work at same time.

Recently I do small favour for landlord in cellar. Time has come for taking inventory of all stuff in hotel, and Mr Wormold (that is his name) his wife is on skiing holiday. So I lend him my hand.
I count all barrels of beer and bottles of wine and spirit and other stuff and writing down.

Railway Hotel does the bed and the breakfast, and Mr Wormold say we can have two nights free! On account of all extra effort I put in to him.

Is not that splendid? (Actually, hardly anybody stay here because place is crap. Still it will do for our purposes admirably, I am thinking.)

Do not worry about possible noise because hotel is no longer near railway. That part of line have been closed for many years and rails removed and is now cycle track. So I am thinking hotel should be called Cycle-track Hotel. I say this to Mr Wormold but he say brewery would not like this name. This is trouble with you English you are so binded by tradition.

Anyways you just needs tell me when you can make for the weekend here.

Hope shitty weather not causing you depression. more than usual,

Action is antidote for depression so let us get with it, eh?

Yours who can hardly wait

Anna

ps. One other good news piece - the university people have agreed  my dissertation on Swedish porn industry. So I shall now get one's teeth into it, as you say.

Thoughts on a cold morning

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

Frost on the shed,
Ice on the car -
I think I'll spend today in a bar...

Can you imagine, Anna, - Ice in September! Admittedly he sun is now shining and the ice melting but - Ice in September?

That Dave should eschew the Guardian in favour of the tabloid press is not good news.

Is he reading the Sun? This newspaper is noted for its Page 3 girls, endowed, as they are, with enormous bosoms. Personally I cannot see the attraction of these busty beauties. Is size really important? 

I once went out with a girl who had no breasts, to speak of. So we didn't speak of them. And I can honestly say that her breasts never came between us.

In a more philosophical mood, Anna: I was thinking: Can we know something by feeling it? Sort of intuitively? I mean instead of logically deducing it? Women's intuition is sometimes seen as a bit of a joke. But are we foolish to ignore this other way of knowing? I think men also have this ability but perhaps it has been submerged in  them, more than in women, under logic and rationality.

I think logic and rationality - the tools of scientific method - are very valuable and we owe much of our civilisation to them. But scientific method could be expanded to take in this other way of knowing.

(Maybe before we had language we had to use other forms of communication, and these have since withered - a bit like the appendix now that we no longer eat grass - or something like that)

We would have to be careful though, because it could open the door to all sorts of superstitious nonsense. Nevertheless, ignoring it because of this danger is a bit cowardly - and not really scientific. Science should be prepared examine (without prejudice) this soft evidence (largely anecdotal) as rigorously as it would any hard evidence (the evidence of the 5 known senses).

The avenue has broken out in a rash of estate agents' "For Sale" boards. Funny, but when I was at school and they asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, I can't remember anybody saying they wanted to be an estate agent. Now there are millions of them. I wonder if it is a sort of 'second choice' profession. Like when you fail at being a used-car salesman or a debt-collector. Just a thought.

I have checked out cheap deals for Premier Inns, and the best I can get is £19 for one night in Budleigh-Salterton on the second Wednesday in November. I think this is too far away, both in distance and time. Any ideas?

Yours frustratedly

George

ps. I felt a bit iffy yesterday so I had an early night. I opted for the ibuprofen instead of the whisky. I think I made the right choice.

Please do not think because I am reversing to the usual black print that this post is not important. It is important but not as urgent as the one in red. If you see what I mean.

I am worried about Dave. He sits in the house all day watching the crap television except when sometimes in afternoon he goes to public house and play pool with bunch of deadbeats who do not have jobs.

This is most unsatisfactory situation for him because he now lacks motivation like what you were saying when you have a job to go to, although Dave don't work in office, he is teacher - no, he is college lecturer, which is different. 

Anyways, I say to him, do not lie stinking in bed but be getting up and getting one's arse in gear. Just because you waiting for tribunal hearing don't mean you should allow yourself to fester (note new word I learn) in misery and idleness because if you do this your brain will quickly rot.

Another worrying thing is that he is no longer reading Guardian newspaper, saying it is the Parish Magazine of Social Workers (what   does this mean?) and instead is reading what he previously have been calling the Gutter Press. And I say to him this is where you will be ending up - in the gutter - if you do not sort yourself out buster.

But at same time I comfort him because he is going through most stressful time, this I realise.

And then also I worry about you Georgie, with all these quick changes of mood similar to what your friend Virginia is writing about. This is woman who suicided herself by drowning in river, is not this so? Then why do you read stories by such a woman? This will not cheer you up but make you feel worse.

Also why are you wondering where all people in street going in opposite direction are off to? Next thing thing you will be forgetting where you are going yourself. And you do not wish to be detained in secure hospital for one's own safety, like was before necessary? 

Anyways I am back at universary for the completing of final year in which I have dissertation to do. This is like very long essay (20,000 words) on topic of one's choosing. I chose to do phenomenological  study of Swedish Pornographic Industry, but don't know if they let me yet. It is being discussed.

This Premier Inn is where they are guaranteeing you good night's sleep, is it not? Well this is of no use to us Georgie!!! ( exclaming marks indicate this to be little Swedish joke).

Bring it on

Anna

Yo Yo

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

This susceptibility to impressions had been his undoing, no doubt. Still at his age he had, like a boy or a girl even, these alternations of mood; good days, bad days, for no reason whatever, happiness from a pretty face, downright misery from the sight of a frump.

Virginia Woolf talking about one of her characters in Mrs Dalloway. 

I am on an upper this morning. Even though it's raining. Don't know how long it will last. (the upper, not the rain - in fact the sun is coming out already)

I went out earlier and saw people driving to work in their cars, waiting for buses to take them to the office. And I thought, wistfully of when I had a proper job (you can't call writing a proper job).  It was nice on a rainy morning to be going to a warm office, seeing all your colleagues, pushing a few papers around, making a couple of telephone calls and waiting for eleven o clock when the trolley came around with tea and coffee and biscuits.

There's something comforting about having a job to go to every morning. Routine. Stability. (although, as you know, I am not a great one for routine.)

Your wisdom is of the wisest kind, Anna, and I do take heed of it, although it is not always easy.

When I was at school, the teacher used to write words of wisdom in red ink on my work; usually: See Me. They didn't appreciate me at school; didn't realise what a creative genius they had on their hands.

The creative genius stands always outside the circle of experts.

Do you know who said that, Anna? It was Hitler.

Have you ever been walking down a busy street and everyone seems to be going in the opposite direction? And you wonder where they're all going? And you think perhaps you've made a mistake? That you're going the wrong way?

It happens to me. And I think, do they know something I don't?

What is the position regarding Dave and his suspension?

Oh, and by the way, I think Premier Inn has the edge on Travel Lodge. For our next assignation, I mean.

Yours, straining at the leash

George

I write this in red, Georgie, because of importance.

You cannot go back. Because back is not there. Back has moved on too. Just like you.

If you try go back you find back has become now,  and is not same as back you knew.

I hope this is understanding to you.

I will write further but had to get this off my breast.

Your concerned Anna

When did it start to go wrong?

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

Do you ever wonder that, Anna? 

I don't mean you and me... that could never go wrong!

I mean One's life. Your life. My life.

Sometimes you can put your finger on a particular time, or event and say: That was a turning point. A watershed. A significant change.

I can think of a few, but the one that comes to mind tonight is when Georgina and I sold our first house. It was me that wanted to move so I take responsibility. Of course I had my reasons but they were many, and too complex to go into now.

But I can remember one evening - the sale had been agreed but we hadn't moved - I had taken my daughter to bed, read to her as usual, and she was asleep. I stood at her bedroom window and looked out over the fields (they hadn't built the houses yet and you could see across to the airfield) and I somehow knew that things would never be the same again. Everything was changing.  I had put the train in motion and I couldn't stop it.

Looking back I could have stopped the train - or at least slowed it down. Of course you can't stop children from growing up and I wouldn't want to, but there was no real reason to move at that time - and I knew it. But I felt I had made a decision and should stick to it.

One thing I have learned is that decisions can be reversed. Or, as a friend of mine liked to say: Everything is fixable. Well, maybe it is - if you act quickly enough.

Funny (but perhaps not) this is just about the time of year that I stood in that bedroom, centuries ago, and just let things happen. And the irony is that I thought I was making things happen.

In the words of the song Blackberry Way: What am I supposed to do now?

Sorry to hear about Dave. This teaching game is a bit of a minefield nowadays. Still, I am sure he is glad you are there to support him.



I saw an advert on the back of a bus. It showed the picture of a handsome, fit young man - someone called Mark Foster - and it said he was 7 times world champion. The bus drove away before I could find out what Mr Foster was 7 times champion at. (should that be 'of'?)  or what the advert was selling. 

And I thought: I would like to be world champion just once. Of anything.

Now obviously one cannot be a world champion at writing novels but one could at least achieve fame. And that would do me.

So I have started to write my blockbuster. It starts with a woman on a train. (already I have two sure-fire elements for a best-seller: sex and travel.) I don't want to give any more away at this stage but would love to read chapter one to you, Anna, snug in bed.
(even in a Travel-Lodge).

See you soon

George

I thought British Police were supposed to be best in world??

Well, I did not think this really, but you British this is what you always saying. What a load of cobras.

Anyways I do not wish to dwell upon hypocrisy of British. For I have more important fish to batter.

This word... slipperifies what you use in poem. I check dictionary and can find no such word. I hope you are not making up words again. This is partly why they put you in the hospital for treatment all that time ago.

I like poem though.

Dave is not very well. They send him home from college with what you call 'suspension'. This have something to do with events at summer camp. Dave does not wish to talk about such (alleged) happenings which he say did not happen. Anyways, man from union came to see him yesterday and he will represent Dave at hearing which is to be heard in near future. He advise Dave not to talk to newspapers as this will only muddy waters (what strange sayings you English do use.)
Unfortunately Dave has already muddied waters by speaking to gentleman from certain newspaper which he wishes to remain anonymous at this stage but which I know to be Daily Mail. This is newspaper noted for crusading for the underdog and for not mincing the words (or so Dave say).

Anyways I will be keeping you abreast of things as they happen unless you read in newspapers about it first.

But you are sounding a bit downish to me. I wish you would tell me what is really going on.

Travel Lodge do a very nice room for two people sharing at reasonable cost. Why do we not - as temporaneous solution to our problem - meet for one night and you can tell me about what has really been happening.

I have bought new toothbrush in anticipation.

Yours to be seen soon

Anna

Comment

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

I'd like to be a fly on the wall in South Yorkshire Police headquarters this morning.

Looks like they've done for policing what Fagin did for child welfare.

Thank you...

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

....Anna for your birthday wishes. Also thanks to Mr Adams for his (belated) greeting.

I have been embroiled in matters fiscal, Anna, for the past weeks. Meetings with my accountant have taken up much of my time and, I am sorry to say, my ship of fortune is listing rather badly.

I have listened to Martin's Money Tips on the radio and considered bankruptcy as a possible solution. A last resort?

The thing that's puzzling me is where has all the money gone?  I was, perhaps not rich, but reasonably well-off when you knew me in the olden days. Ok so I spent some of it on you but I don't begrudge a penny of that. You could have chipped in with a few bob here and there but I gave you the impression I was wealthy so it's understandable that your hand rarely went into your pocket. (actually I don't think you ever wore anything with pockets).

But that couldn't account for the vast sums that have disappeared down the plughole. Where did I go wrong?

Perhaps I have spent too long dallying in the leafy glades of academia. I was busy worshiping at the altar of metaphysics while others were making money.

A blind man in a coal cellar, looking for a black cat that isn't there?

Ah, but the cat may be there, and if I am the one who finds it...

I think I've been too generous - by far. But where are all those upon whom I bestowed largesse in the past? The bookmakers;the brewers; the pub landlords; the homeless; the destitute; the fallen women...
Where are they now, eh?

I am reminded of a song written by an old folk singer...

First you lose the rhymin'
Then you lose the timin'
Then you lose the money
Then you lose the friends.

I don't remember losing the rhymin' or the timin' ... but I know what he means.

So yes, Anna, I am feeling the wind of change blowing up the old trouser leg, and things do not bode well.

Also winter draws nigh. Not my favourite time of year.

I penned this poem a few days ago:


Through the soft mist of an autumn morning
I see winter, crouching in the copse
At the end of the avenue.
Waiting.
Waiting for the dark evenings
When he can steal silently, unnoticed
Up the paths and driveways
Of sleeping suburbia,
And in the morning -
Spring out, and hit you
With his frost and fog.

Oh you mindless citizens,
Why do ignore my warning?
Why do you say: It is still summer,
Let us play and take no thought for the morrow?

Then suddenly, Winter is upon us,
And we cry as icy rains beats
Against our double-glazing, and
Frost and snow slipperifies pavements,
And we flinch
At the sound of cracking hips.

Too late, too late -
You should have listened to me.
And now Winter has you
In his grip

But there's nowt we can do, when all's said and done,
So I am off out, to have me some fun.

I have thought of picking up where I left off with my autobiography. The first part, dealing with my early childhood in a mining village, is called In the shadow of the slag heap.
I think it's quite promising. In fact I may post the first page, here on this blog!

I went away for my birthday - on my own - to Llandudno. It is good, now and then, to wake up in a strange bed (of course you know that)

There is lots more I want to talk about, Anna - need to talk about but it will have to wait.

Oh, and I have decided to take up Dave's offer - yes I know he will be back from summer camp but he originally said he would sleep on the sofa if I wished to visit.  Does the offer still hold good?
Sound him out, Anna.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEORGIE

You will be thinking I bet, that I am forgetting it is your birthday, but I am not.

Confusion is arising because you tell me once that you are born on last day of August, and you are thinking that August is having only thirty days, but it has thirty one and so birthday card arrives one day late, not that I am sending birthday card but sending this post instead with is more personal perhaps.

Anyways what do birthdays matter. You will always be fifteen in the head. This is what you tell me, so that is good.

Tell me about your doings.

What celebrations for the birthday have you been having?

Oh, and I have present for you which you will get when least expecting!

Write quickly back to me.

Your Anna

Always judge a book by its cover

************************************************8
7.50am

And rain bounces, a foot into the air, off parked cars. Exaggeration? Well, where would we be without a bit of exaggeration?

Looks like it's rained all night, judging by the lake in the garden, with  two swans floating happily. (How do you know if a swan is happy? A swan's expression doesn't really change much).

They say this is the wettest summer since time began. Can you imagine a time when there was no time? I can't. Einstein said Time is the fourth dimension. Who am I to argue.

Old Quartzy on the wall chimes Eight, and it's raining even harder. I look out the window and see animals hurrying by - two by two. Strange. I wonder where they're going?

I can't stop thinking about Time. And really I have so many things to do. That's why I'm up early. 

Time's pressing. That's a funny expression. Sounds like it's pressing down on your head - squashing you. Perhaps Time - like gravity - is a force that holds us in place on the planet. Stops us flying off into Space - which is another dimension.

What if you could stop Time? Like pressing 'pause' on a video machine. Or, even better, run it backwards. Wouldn't that be fun? Especially if you could edit out the bits you didn't like!

I can hear the rain now, drumming on the double-glazing.

Can you really run out of Time? Or out of Space for that matter? How can you run out of a dimension?

They say that Hallucogenic drugs distort your experience of time and space. But is it really a distortion? Is what we consider 'normal' actually a distortion of reality? Distorted by the limitations of our five senses? Perhaps these drugs really do open the 'Doors of Perception' - letting us experience more of what is really there.

I'm going to get my cornflakes now.

Oh, one more thing:


I am not sure Dave's flat is a good idea. For our meeting, I mean. Don't ask me why - it's just a feeling I have. I think it may be to do with the idea of sleeping in the same bed. I mean the bed that you two share. Almost a marital bed!

And... sorry I haven't replied before now but I've had a lot on my plate - figuratively speaking. (I have not had a lot on my dinner plate, ...I am eating frugally at the moment.)

Just one more thing: My feet are beginning to itch. I feel the need to roam. I shall advise you of my travel itinerary as soon as it is finalised.

Please do not keep me waiting as long as I have kept you waiting.

George

Wherefore are you Georgie

Why do you not respond to my last writing?

Do you not wish to conjoin with me in the flat of Dave?
(Dave is dismayed at results of A levels - I do not understand his concern. If less students then smaller classes. Is this not the case?)

But that is of bye the bye for the moment.

I am anticipating to be hearing from you soon or else I shall inform police of missing person (this is joke - well I hope it is joke).

So get one's arse in gear and be tapping the keys to message me.

Anna

Flak - I look up in dictionary (which you kindly purchase for me many years ago) and it tell me means anti-aircraft fire. And that it is abbreviation of German word Fliegerabwerkanone. Well, since it unlikely you been flying over Germany and thus attracting the anti-aircraft fire, I look further and see it can also mean strong criticism.

So I am sorry you have been attracting strong criticism. From who  might this have been coming- this strong criticism - and what might be its content?

But we can open the stable door on that one when next we meet, which should be soon. As I will be telling you.

The reason I am delaying in responding to you is that Dave's computer has been dysfunctional. He takes it to people he calls techies at university and they fix it. But when he bring back he look at me with funny look. And he say - techies tell me there was nasty virus on laptop.

I say to him - Well, have you been typing with the toes? This is meant as joke but he does not laugh.

He says - Have you perhaps been viewing the pornographic websites what are infecting computer insides?

I say - I have not done such thing. I am hurt you should be asking.

He say - Sorry, but what with you having been in the trade and that...

I reply, full of indignity - Listen buster, I seen (and done) all them things for real, being in the flesh so speaking. For me to be watching videos is to be like eating sweets with wrappers on.

Well, he apologise,  and so I tell him about all the misfortunes what are being thrust upon you in recent times.

 And he say - Listen, I got idea. Why not you invite George around here, then desire could be satiated

But I tell him - How dare you. My Georgie is moral man and would not take part in threesome.

Now is his time to look hurt - Oh no, he say, no way am I suggesting threesome. Thing is, I am taking some students on field trip and will be away for a week, during which time you may avail yourselves of my flat.

Now is not that good news, Georgie? Because I am sure a visit here will improve spirits. For have I not told you often times that what you need is the love of a good woman, or me!

Anyways, there is more to say but I wish to get this posted as quickly as may be possible in case you go looking for cardigan with pockets. ( But if you do, I think blue would suit you! - little joke... take not notice).

Now write back quickly then I know you forgive Anna.

Love from a good woman (Me)

These are troubled times

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

You haven't replied to my last communication, Anna.

Of course I don't expect you to reply immediately, every time I write - that would be unreasonable, unrealistic. It's just that these are troubled times and the flak is flying.

I am reading 'The Unfortunates' by B. S. Johnson. It's his famous 'Book in a Box'. The chapters are all loose and you can read them in any order - except the FIRST and LAST which are so titled and should be read as such.

It is a grim book but I love the writing style.

I find that, at the moment, I only get relief, respite from the vagaries of fate and the buffets of life when I write. Surely that's not right?

An anonymous comment advised me not to look in the mirror but to look up at the sky.

I did, and a seagull 'pooped' in my eye.

Waiting for your words

George

I'm not the man I was

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


Did you know, Anna, that every cell in your body has died and been replaced many times? Amazing, isn’t it? So I’ve got nothing I started out with. No original equipment - just replacement parts.

But what about my memories? How come I still have those? Some of my memories are from when I was five. Surely there is some kind of core; the inner Me. But is there? And if there is – what exactly is it?

I’ve had 2 unopened e mails in my in-box for weeks. They’re from her. I don’t want to open them because I don’t want to know what she has to say. And yet I can’t bring myself to delete them. Instead, yesterday I created a new folder: ‘Unopened’ – and moved them into it.  (I thought of calling it ‘twat’ but that seemed rather vulgar.)

So, Anna, I am – once again – shelving things. I’m good at that. In fact, if Shelving were an event in the Olympic Games I would certainly be in Team GB.
I would also be up among the favourites for the 100 metre Dawdle - but that’s another story.

Yesterday I had a cheese-and-ham “toastie” in a café. It was one of those in a sealed packet. You select it and hand it to the girl behind the counter and she heats it up. How do they slice ham so thin? The company that makes the sandwiches (they are all bought in) must have a special machine - probably computerised. The ham had no taste in it… neither did the rest of the sandwich, come to think of it.

Not like in my youth: when I was a lad there was an old-fashioned grocers in the village. In summer they always had the door open and I used to look in on my way to school. There was fresh sawdust on the floor,  and a big ginger-tom, sitting on the bacon counter. The ham you got there… you could sole your shoes with it.

As an “only child”, I was often lonely. I’ve heard it said that the “only child” will very often have an imaginary friend. I didn’t have an imaginary friend. I think I was afraid to in case he went away – or died. I’ve always been afraid of losing people. The psychologists say that if you are afraid of losing people you avoid getting close to anyone. Strangely, I have not found this to be true in my case. What do you think, Anna?

As I was walking across the car park, a lady, sitting in her car with the window open, called to me: some remark about the weather. But when I stopped to exchange pleasantries she gave me the story of her life, in fifteen minutes. She was lovely, though. Said she was fifty-five but looked twenty years younger. Slim, blonde, green eyes – she seemed as if she needed someone to talk to. Well don’t we all, at some time or other. And often those closest to us are the ones we find it most difficult to talk to. So maybe she needed a stranger – and I came along at the right time. I liked her. I shall probably never see her again – but I wish her all the best.

I hear what you say about homo sapiens evolving self- consciousness and I think Dave is probably right - despite the smelly feet. (Actually I have some excellent purple ointment which, although not primarily intended for use on the lower extremities would, I am sure, help in this matter).

I applaud your robust attitude toward the selfish-gene, and your positive outlook on life generally. That is what I find so attractive about you: your optimism and zest for life – plus, of course, your body. You must look after it – under or over the sheets.

Things have taken a turn for the worse chez moi, Anna. I won’t bore you with the details – they bore me.
I am in a fix, and no mistake. Sill it’s probably not yet time to go out and buy a cardigan, with pockets.


Yours

  George.

Oh Georgie, Georgie...

But what are we to be doing with you? I am asking myself. Such is your downward spirit at this moment.

It is so easy for me, being of the high spirited disposition to be saying snap it out of whatever it is you are in. But I know this not to be so easy as it is just saying so. I partly know such by talking to Dave who has what is called the 'Bi polar' disease which means he swing rapidly from up to down in mood, often no warning is coming.

When he is in down mood he wishes to do nothing except sleep, often going to bed for this purpose. Yesterday in afternoon was such an occasion and he asked me to accompany him because he also become very anxious and in need of warmth and reassurance, which I give him.

I also tell Dave about your concern for the natural selection and how we come to have self-consciousness and why. Dave tells me that the homo sapiens did not get this condition all of a sudden in one go. Like suddenly jump up one day and say - Bloody Hell - We're all going to die.

No, because evolution work very slowly and Dave think that the self-consciousness evolve slowly over long period of time. And he also think it because of brain getting more and more sophisticate and learning how to plan ahead for future. Which is not like just - Oh shit, what we gonna have for tea? I shall have to go out with my club and bash some grizzly bear on head and take back to cave.

No, it means being able to think about Sunday dinner and then for next month, like stocking up larder. In this way homo sapien brain  get bigger and bigger and be able to think further and further into future, so as to prepare for time of no rain or being snowed up and stuff like that. Or maybe thinking, if we can kill a woolly mammoth and pack him in ice he will see us through Christmas and well into New Year.


Of course- Dave says - they will have noticed that some of their family and friends have suddenly stop running around and breathing, but this does not mean you think this will happen to you. Like a dog does not think - oh the humans next door have bunged old Charlie into hole in garden. That means us dogs are mortal.
No, he just think -  I'll jump over fence and see if they give me any of Charlie's biscuits what he won't be needing now.

Eventually - after long time this is - some very smart gene types is beginning to understand as how homo sapien is mortal. And these smart types say - Best if we invent religion because when masses get wise they will panic and demand to know what happen when they pop off. So we can promise masses they will go live in other place which is heaven (so long as they behaves themselves) otherwise it is fiery furnace. In this way masses don't go run amok and bugger it up for everyone.

So this is how - maybe over thousands and thousands of years - we evolve self-consciousness.

That was Dave talking.

Now this is Anna talking.

But so what, Georgie? So we know we are mortal. Is this not a good thing? For now we can get on with it... or get it on (little joke) and eat, drink and be mirthful (as old English saying) or 'fill yer boots' which is other saying.

You say we are like puppet who can look up, see strings and can do nothing. But I say - Oh yes we bloody can! We can cut strings and learn to dance to our own tune! 

In this way we give selfish gene good kick up arse.

(Do not pedantically advise me this is a mixing of metaphors because this I know - and am not giving a shit!)  

But anyways I will give you good practical example of way to live when we conjoin for the next time. Oh yes - you lucky boy.

Dave's feet smell. He say he have athlete's foot which one does not need to be sportsperson to have such horrible disease. Anyways, I tell him he must visit physician pronto or he is back on sofa. Luckily he does not have this smelliness anywhere else on body (I have good sniff).

So do not worry - I make sure he does not infect Anna with his mouldy toes. I would not wish to visit upon my Georgie this disgusting fungus - nor upon oneself of course.

NO, your Anna shall be pure as the Scandinavian snow when we slide swiftly under the sheets (but not so cold... ha ha).

I interrupt my writing to watch Olympic Games where today Great Britain gain SIX Gold Medals (I personally witness THREE in this evening, which is the girl, Jessica Ennis who is what they call Heptathlon, and the man called Gregory with his long jumping, also fantastic runner who I think is call Farah. This make one proud to be British - which I am not, but never mind one could be if one was to marry a certain Englishman! Are you getting my drift, Georgie?

Bye for now

Your little Swedish boomerang.

A sobering thought?

Do you know what I am, Anna? An elaborate machine for passing on the genes that made it. Just the same as any animal or plant, I am a survival machine for genes. I got that from the book "The Magic of Reality" by Richard Dawkins. Of course I knew this but he puts it so clearly, succinctly that I thought it worth quoting here.

A sobering thought: My only purpose in this world is to propagate the species. Everything else is window-dressing.


And what makes it worse is that my particular species, homo sapiens, is the only one (apparently) stuck with the added indignity of knowing this is the case! One wonders why natural selection came up with self-consciousness.


It’s like a puppet being able to look up and see who’s pulling the strings and yet be powerless to do anything about it. Maybe that’s why some folk commit suicide: the ultimate action of taking control.


I saw the film, The Hours, for the second time yesterday. Virginia Woolf:


“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery—always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What’s this passion for?”


 ...filled the pockets of her cardigan with stones and walked into a river. My cardigan hasn't got any pockets - can you imagine that! And it's Marks and Spencer. What is happening to the world, Anna?


As my grandma might have said: It’s a bugger.


 I look out the window and it’s pissing down. In July! And chilly, to boot.  And I have just been informed that the dining room window is permitting the ingress of water – because the guttering is blocked. This looks like a job for Superman .


Why do you not see as much chrome about these days? On cars, I mean, and motor-bikes. Except Harley-Davidsons - and my bike, which is a Honda and over thirty years old. I am allowed to keep it here in Mistress Bulstrode’s cavernous garage I tell her she could supplement the household income by renting it to illegal immigrants (the garage not the bike)  but she ignores me.


Bench seats. They’ve disappeared too. All part of our obsession with Health and Safety, I suppose. I once had a Ford Consul 375 with bench seats. It was brilliant. It sort of rolled along. And I could imagine I was in America – where they are not so much afflicted by such Health and Safey issues.  And they love chrome! And that’s what I like about America: the glitzy, unashamed brashness, the cheerful vulgarity; the  refusal to be constrained by the limitations of "good taste". Wonderful.


And what will happen when our nanny-state gains complete control of our Health and our Safety? When no one smokes, does drugs or abuses alcohol? When everyone eats sensibly and exercises regularly, and no one is obese? When everyone practices safe sex, and there's no Jeremy Kyle? When crime and deprivation have finally been eliminated and everyone obeys the speed limit? When playground swings and rounabouts are perfectly safe and children don't climb trees and jump acrosss streams?


Will we all live happily ever after? I don't think so.


Don't think that I am advocating "anti- social behaviour" or poisoning yourself with toxic chemicals or even sexual irresponsibily. Or putting children at risk. I'm not. It's just that if you make life "risk free" then you take away that very Life you are trying to protect.


Incidentally, regarding children, I heard a woman on the radio say: children thrive on a bit of healthy neglect.And I thought: You sure spat a bootful there, sister.


Talking of sisters - good to hear Wilma is gainfully employed. When I was little I wanted to run away to join a circus. Do you think there's still time?


I don't mind if you are...  getting it on with Dave. (I believe that is the cool expression. It used to be...having it off. Funny how two apparently contradictory statements can have the same meaning.)


Everyone is entitled to be happy - or as happy as they can be. I truly believe that. And if a little dalliance with Dave makes you happy... go for it, girl.

Unfortunately, for myself, I don't think a little dalliance would make me happy. Except with your goodself, I hasten to add. 

But I know you will always come back to me - my little Swedish boomerang!

Anyway, I am counting my loose change to see if I have enough money to buy myself a pair of trousers. That is an indication of the depths to which I have sunk.

But I'll dance again.

Yours as ever

George

Do not fear
For I am here


Little couplet (like Shakespeare writes) to start off on positive footnote.

Regard to my sister - whose name it is Wilma - she does not have hock injury because hock is something found on animal and my sister is not animal (though I sometimes call her old cow but this only because she is elder one of  us).

She does not compete in weightlifting games any further. Wilma is kicked out of amateurs because she is dopey. Which mean taking the unprescriptive medicines or uncontrollable certain substances which are drugs, and include the steroid which make her look like man. (well, more like man than she already does - I tell her: Why you shave head and yet keep hair under arms? - this do you no favours). But she is of the short temper and powerful with it, so I shut up.


(I do not mention unladylike habit of spitting on hands before grasping weight bar.)


 Anyways she has now joined circus (travelling) and has name in big letters on poster which say WORLD'S STRONGEST LADY. Which she is not - but who is to know this.)


But I am digressing from main point. Which is you must cheer up Georgie. Remember howsoever bad things are they could get worse. And you must also keep on with the writings. One day your talents will be recognised and I will sit proudly by your side as you sign copies of your book in famous book shop -Waterstones. 


But also remember that - as I am before telling you - sometimes one has to aim a bit lower if he is going to hit anything at all. And so why not write the porn novel? I could be technical adviser on such a project.


Yes, I did sit of sofa with Dave and watch opening ceremony of Games which was excellent, because I did not think Brits could organize drunken night in brewery. (I clean that one up... ha ha). But they obviously can. And what a game bird is your Queen and no mistaking. Of course she do not really leap from helicopter instead arrive at back door in big car, but who is complaining about that? Not I.


 Swedish athletes will win most gold medals but will be humble about it.


Do not be thinking yet about epitaph. We have much to do, yourself and me! (notice exclamation mark).


Looking at the television I see the Warner Hotels are offering special discounts for mature couples (well at least one of us is mature) so be getting finger out and organising.


Your (getting more restless) Anna

Where are you?

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

Where are you, Anna, in my hour of need?

I bet you were on the sofa with Clive last night, watching the opening ceremony of the Games.

I watched it. I thought it was spectacular. Yes, I know... the expense and all that stuff. And I was a bit cynical at first when I thought of how the money could have been spent: the homeless, the poor, the disadvantaged, the sick. And perhaps you could say it was a junket for the rich, the privileged, the powerful, but at the same time you had to admire the planning, the effort, the creativity the sheer exuberance of mind and spirit that had come together to produce last night's performance.


I am not, as you know, a particularly sporting type, and perhaps there could be some other way of demonstrating all that's best in human endeavour and achievement. But we've got the Games. So let's enjoy them.

(By the way... when your lot marched past I kept a look our for that sister of yours - whatsername - the weightlifter. Couldn't see her, though. Did she recover from that hock injury?)

My mouth is better - although you haven't asked - but I have been down and in need of support - I will not burden you with the details - but where is that support...?

I do my best, and yet am misunderstood by those around me. Perhaps that is the lot of the artist and visionary.

Still, I soldier on, uncomplaining.

Nevertheless it would be nice to know that someone cared.

George

And there abideth...

********************************************
And there abideth Faith, Hope and Money
And the greatest of these is Money.


Gordon Comstock in: Keep the aspidistra flying.


Money, Anna, Money. I could used some right now.



As you know, the publishers reject my books: Too controversial, they say. (Even my autobiography!)


And then here comes this young upstart of a woman with her Fifty Shades of Grey. Her first novel -   and it's a runaway best-seller. Have you read it, Anna? 

I haven't. Can't be bothered. From what I can gather it's soft porn

- a pale imitation of The Story of O.


It can't be hard to do soft porn.



I thought of writing a novel to appeal to the salacious taste of the masses - and make a few bucks. It would be a reversal of the Fifty Shades of Grey plot: A wealthy aristocratic woman ensares a poor farm labourer and keeps him as her sex slave. I even had a working title: Lady Loverley's Chattel. (Has a certain ring to it, eh?) But then I thought: No, I am not going to lower my standards, compromise my artistic integrity - just for a few thousand in the bank.

But what am I going to do, Anna? Wolves howl outside my door, vultures hover at my window.

Your philosophy is all very well - and may work for you - but remember I come from a genteel background. I cannot help my refinement, my sensitivity. The coarseness of life offends, and I recoil from it.


It will soon be my birthday and I am thinking of going away, cutting myself off, from everyone. You may think that is being a coward... but remember the Arab saying: The bravest thing is to run away.


Of course, in the desert you have plenty of places to run - all of them sandy, admitted, but still lots of open space.


I have been thinking recently what I would like as my epitaph - you know, that pithy but moving comment engraved on one's tombstone. Everyone knows Spike Milligan's: "See - I told you I was ill" and W C Fields: "On the whole I'd rather be in Philadelphia". 


I was once sitting in a cafe and there was a notice over the freezer containing ice creams. It read: Please close the lid after choosing your ice cream. And the bizarre thought came into my head: what a brilliant epitaph. Just imagine those words carved on a tombstone. 


Of course, nowadays cremation seems to be the preferred option for disposing of un-needed bodies.


That reminds me: remember when I was in the loony bin back in  2010? Mad Clive wrote a poem which I posted on the blog - April, 13th if you're interested - about wanting to be shot into space. Now that idea appeals to me.


The Olympic Games commence tomorrow, and I can't help thinking of that comment of Myra's as she was leaving with Hector: The future has already happened - it's just that we haven't got there yet.
This would mean that all the medals have already been won! What a thought!


My head is in a spin at the moment, so write to me, Anna, with a bit of your steadying commonsense.


Your (confused) Georgie