Georgie you are being such a wimpey.

You must stand up to this man.

Anyway his book will never see the light of daylight because he is stupid, unintelligent man who cannot write also.

And this is reminding me - you have not been writing recent... why is this? Has the muse left you (notice word 'muse' and see how one's English is proceeding). But when I am thinking further I think, but I myself am Georgie's muse and I have not left him, even though we are separate by some miles. But this is soon to be put right because examinations are soon over and then the world is my lobster and we  can live together as man and partner.

So I say to be patient Georgie, for soon you get a good musing from Anna and no mistaking.

Must go now because am cooking kippers for supper. I do this for Dave to make small amends for causing him such discomfort in  groinal area. Anyway E45 cream seems making big improvement - he insist on applying this himself and I do not argue. 

Hoping you are keeping yourself pure for me

Anna

Unpleasantness looms

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

 I wrote to Hector (as I promised you I would, Anna) informing him I wanted nothing more to do with his awful book.

He has telephoned me and said that his novel is (as I think I suspected) 'semi-autobiographical'. He hinted darkly that, as you and I appear in it, it might be in my interest to proof-read further chapters!

He also told me that his 'working title' is:  Where my underpants have rested.

Well, the man is a scoundrel but what could I do, except tell him to send me another chapter!

Yours in trepidation

George

Not that one is not wanting to read life story but I am doubting the wiseness of washing all one's dirty linen in public, as you English say. (In fact you English do not even wash dirty linen in private!)

So what is  the outcomes of wanting to do this maybe?

Is it you are wanting the unburdening of guilt perhaps? Or is it maybe you wanting boasting about things instead of feeling the guilt about them. Or maybe you want feel guilt but also want to boast.

This is question perhaps Freud can answer (but he can't because he is dead)

There is saying (which I just make up) that there are people who do things, and people who write about things, but also people who do things and then write about what they done.

I think that you, my Georgie, might be belonging to the number three catagorise of this saying.

Anyways, I take break from revising and go the the movie theatre, accompanied by Dave. We sit on back row but do not hold hands. Instead we eat the popcorn and drink Coca Cola - which is much more satisfying.

But I fall asleep halfway through movie film due to hard work I have been doing with all revising and such forth. And Dave refuse to tell me how film ends even though when I awake I find great hairy arm around one's shoulders with hand on end which rests upon chest (right). Of course I rebuke him vigourously, and accidently stick fist in groin area when I am getting out of seat.

The film what we seen (well I only seen half) was I think called 'Quartet'. Do you know how this film is ending?

I thought I tell you not to read any more of Hector's story. If you cannot sleep turn on the television and watch some healthy pornography.

Anyways, will not be long until we are once more conjoined.

Until then I am leaving you as I hope to find you which is healthy in mind and body.

Your ever loving Anna

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

Okay - so you don't want to read my life story. I can live with that.

 I've been through some more of Hector's first chapter. I know I said I wouldn't but I've read my Gentleman's Bedside Companion and I don't feel up to starting on a new book right now.

 I just don't know where he's going with this novel (?).

Listen to this: It's where Gervaise comes home from a visit to the psychiatrist.

His wife says: Well? What did he say?
He thinks I have Borderline Personality Disorder, Gervaise replies.

Borderline?

Yes, borderline

Sounds like sitting on the fence to me – Have you or haven't you got a personality disorder? says his wife.

No, you don't understand, says Gervaise.  But she interrupts him -

I mean, Borderline… sounds like you can't make your mind up.

Ah well, this diagnosis throws a bit of light on that. He says.

On what? The fact that you only do things by halves? she smirks.

No. But you know how you're always going on at me for being indecisive?

Yes - you are.

Well, this explains it.

She demands to know what he is talking about.

Don't you see: If I didn't have a personality disorder I would be able to make rational, considered, good decisions. And if I did have a personality disorder I would make irrational, impulsive, bad decisions. Either way, I would still make decisions.
But being borderline means I'm neither one thing nor the other, so it makes it difficult for me to make any decisions at all! He finishes, triumphantly.

She frowns. And the psychiatrist told you this?

Not in so many words. But I was able to draw my own conclusions. You know... reading between the lines. You see, it’s an illness.

So what's he going to do about this "illness"? Demands his wife.

Do about it?

Has he given you some pills, or something?

He's given me a prescription but he would like you to come and see him - with me, I mean. What do you think? asks Gervaise tentatively.

Me? What does he want to see me for? There's nothing wrong with me

No, of course not - it's just so that he can discuss how you might be able to help

I'm going into no hospital. Might catch something

You can't catch mental illness

No, but what about this Norivirous thing?

His consulting room is nowhere near any of the wards

Can't you get your Madge to go with you?

He doesn't want to see my sister - he wants to see YOU . Shouts an exasperated Gervaise.
She thinks for a minute, then -

Best try the pills first… and by the way - don't go taking that prescription round to old what's is name - local chemist. I don't want everybody round here knowing you're not right in the head. It was bad enough when you had haemorrhoids - that horse-faced assistant of his stopped me in the Co-op and asked me how your bum was. So embarrassing.

-----------------------------

I'm writing to tell Hector not to send me any more chapters.

Anyway I am feeling a bit brighter, after a pretty rough week. All the old troubles coming back. No need to tell you about those of course. But what to do about it? That's the problem. It's only when you're getting a bit better that your realise how bad you've been.

Still, on we go... remember G K Chesterton -

For there are great deeds to be done
And fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise,
By way of Kensal Green.

(You probably don't know this, Anna, but Kensal Green is a famous    cemetery in London)

Hope the revising is coming along nicely.

Your George

Early hours

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

Well, Anna, it's 2 am and I can't sleep. It would be tedious to go into all the reasons - so I won't.

Snow lies like a thin blanket - no, more like a thin sheet. We never get extremes of weather in this neck of the woods. As I said to a man in a pub - 'We're very 'middle of the road'. He agreed.

I don't want to be 'middle of the road'... I want to live by 'extremes', and in a way I do. A roller-coaster ride. From the heights to the depths,

(there is an old song by Dory Previn, which has the lines: I have soared to star-stained heights/On bent and battered wings.
I think I know what she means. Though I am not sure I have found the mythical kings... in the title of the song.)

I am having a coffee with a tot of whisky in it. It might make me sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream... oh yes, I do a lot of that, Mr Shakespeare. I didn't know my head could hold all of that stuff. Funny thing, the brain. Apparently it has the consistency of porridge. And all that activity goes on in it. Amazing.

There was a time, when I was a boy, I had weeks of being unable to get off to sleep. I got really worried about it. I think my mother became quite annoyed with me. (I won't tell you what she did one night - although if I do serialise my story on here you will get to know about it).

I was thinking, when ? couldn't sleep - Who do I know who could offer me a bed for the night? In an emergency? And, you know, Anna, I couldn't think of anyone. (I know you would be only too happy to do so but you are having to live in lodgings yourself.)

Where did we go wrong?

But the game's not over yet, Anna. The wheel's still in spin.
The fat lady hasn't even begun to sing.
 (three metaphors for the price of one!)

Did you see the comment on the blog by 'starting over'? That's what I'd like to do - start over.

Do you think the past still exists - somewhere? Unlikely, according to the scientists. But they do say that the future may possibly already exist. Sometimes I get the strange feeling that it does. Nah... that can't be... can it?

The clock on the wall says 2.30am. Isn't it amazing how the time passes when you are writing (typing). Of course, time is relative... Einstein tells us that. I started to write a poem about Einstein... but I didn't finish it.

Or perhaps it's already finished, up there in the future.

I shall go back to bed.

Sleep tight.

Your George

Sorry

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

I am sorry to say, Anna, that I read a bit more of Hector's chapter in bed last night. This was only because I had finished my current novel: Of Love And Hunger (a belter) and did not want to start another book.

Apart from the spelling mistakes and poor grammar he might have something of a story here.

The hero - or perhaps I should say main protagonist - is called Gervaise. And it is he who was standing on his desk when his wife got back with the shopping. She thinks he is going mad but it is a clever ploy - for reasons that have not, up to now, been made clear.

There has been a few flurries of snow today. I don't think it will stick. It rarely does around here. I think we've got the chemical works to thank for that.

I have been a bit 'wobbly' over the past few days but have felt better today.

I know this is a rather boring post but even I cannot be scintillating all the time.

I know that there are major political and environmental issues to which I could be applying my mind - and commenting but I don't feel like I have anything original to add. Well, I do, but it would take a while to write and I am sure you have better things to do.

Sometime I will let you have my thoughts on Life and Death. They are many.

Reading Hector's book has made me want to write again. But what shall I write about? I have so many novels in the pipeline that I fear it has become a little clogged.

Do people wear clogs in Sweden? The place where I was born was a mining village, so clogs were commonplace. I never had any though. We were a cut above that sort of thing (?) I can remember though, being woken at 5am on a cold winter's morning by the clatter of clogs as the miners' early shift passed under my bedroom window on the way to the pit.

Now, that's what I could write about. My life story? Would you like that? In fact I have already written a large piece of it but it is (obviously) very personal. Still - what the hell.

I could sort of serialise it, here on this blog. What do you think of that?

All the best with the revision.

Your loving George

Never is it that I am too busy to correspond with you Georgie.

I am sorry you are all of the clutter both in the head and in the physical plane. Have not I told you before that you need to chuck out of the room lots of stuff what is of no further good use to be put to, by yourself.

But this I know is hard for you to accomplish because you are suffering from the not-being-able-to-easily-chuck-away-stuff syndrome.

But you need to persevere strongly in this and you will find that as you chuck this bit and that bit away the chucking away gets easier.

But - whatever you do, don't chuck away your Anna. This I intend only as joke, for as you know we Swedes have great sense of humour.

As to be regarding story of Hector, do not be wasting precious time reading same. This man is of unsound mind and if in Sweden would by now be in looney bin. (no disrespect intended to you Georgie, who have been incorporated in such a place but now cured - almost)

I do okay with having finished course work, and now doing the revising which is highly stressful. But must carry on.

I keep asking Dave to test one on various aspect of subject matter which needing to be revised. He say this is boring out of him the shit, but carry on because otherwise he do not get his cocoa when he come home from seeking employment. Which he currently does not find.

Hoping we be meeting soon.

Your Anna

Stuck

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

I am drowning in clutter, Anna: mental and physical. Maybe if I could sort out the mental I could deal with the physical, 

And in the middle of all this, Hector sends me the first chapter of his (so called) novel. Even though I had told him I would not proof read it. This is how it starts:

When she came home with the shopping she found him standing on his desk singing 'Jeruselem', whilst conducting an imaginary choir. She phoned the police. And, as an afterthought, the doctor.

Honestly, and he expects me to do something with this rubbish!

You don't have to reply just at the moment; I know you are busy with course-work and exams. But I just had to tell somebody because my head is bursting.

A confused

George

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

Had a phone call from Hector. He said - Did you get my letter?

What letter? I said.

The one where I asked you for money - he said.

That was from Myra - I said.

What are you talking about? expostulated my brother.

A letter from Myra asking for money to go on a retreat - I rejoined.

Why would she want money to go on a retreat? demanded Hector.

She didn't want it to go on a retreat, that was just a ploy; she wants to have some gender reassignment surgery done.

Are you mad? My brother sounded angry. I told you I wrote the letter. Anyway Myra is living in Surbiton with a florist, and they are very happy.

Ah, she's fooled you as well - I smirked.

Don't be bloody silly, George. Anyway I don't need the money now, I'm not going on the retreat.

Well why are you ringing?

Because I want to ask you a favour, old chap.

No, Hector. Whatever it is, NO.

I'm writing a book - he said, ignoring my refusal. And I would like you to sort of proof read it. You know, as I write each bit. What with you being a writer and all.

Hector, I am far too busy - I said.

I'll mention you in the acknowledgements - he said.


I just put the phone down, Anna. Well, I mean: the cheek of it. But what about his claim to have written that letter? Oh I can't be bothered wearying my brain with it just now.

I'm off to bed.

Goodnight

George

ps. Hope the course work is on course.

Now listen to me Georgie

I show letter to Dave (who is also practicer in art of graphology) and he say, Anna, you are right, also Georgie is wrong. But again Mrs Bulstrode is right.

I say, what do you mean, how can this possibly be so you idiot.

I am not idiot he say because this letter is written by male person who is trapped in body of female. Therefore is probable this Myra (whom I do not know) write it, who is struggling with crisis of gender identification.

I say, this is load of pillocks.

No, say Dave, furthermore have you (or George) consider wording of letter? Because notice that it say 'retreat' and this could indicate Myra is retreating from present identity of woman and and wants money to 'advance' into that of man.

What you mean? I say.

Dave say, haven't you got it yet, you thick ;%">*?

How dare you call me thick  ;%">* I say, and then throw at him mobile phone which break and he apologise an say he buy me new one.

Can you not see, he say, Myra is wanting money for sexual gender realignment... or something like this is what he say.

I say, you mean she want money to be kitted out as man?

Now you getting it, says Dave.

Well she aint - not with my Georgie's money. So therefore be warned Georgie.

Anyways I cannot be sitting here arguing the tosser with you because I have course work to do.

Think deeply upon these things.

Your Anna

Fake??

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

No, I think you are wrong, Anna.

I believe this letter to have been written by that mountebank half-brother of mine. I showed it to Mrs Bulstrode (her hobby is graphology) and she said it was almost certain to have been written by a male person. Yes, I know Myra smokes a pipe, rides a motor-bike and sidecar and has certain other characteristics which are not exactly feminine, but I don't think she wrote this.

In any case, if you remember she has her own religious sect - The Seventh Day Adventriliquists, the ones that speak in tongues without moving their lips.

But it set me thinking about the many forgeries that must have been perpetrated down the ages. Perhaps the most famous one being The Hitler Diaries. This was, of course, proven to be a fake, but how many have never been discovered?

I mean, take the Ten Commandments: did God really write them? With his finger? In stone? Or was Moses some sort of ancient David Blane (albeit acting for the good of his society at that time)?

How much notice would they have taken if he had come down the mountain with the Commandments scribbled in pencil on the back of an old envelope? 

"Aw, come on Moses... yeah, some of 'em are a good idea, as sort of guidelines, but loosen up man, give us a bit of wriggle room, eh? I mean it's not as if they're written in stone!"

They would have probably gone down in history as The Ten Suggestions.

Still, whoever wrote them, I think Marshal Mcluan had something when he talked about the medium being the message.

Anyway, how are you getting on with your final pieces of coursework? Also are you fairly confident about you coming exams?
Keep me abreast of developments.

Your George

This letter is forgery. That is what I think Georgie.

How I think this is because Hector once send me handwritten manuscript of saucy story he is writing. Asking me what do I think of it and can I check for spellings mistakes, which I do.

Anyways this is not same handwriting and I think maybe it is Myra the once time wife of Hector who is thinking you are soft to touch.

So do not be responding to this request - which I know you say you not but also know how you easily are persuaded to do things. But don't on this occasion.

I will write more fully but at moment am swatting for final examinations which are in May/June plus also some course work I need finish

Your Anna