Tattoo My Bloody Valentine

Wednesday 11th Feb 2004.

Sea of Souls, silly me, I thought it as called Seeing Souls. What a
load of crap. Did anyone see it? How the hell can the writer/ scripter
or whatever get away with that? It began as a story about re-birth. It
got off to a strong start and I really enjoyed the first part. Little
boy causing all kinds of trouble because he's having past life
memories. The soul of a dead person had inhabited his body at the
moment of birth.

Fair enough.

So what the hell happened towards the end, when suddenly it became a
story about possession? Talk about mixed metaphors, they mix-genred two
completely different phenomena. Re-birth; two bodies = one soul.
Possession; a person being taken over by demon or spirit = two souls.
How did they manage to get that wrong and go through the whole filming
process without anyone pulling them up on it. At the end the evil
spirit had its revenge leaving the little boy to live a normal life.
That's not past life, that's classic possession. It ruined the whole
premise of the story.

I've been walking. This little hick town of ours is in a valley. There
are several escape routes but they all involve a bloody big hill. At
this point I am holding myself back in my creative use of the word
'mountain,' people who know about these things assure me that they are,
'only,' hills. Well they can tell my poor bloody calf's that everybody
else might walk up hills to get out, I climb mountains. I have long had
an aversion to gradients of any kind.

I think I've already embarrassed myself by recounting my horrendous
first (and only) date with the fell runner. For those who don't know
the pitiful story here's a brief potted history of the day.

Met driving instructor.
Fit, fit fit.
Wow.
Interested in me.
Asking me out.
Surely he can't mean me.
Spent fortune on Indian-cotton floaty two-piece.
Purple,
Pretty.
Feel sexy,
Look good.
Llandudno.
Walkie, walkie, walkie, along prom,
over beach,
down pier.
"I know," (he says,) "Walk up, Great Orm?"
End of pier, holding hands.
Sea, sunset, dolphins (okay, lie, no dolphins).
Oh my,
Me? Up for anything.
First quarter mile, fun.
Laughing, messing about, good, good good,
Oh, hell.
Getting steeper.
Panting, rabid dog.
Run to keep up.
Go faster, he goes faster. Go faster. He goes faster.
Ask him slow down?
Nah, too proud.
Hold breath, stop panting. Bad move.
Fainting, bye bye, all black.
Come round, him scared shitless.
Crawl to bush, puke.
Splash new skirt.
Drive home. Embarrassed.
Bye Sooz. Busy tomorrow, yep busy next week. Busy forever.

Don't like hills.

So, it was with some trepidation that I set off the other day, by
myself, under cover of darkness. It was good. I felt victorious at the
top of the hill. The old ticker did me proud. Hurt like hell but felt
good. The problem is, getting the gumption to actually go. It's nice
and warm in here and damned cold out there. By the time the soaps come
on I get a chronic case of, 'can't be bothered,' but the last two days
I've forced myself. Once I'm out, I love it. We've got a lovely waning
moon at the moment, the stars are beautiful. The only blight on the
walk is that Kali, won't, 'do her stuff,' all in one go, so I have to
take at least four carrier bags. Then, I walk round like a poo-trader,
until I find a suitable bin to put them in. And, why is it that dogs
pick the most inconvenient moments to, 'go'? That dog has no shame and
will squat in any gutter regardless of who happens to be walking past
at the time. I have tried to convince Marty that there is no shame in
stooping to pick up poo. His school friends however disagree with
me.

The walk I've been doing this week was a difficult one because it takes
me past a very special house. It's a large house now but it used to be
a pub, our pub. It's the place I lived with my mum and dad when we were
still playing at happy families for the punters. I can vaguely remember
my bedroom, I know which one it is and looked round the back of the
house to see it. I had two white buck rabbits, but Dad gave them away
because they were wild and aggressive. After Mum was killed he bought
me a whippet called Flash. He (the dog) was killed two weeks later
outside the pub on the busy road. It was a stupid place to have a
lively dog like flash. Dad shouted, he said it was my fault that Flash
got run over and that there'd be no more pets. Then when I was nine,
just before I got taken away permanently I refused to go to the
dentist. I might have been an abused child, but that didn't make me any
less wilful. I flatly refused to go near the school dentist. The man
was a monster. Dad bribed me with a hamster. I endured the hateful
dentist and as good as his word Dad bought me, Joseph. I had to have
another filling two weeks later. That's when I got, Mary. A few weeks
after that we had thirteen hamsters but my teeth were okay that time. I
don't think Mary was a virgin. Mary ate through a pile of washing, all
dads' good shirts. She was only nesting. Dad hit me with his belt and
made me go without any food that night. Going without supper was a
common punishment for most kids in those days, even my richer friends
at school were made to go to bed without any supper. One day, I came
home from school and all the baby hamsters were gone. They hadn't even
opened their eyes. The next day Dad gave Mary and Joseph to the
school.

It was strange walking past the Brit. I don't have many memories of
that time and can't remember my mum at all really. I remember the day
she died though. Dad had gone to the pub afterwards. Not our pub, one
near the tarn. Created an alibi for himself, said that they'd argued
and that he'd left her fishing to cool down. An old couple walking
their dog saw me beside the water and called the police. I was sitting
in an ambulance when frogmen brought her up. I saw her face and had
nightmares for years about the black, water monsters, who took my mum
and made her ugly. The police had Dad by the water. They wouldn't let
me go near him. They rang auntie Mavis to come and get me. Mum had
bruising to her neck, forensics in the sixties weren't good but they
matched it to dad's handprints. He changed his story when the police
interviewed him. He said he'd panicked and thought he'd be blamed for
her death. He said he might have put his hands round her neck but it
was to pull her out when she had a fit and fell in the water. It
couldn't be proved either way. An expert said that it could have been
caused by him trying to help her but it was more than likely just the
opposite. That was conjecture and was struck from the record. The
evidence was inconclusive. The only time my dad served for Mum's murder
was the time he spent on remand. He walked from court that day an
innocent man in the eyes of the law.

I suppose if I am going to try and publish this as a book, my past is
important. It might be a good idea to post a few excerpts from,
Tainted, in future entries when it seems relevant.

I think I have decided (with help,) on a new name to write under. But,
it's a secret so I can't tell you dear diary. Sssshhhh.

I'm really hoping to go out tomorrow night. Kez and I fancied something
different. I haven't got a lot of money, so we can't go to Ulverston
the next town down. We were going to do that for a change but funds
don't allow. So, I've suggested we give the Cons club a go. I've never
been and it might consist of a few old men and the token lady drunk
drinking stout in the snug, but nothing ventured. It's Valentines night
(yeuk) and they've got entertainment on. It's two minutes from my home,
we won't be moving round all night so I can sit and nurse one drink.
That's about all I can get down, though I will add a drop or two of
voddie from my secreted bottle. It could be a disaster in which case we
can have a wander round town. My poor feet will cripple me, town is
only down the road but it's a mighty long walk uphill, in five inch
stiletto heels. On the other hand it might be a damned good
night.

The only thing that might put the mockers on it is the date. Kez
doesn't know if G is coming home. She has a feeling he might surprise
her with roses, chocolate, and a fancy meal somewhere. In which case
it's the telly for me, no chocolate because I can't eat it, no fancy
meal for same reason, and we'll go out next week instead. It's the
usual set-up, two sets of music with disco in-between and after. The
disco will probably be oozing soppy love songs and everyone will be in
couples and loved up to hell. We'd probably be best waiting until next
week anyway.

I did get a Valentine's card today. It's beautiful. The card's from an
old friend. I've suspected for some time that his feelings for me
aren't as platonic as my feelings for him. He's a nice man, but so old
before his time. He has no teeth, I know he can't help that but gums
aren't very attractive. I like him very much, he can be quite witty,
but he's only a friend. The card has put me in a bit of a quandary. I
don't quite know what to do about it. Marty and I are supposed to be
going to stay with him and his mother, along with out mutual friends
from Balckpool, on his smallholding for a few days in August. This
might change things. The thing with this man is that he doesn't want me
he wants somebody to look after him and his son. It really doesn't
matter who that somebody is as long as some woman takes him on. He's
like Abe in that respect. I want more from life than that. If I can't
find a man who will truly love me, and someone that I can love, then I
am happy with this new-found single contentment. No more broken dolls
who need looking after. No more, making do, because I don't think I can
get better. From now on, it's all or nothing, and nothing is just
fine.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Why the hell can't we all be
born with a number tattooed on our foreheads. Then, all we have to do
is find our corresponding number for lifelong happiness One shot, no
messing up, no hurt feelings. That God bloke's pretty damned poor at
organising things. Simple little task like creating the human race and
he has to go and make such a cock-up of it. He should have allocated
the job to a woman.

Kez has just rung, we are all systems go for tomorrow night. G is
coming home but has to work and won't be setting off from his hotel
until after ten so he'll probably join us for last orders. I'm looking
forward to it.

Right it's bleak and miserable but I'm going to force this lazy carcass
out for a walk up that damned mountain again &;#61514;