Both of the reasons I had lined up to leave the house were so hungover that they cancelled. I’ve spent the day cocooned with Pickle reading terrible novels about people cutting each other’s arms off with swords. At one point I managed to pull myself to the shop, thinking I was going to make a huge pile of food for all the hungry people in my flat, but it transpired that they’d already stealthily eaten burgers while I was hibernating so I triumphantly brought in a huge pile of food and everyone just looked at it. Still, it’ll keep for a few days, and I’m having to watch my spending now the party season’s over and the maintenance firm have their blood money. I’ll get through that pile. I haven’t much choice. “A year older and not an hour richer.” You said it, Ebenezer.
I’m looking forward to getting stuck in to this New Year. There’s much to do. But today was a legitimate regathering. Virtually everyone in London is hungover. Brian and I have guests recovering in front of the TV in the living room, and last night some absolute prime turd went and jammed something into the ignition of Brian’s bike, trying to jack the engine despite the damn thing being covered in locks. Who knows, maybe the same drunk idiot that tried and failed to crowbar my Jag open for the CD cases, so that now I get a wet seat when it rains at night. Brian and Rob are trying to dismantle the bike’s ignition in the living room while the huge TV throws light and sound everywhere. I’m feeling quite fragile so I’m just sitting it out in my room, sinking into warmth and books and cat. Let the world wait until tomorrow. Let this city wait until I’m ready for it. This city with its idiot vandals wielding screwdrivers, this city with its punishingly expensive builders, this city with its alcohol and rage and division. I still say hello to people in the shops after Yorkshire. They mostly think I’m insane here though. I love this place but honestly I’d love it a lot more if it was a bit less expensive and if people were nicer and would stop trying to steal our vehicles.
A lot of you are back to work tomorrow. I am too but not gainfully yet. Gotta start planting seeds though. I’m glad I’m not working in an office. But if that’s the choice I’ve made I have to be resourceful about where the readies come from. Emergencies screw me over. Last year it was the boiler. This year it’s the roof. At least I’ve got a boiler and a roof though. I can usually make enough money on my own terms to keep things stable. Plenty of people couldn’t say that.
For the rest of this evening though, it’s satisfying the inevitable sugar craving with herbal tea, and reading about those arms being hacked off while Pickle sleeps on my belly. Could be a lot worse. Happy New Year.