I’m now just waiting to see if there’s a reply to a letter we’ve written, and what that reply is, and whether it comes with a cheque. The guy I was supposed to meet who could help me has gout now and I won’t see him until Monday. The old guy is slow and distracted as ever. It’s gone grey again. The temperature has dropped. I’m feeling a little stuck.
The best thing I can do right now is wait and hope that things go the way I need them to. It’s unlikely I’m going to be able to extend my stay any longer, as despite The Mornington being relatively cheap, I’m running up to the end of my credit card and I had to borrow some money from a friend. I kind of want to phone up the registrar and shout HURRY UP! But that’s not going to make life any easier. So it’s just patience…
Next Tuesday my time in the beige room runs out. If I’ve had good news I might book myself a posh place for the remaining four nights before the ferry takes me back on the twelfth. I do hope I will be able to return triumphant. But it’s all even slower than I dreaded it would be. And maybe it’s just four more nights in the vintage beige embrace of The Mornington, a hotel I highly recommend as an option to anybody staying in Jersey on a budget. I might joke about it. But they’re brilliant, and unparalleled value.
I’m trying to unlock a company that belongs to my brother and I that has some shares in it. We’ve had it most of our lives and the shares were worth fuck all, but recently they’ve gone up – despite the climate – to a high enough value that it’s worth trying to shift it. Problem is we didn’t touch it for decades as it was worth nothing so it’s been eaten by the system. And the worth is in shares that have been worthless in the past, so I’m constantly plagued by the fear they’ll be worthless again before I fix this. And there are systems in place to prevent those without money accessing money. So far, lawyers bills have come to close to £8000 and my journey here has pushed into almost two grand more, making a nice round ten for fuck all so far. I’m hoping it’ll be the magic number though for the pinãta to start dropping goodies. But it’s all down to a letter in the post, and then it’s down to the intransigent old chap whose name is still on the ledgers to tell me he’s got a letter, do something about it, and not keep avoiding me like he has done for actual decades.
I walked around the park today saying to myself out loud “I’m not going to let this go back to sleep”. And I’m not. Don’t let me distract myself. Come on magic letter! Beam me all the universe power. NMHRK. Aaaaargh
AlBarclay 