In a World Gone Mad: Monday 6 July 2020

We walked bloody miles yesterday. It was just under five miles, but it was heavy walking over heathland and up—and sometimes down was worse—massive sand dunes. We met Dan, Jane, Jurgen and Moss and my dog got to run free for the first time in over two, possibly thee weeks. It was good to see.

She was so happy and distracted by the other dogs that she didn’t bother barking at anybody. She still ran over to other people, so the problem hasn’t gone, but there were no children and she said hello to the dogs and came straight away to find her boyfriend, Jurgen, who she is besotted with. She was as good as titanium, better even than gold, and I couldn’t fault her behaviour.

The walk half killed me. We climbed over stiles and fences and ducked between barbed wire and the dunes are steep. I hadn’t worn my walking boots for months and my feet were blistered to hell. They are all fit, and poor Jane had to hang back with me the whole way. I kept willing my legs to walk faster but they were in revolt and revolting and wouldn’t have it. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t keep up and blamed it on a hangover. But I drank the least of all of us the night before, I don't enjoy frinking in the house. By the time we’d walked down a lane and half a mile of rough land I wanted it to end. I was bloody knackered.

The dogs swam in the tarn and when we got back at teatime Tegan seemed to be a lot better and she hardly scratched at all last night. Max thinks the Leucillin is working. but Doctor Sarah, veterinarian extraordinaire is of the changed opinion that her scratching is stress related because she isn’t getting enough exercise, which fits with my other bleat of, Teagan needs to be able to run.

She is going to the vets on Wednesday and I’m counting down the hours for her.

Paul and I worked on Break the Child this morning and I couldn’t be happier. He doesn’t hate it. He likes it. He doesn’t love it and would never dream of buying it—because it’s not his type of thing at all—but it’s a lot better than he was expecting it to be. The first chapter made him laugh four times.

‘Is it meant to be funny?’

‘No, but if it makes somebody laugh then all the better.’

He’s never going to be nominating me for any awards, and I did strip the kidspeak back, but not as much as I expected.

One thing that we agreed didn’t and doesn’t work is that my character likes to try out big words. There are about half a dozen instances throughout the book  where she tries for words and gets both the spelling and context wrong. They have got to go. Paul said I could keep them, but only if they are italicised with  (sic) next to them. Otherwise it reads as though it’s author error. I fought him and said that the reader would get what I was doing, and he said that it doesn’t matter if the reader gets it or not; it’s still wrong.

I agree—they’ve gone.

I didn’t agree with everything and pulled rank when I had to. I’ve managed to keep the voice but made it less irritating for the adult reader. I think I’m happy with it so far—not sure about it, but we’ll see.

I’ve edited three chapters of my new book with a new title; The Human Touch.

With Child the difference in writing didn’t jump out at me much, but as I did the first chapter of Touch, I saw that my writing has improved since I last looked at it. It’s going to take work, but it’s still nowhere near as bad as some of the people I work for.

Max going back to work has unsettled Arthur, he hasn’t a damned clue who I am today, and he told Alex to get out of his house when he thought he was a burglar.  I was up with him six times through the night.  It wasn’t too bad, they were just guiding him back to his bedroom so that he didn’t launch himself down the stairs. Max put him back when he came to bed and Arthur had no idea who he was.

This morning when Max wanted the bathroom Arthur was in there—getting Arthur out of the  bathroom is going to be a morning ritual that’s going to drive Max mad and make him late. After getting ready he looked in on Arthur and he was sitting on his bed naked. He’d taken all the toilet rolls from the bathroom except the one on the holder, I guess he couldn't work that one out. He was breaking them into individual squares, making four-inch piles and then putting the piles under his mattress in a neat line.

‘Oh Jesus, what are you doing that for Dad?’

‘Well, I want to go to the toilet.’

‘We have plenty of paper in there, Dad, well, we did have. You don’t have to do that.’

We have fifteen individually ripped rolls of toilet paper to get through, but at least it kept him occupied while Max got his bath.

Max was a pain in the arse this morning. For the last three months I’ve left him to sleep when I get up. I take everything I need to the bathroom with me and make sure that once I’ve left the bedroom, I don’t have to go back in. When I’m done in the bathroom, I take my things downstairs to put away later when Max is up. I creep around like a tiny hippopotamus and don’t make a sound.

I don’t have to wake with an alarm clock and if I don’t have to get up, there’s nothing worse than being woken artificially. I put up with it with Arthur because I have to, but Max is just as bad.

I was woken to, ‘Shit.’

‘What’s up? What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, I just thought I’d overslept.’

I snuggled back down.

‘Now then, should I have a shower or a bath. What’s the weather like?’

He opened one of blackout blinds and left it open.

‘It’s not very nice out there, I think I’ll have a bath to warm me up.’

‘You do that.’

He sat on the bed. He got up from the bed. He sat on the bed, He got up from the bed. He opened drawers and slammed them shut. He opened other drawers and slammed them shut.

And the worst thing of all was that he wasn’t even dressed yet. We’d have it all to go through again when he got out of the bath.  

‘Oh, for God’s Sake.’

Hammering on bathroom door.

‘Dad. Dad, is that you in there.’

‘Yes, I’m on the toilet.’

‘Well can you hurry up and get off it please, I’m going to be late for work.’

He came banging back into the bedroom. ‘Would you believe it. Dad’s in the bathroom.’

‘Ughgmgm.’

And repeat for another hour.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the front door slam.

‘Hello. Hello. Is there anybody there?’

And we started the morning as we start every morning, with a séance—but the bloody ghost isn’t dead yet.

Andy went to his new job this morning. Same job, different company and he put a three hundred pound sale on the board in the first twenty minutes. He gets three hundred pounds a week basic, so he has paid for his chair. He came home for lunch at twelve and was all smiles.

Andy got up, showered, made his breakfast, and left and I never heard him once.

He is keeping bad company. He’s knocking about with a forty-eight year old man from his previous job. I thought we’d seen the back of him after he borrowed three hundred pounds from Andy and didn’t pay it back a few months ago. Nigel is an alcoholic, he’s abusive to his girlfriend and he’s a hell of a salesman. He’s a user and is always on the take. Max and I find his friendship with Andy inappropriate.

Last time he was on the scene they slept in Andy’s bed a few times, in the literal sense of the word, not the biblical one.

‘Do you think my son’s gay?’

‘No, absolutely not. They were drinking all night and just passed out together.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. Would it matter?’

‘Of course, it would bloody matter. He’s a forty-eight year old mess. I want better for Andy than that thing.’

Allowing for teenage exaggeration, apparently on a two-day bender the three of them, Andy, Nigel and his girlfriend, Carol drank eight bottles of vodka, five of Tia Maria and thirty cans. Andy didn’t emerge from his cave for two days.

Two weeks ago, he got a text form Nigel. Nigel was asking him if he wanted to go out. Andy told us to guess what it said bearing in mind that we are still in lockdown.

‘Is it to take a dog for a walk?’

‘No.’

‘Going cruising for girls?’

‘No.’

I gave up. He showed us the text.

Going to Asda shoplifting, do you want to come?

Hopefully, Andy is far too sensible to be drawn into that, but the drinking binge shows how easily led he is and influenced by peers.  What I loved about that morning was that he showed us the text and didn't hide it. He's a grown man, we can't tell him what to do outside our home, all we can do is guide him and keep communication open.

We’ve just got Andy straightened out. He’s ditched the drugs and his skank of a girlfriend. Twice—not once, but twice she threw up in carrier bag in my house. She couldn’t even get out of the bed to make it to the toilet next door. I would die if I was ever ill in somebody else’s house, alcohol related or not. She wasn’t even ashamed.

Up to the other week when Nigel climbed out from under his rock Andy was on the right path and doing so well.

I sense trouble ahead.