Quality Street - July 13 2002

I finally woke up around 10am this morning, and I had spent three
hours in a sort of dream where ... had won Big Brother. And because
they were the last one's there, there was no way to get in or get out.
I went downstairs wondering why I still have stomach ache, and then I
am listening to the first Velvet Underground album, and the first song
is "Sunday Morning", which is like special. I played it twice while I
wrote up my handwritten diary.

I have to get my haircut today, and then figure out how to get to
Camden. I will be on the lemonade I think. I don't want to be
sick.

Yesterday I was on the train drinkign a strang dark tea which was like
ugh but I finished it and wandered into the office. My boss rang to see
he wouldn't be in as he had an upset stomach. I began to feel iller as
the day went on. In fact I spent half an hour reading a new story (so I
thought) and writing an email to ... about it. I waited till gone 1pm
then rang them. They had to go to the bank. I went to Starbucks and got
myself a croque m'sieur and latte, and bravely forced my lunch down.
Then I did the tapes, and then I got back to the office, and threw up
in the bog before bailing out at 4pm. On the train I started reading
Sophie's World, because the talk of philosophy made me forget I was
ill. I recall the tale about Thor and Freyja and Loki, and how some
believed the sun was a huge red hot stone.

I got in and dropped into a chair and sat there while my wife typed
away at her work, and I watched Big Brother that was on early, and then
a bit later and then some more after that.

I was in chat with ... and for some reason their computer crashed and I
thought it was something I had said, and I thought I had messed up, and
that was that...I turned off the music, and sat there close to tears.
Then they came back on line and told me that they would have rung me if
they hadn't been able to get back online, and I said the same
thing.

I wrote a short story well, more of a story with a line at the end
inspired by an advert. If I post it I will probably get a "1". I never
understand that, some stuff I have read which is "5" is not my cup of
tea, that's not to say it is "bad" because it is entirely dependent on
whether I can relate to the work or even get it.

I think writing is like art and some art people really hate with a
passion, and yet the artist paints in order to communicate their ideas
and feelings to others, or just to record something they feel deeply
about.

We watched Big Brother again when it was on late. Tim will go next
week. In fact what will happen is that Big Brother will call him into
the diary room, and say that the world has nominated him for eviction,
so he may as well pack now, unless he dyes his hair ginger and only
spends 2 minutes grooming, and stops being so conceited. He really
doesn't know how much people dislike him.

I am not clever enough to have multiple chat windows open. I make
mistakes and I upset a friend, so I said I was wrong. Sometimes
admitting you are wrong is very hard.

I sent a tape of songs to ... which I hope they might like. This is the
second tape I did because the first tape wasnt good enough for my
friend.

We have a family of foxes living in the garden, a vixen and two cubs. I
think they have a den round the back of the summer house.

Friends are the family you get to pick yourself.
I saw that on a fridge magnet.

None of us are perfect, none of us are infallible, none of us know what
tomorrow will be about, and some of us can't remember what we did last
night. We all have basic drives and ambitions, things we want to do,
things we dream about, aspirations for the future and memories of the
past. We all live ina permanent present. Sometimes reality is grey, and
sometimes it is technicoloured. And sometimes we just click with other
people.