Month: January 2025

Having given my clothes the once over has had a very positive effect. I found some lovely things I hoarded over the years. I’m writing to you in my brand new vintage Harrods pajamas that came in one of the many intakes. I’ve got my big blue knitted socks on that Lou made. I’ve made sure I know where all my soft comfy things are located so I can be ultimate chill at home. We are negotiating new cat relationships, and Boo has gone full hornycat which makes nuance almost impossible. These are two very different cats. This is Misty with catnip:

This is Boo with catnip:

Boo gonna be Boo, she’s the Keith Flint of cats and I support it wholeheartedly. But damn she’s horny right now and there’s nothing we can do. We were advised by the vet to let them get to know each other first before getting her spayed, so we are doing that.

Dear Misty, she’s learned to drink out of the loo. That’s a Boo trick. Boo is an explorer, a breaker of boundaries. Misty is a traditional ragdoll, calm and happy but very much an idea stealer.

I’m dayjobbing tomorrow, hurrah. We had early dinner and I’m still very much on early bed with two jetlagged antipodean timers here, and I’ve just come from Lou.

12:45 start. That’s late. I’ll likely swan about in my posh pajamas with my horny cat until just before I have to start. What a life, eh? Look at them yoyos, that’s the way you do it.

I dropped a load of clothes at charity. Listed some junk on eBay. Slowly… slowly. Definitely happy to be back on eBay. I lost faith with the whole variable selling fees madness. They’ve dumped it.

Suddenly, Boo is horny.

We thought we were getting a spayed cat, bred out, a new relaxed life after having been a breeder. Something weird went on, we ended up with this wonderful stupid cat just off a kitten, an ex teenage mum. She’s not spayed but she hasn’t been horny until now. We took Pickle off the street and she was like this once a month for ages, but… this is the first time in much more than a month that she’s been on heat. And she’s very demanding. We have shut Misty back in Brian’s room.

The vet counselled delaying the spay until the cats knew each other. So be it. But Boo is so horny she’s just gonna shout now. It’ll be her last one, but then there’s all the business with the cones and the fact that she’s been sealed up… it’s a heck of a thing, but I know from Pickle that modern cats are too many generations into being evolved out of their natural processes that the ones we have tend to get complications pretty quickly. Pickle was in incredible discomfort every time. She would look to us with hope but there was nothing we could do. It’s similar for Boo this time, but I can see she’s not in pain like Pickle was. She just wants a shag.

I finally went through all the crap in my wardrobe. I’ve thrown out loads of clothes I never wear, sorted all my pants… I took a massive bag to the dry cleaners, either of wonderful old things I’ve neglected or fucked up old shirts that were wonderful once. I’m gonna rely on the cleaners to make them good again. I also emptied a bunch of boxes and did a proper full on hinge replacement for my wardrobe. There are some beloved items that I can’t wear until they are fixed – trousers with run through pockets, kimonos with self destruction sleeves… The things I don’t care about are going to charity, the things I do care about are being brought to the front again.

Horny Boo has appeared. She’s gonna try and sleep next to me and stay still. I’m happy and chill, I’ve done my work today, just gonna relax now. Tomorrow hopefully more – Thursday is an excellent day to list things on eBay with ten day listings, and I’m about to spend every fucking penny I’ve got plus extra on tax and fines. My debt to society. Debt.

Lou knitted me a pair of thick woolly socks. They’re in racing green. The first time I put them on it was the middle of the afternoon and I fell asleep pretty much instantaneously on her sofa and had a shameless thirty minute power nap.

I’ve brought them home with me. This flat is getting fluffier by the moment.

The cats are free roaming now. Misty is still off her food after travel. Boo is a little shy and a little curious. They haven’t settled yet but it’s going in the right direction.

I put my socks on. With tracksuit bottoms. Then I switched on the electric blanket. Boo is currently installed behind me on her cosy blanket above the radiator. It’s early but I’m really not feeling the need to do anything other than kip. The socks seem to have that effect, to propel me to sleepiness. So I’m enjoying their warmth and the warmth of the blanket. I’m gonna be asleep soon I think.

It was a good costume fitting today, although there was some small misunderstanding regarding my waist size. My trousers were all huge. The jackets and coats though, they all worked very well. We were up at Angels in Brent Cross. Incredible facility, beautifully appointed and filled with extraordinary costumes and underpaid staff. It’s the most expensive and has the most incredible range. They can command the prices they ask for.

Modern stuff for me though. A good selection. Already I’m getting a good feel for my guy. He buys a new shirt instead of washing it.

I’m getting sleepy early in the evenings these days. I’ll have to start writing these earlier. The dark nights are sending me to torpor and I’m letting it happen. It’s cold, why be awake? At least the mornings can be bright. That’s the time.

Two dozy blogs in a row. I blame the socks. Happy to have a better view of my external character. Still many unknowns but that’s always the case. All I can do is show up ready.

Back at home. There are multiple cats now. Boo has the run of the place, but there’s a new kit on the block by the name of Misty.

Misty is a ragdoll. Seal point. I know this breed.  Mao, mister pissypants, he was one. Uncomplicated and loving. Territorial.

Izzy and Tessy are both seal point. Izzy plays fetch, is dumb, wants love. Tessy is my closest exposure to the breed. But apparently they aren’t supposed to be like her. Because she. will. fuck. you. up.

Don’t fuck with Tess.

Thankfully, Misty appears to be closer to the breed behaviour. Floppy. And she’s hairy. I remember when I took on Mau he was so restricted in his movement from hair that had clumped at the stupidly expensive cat hotel, I had to shave a strip down his belly. He was like a kitten after, with a sudden access of movement without pain. Misty is hairy and slow, well groomed. She seems calm. I think these two cats will get on, although at the moment it is Boo in the flat and Misty in Brian and Maddy’s room. Introductions are painfully slow. But that’s the right way. You can’t just throw cats into a room together and guarantee harmony. These two will be harmonious though.

I’m shutting down to bed. It’s still early but I’ve been asleep hours before midnight the last few nights. More of that please. Largely I’m too tired and content to be worthy of your time. Better than where I was a week ago. Lou is a miracle worker.

The crackhouse is closed on Sundays (Kemptown Bakery) but I was out early enough to go to Café Rust for my morning coffee. All the tables were reserved from ten for the London contingent. I got in at half nine though and it was still empty. It’s all of a five minute walk from Lou’s, and by the time I walked in the door I was shivering through my many layers. The wind off the sea today is biting cold. Rain turned to sleet. I sat very happy with my latte on one of the reserved tables, looking through the glass at the horrorshow of cold things, regretting only that I would have to walk back through it to Lou’s. My morning coffee run when I’m here is a pleasant interlude and a happy luxury. I’ve never really felt the need to bring the press. £3.50 well spent.

Still, the day needed to be about not having to go out in that shit more than absolutely necessary. If I lived underground I’d seal the entrance.

We drove to Jevington down the coast. Haven’t been to The Eight Bells yet and they had a table when we thought to book yesterday. You’ll never get anything to eat at lunchtime on a Sunday in the Brighton area without booking ahead. I could only sit in Rust because I promised to move as soon as the Londoners arrived with their dogs and shouting. “PROPERTY PROPERTY MY BUSINESS MONEY WELL OF COURSE THE CHILDREN HAVE …” Something to motivate me back out into the sleet.

The Eight Bells was calmer. They invented Banoffi Pie in Jevington, in a lovely little cafe that’s been turned into buy to let flats. We drove by on the way to the pub, drove past on the way back. All down that coast community is dying in exchange for the idea of profit and the saddest thing is out past Peacehaven. That area was largely developed to house returning soldiers from WW2, and there was a gorgeous big home for blind veterans. They managed to pull a trick where it wasn’t modern enough, so they could kick all the veterans to some charmless new facility and then use the prime real estate. “What for?” I hear you cry! Why, buy to fucking let, innit. So twelve fat people can get a bit fatter.

Lunch. Just under sixty quid for the pair of us. Two roasts, tap water, a side of cauliflower cheese. “Remember when Sunday roast was £4.99?” says Lou. Now they just pull out whatever figure they feel like.”

I filled up Bergman at the cheapest place around here. Still another £86.00. Another “money out” day as my father used to call them. Can’t have too many a week. I’ve had too many this week. But it’s a Sunday, I get to hang with my beloved. There’s stuff listed on eBay and I’m feeling motivated to really get into that. Also the calls are starting from the unit on my next filming gig, Deep Cover will come out of post before long, events will kick back in with summer I’m sure, and generally life is good. I have just got to watch the old pennies in the short term, but not so much that I can’t run a car, buy coffee and treat my lady to Sunday roast. What’s the point of money if it’s not going round?

Down the road from Lou, the fishmonger was jam packed for a Saturday morning. All the dfLs, myself among them, crowding in to get their fresh fish. A good amount of different forms of finny friend on the ice in there. We went home with a gilthead bream and four scallops. I’m a sucker for scallops. You can take the boy out of The Isle of Man … But there were some huge mackerel, plenty of good looking flatfish. I still haven’t unpacked the trauma of my mother’s wallpaper paste Aga cooked skate.

Over hill and down dale we went, within reason. Lou needed some fabric taken to her workshop. She goes by bike so it’s much easier for me to drop it. From there to Stanmer and a short walk. Eleven quid for three bottles of fresh apple juice. One with ginger, one ginger chilli and one apple and pear. Pricey but nicey. The fish was £16 so the whole lot came in under thirty, and sometimes I’ve spent that much on pizza. Still, not a frugal day. But it’s a weekend, eh?

By half past four I was cooking it. Bream was pre-cleaned. Teenage Al learnt how to gut a fish but they always do it for you in Brighton. Often we used to have to gut our own catch on the mackerel boats. It’s not as bad as with game, but you still want the guts out as quickly as you can. Weird to think that it was swimming around not so long ago and then this weird guy put mixed herbs, garlic, lemon, ginger and seasonings where its guts used to be, and then wrapped it up in tinfoil. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me this weekend” Half an hour in the oven, no more. Sometimes I go twenty minutes and it’s still good. But I wanted the flavours to cook in.

With mash and two veg, my body was quite surprised at this sudden healthiness. I’ve been subsisting on pasta pesto, pies and cassoulet. Often the pie will be sitting on the plate with nothing around it. Other times I’ll dump a can of sweetcorn in the gravy. What a time to be alive. Suddenly fresh fish and loads of cavolo nero. I feel great for it.

You are what you eat, they say, along with all sorts of similar hocus. But there’s a truth in it. You can see the additives in some fast food raised people, like their skin is becoming translucent. I was in great danger of becoming a pesto pie, and since Lou has been sick it’s important I do things that bolster my immunity. Also good food is a great pleasure. I love going to that fishmonger, you won’t get fresher. Maybe the scallops are defrosted but the bream felt like it was healthy. I’m glad we will still have fish in the sea for a year or two. I’ll be part of the problem while it’s still possible.

Down to Brighton. That’ll be a good place for me this weekend. Lou is sick as a dog still but reckons she’s not contagious. I’m still being ginger around her and she’s still coughing, but it’s been a long time and we are starting to get busy again. Weekend time. I’ve missed seeing her. It’ll definitely help my mood.

Her friend January has released a new album, as she often does in the month she was named for. It’s her way of bringing some light in the darkest month. She was playing to the home crowd at Alphabet.

Alphabet used to be The Crypt, the goth club. There’s a bar deep inside, no windows, you don’t know what time it is. Tall people flare cocktails unselfconsciously and the beers are called things like Frog Licker. It could be wanky but somehow it avoids it. But in that bar you don’t know what time it is, it could be 4am it could be noon. It was evening when we arrived. I had a lemon thing that is beery and non alcoholic and pretty moreish. I sat and chatted to various Brighton folk and friends of Lou. I know some people do this with me, but I’m counting the number of times a particular person introduces themself to me as if we’ve never met. I’d call everyone ‘darling’ like my mother used to if it wasn’t a luvvie thing. As it is I just occasionally fuck up, usually with good looking buff blonde men for some reason. They all look the same to me them good looking actor blondies…

Last time I went to a gig in Brighton it was full of douchey people and you couldn’t see a damn thing. We left that one almost immediately. This one was lovely, and there was a good mix of deep support for the artist and audience. She has a great sound, and there were some bangers. Last year I was tasked with taking photos. Lou helped her get ready. This year I could just enjoy the look and the mastery. And there are a few people down here now in this circle that I’m starting to read as friends. Makes up for the social anxiety. I managed okay without crutches until right at the end when one good lad got me a single shot of whisky and it went down a treat. Good to see him. Good to be sociable.

That’s all we have to do really, is connect. We can do it without numbing too, it’s actually better, if we can get past the noise in our heads. I’ve got some calm and light from going into two shared spaces recently and witnessing two very different radiators.

Weekend time. Some calm. Some warmth. Some Lou.

On balance, for mental health, it is definitely better to do things than to not do things. My two days could not have been more different.

I woke up and welcomed Rhys, who has got magic cards to flog. They have been a ball and chain for him as he doesn’t play Magic the Gathering anymore but remembers the time when he did with great fondness. He’s asked me to help get rid of them, and I knew full well that his coming over was part of the process of letting go, but also with that comes a reconnection. I had it similar when I flogged the best of my old ones, thankfully before the crackhead decided I was some idiot sitting on a pile of Moxes. His cards are from the period in the game after all the cards that mustn’t be reprinted were put out, but before it settled into the cynical machine of addiction that it is now. None of them are big. None of mine were big, even if mine were bigger than his. My biggest card sold for maybe £225. It was a dual land. His biggest card is about £30.

I’m happy to sell these things, good at selling these things, my eBay is full of these things that I’ve sold and feedback from selling these things. Occasionally I go to a tournament in real life, if it’s Limited. I open my packs, build my deck, win something, then flog all the value from what I opened and what I won. Usually I make much more than the entry cos I don’t want the cards and I’m quick to list them which is powerful if it’s a new set.

We both had our nostalgia. The decent ones are all listed. If they were mine they’d all be at 0.99p starting price and let them find their level, but I could tell Rhys needs them not to go for fuck all, which is the risk with that strategy. I tried to put their starting bid north of mid range. They won’t get so much interest and they might go round a few times, but it’s done now. We will both have money dripping in as a result of today, but not all of them will sell next Sunday.

Then I went to the theatre, to see Colin Hurley in his one man show Lear’s Shadow.

I have such incredibly talented mates, and often there’s a bit of Shakespeare in the middle of the things they end up doing. This a very live show, a clown show, and a show about deterioration. It’s Lear, but it’s more personal, more relatable, less “impressive”. It made me want to see Colin as either Lear or his fool, but also made me know that it would break my heart to do so. Break.  Heart. That’s how he opened it. Written on his chest.

Being a bit sad about a damaged friendship and the fact it’s dark is thrown into sharp relief by the shit that happens to the folk in Lear. I’m alright. I’ll be fine. I’ve still got my eyes and haven’t given everything away to two sociopaths yet. And I get to see Lou tomorrow which is a huge tonic even if she’s been dying of bronchitis which I desperately want to avoid being exposed to as it’s the one thing that fucks me for months. My tubes have history. When I’ve got a cough people almost always threaten to call an ambulance.

She’s not contagious anymore, I reckon. Let’s see.

I was planning on taking in some culture this evening but ended up sinking into myself for various reasons. Partly to do with the weather, partly life. I’ve had to start to learn, very late, that I can and need to draw boundaries occasionally. Problem is, if the boundaries are new they feel willful to people who habitually crossed the line before you started monitoring it. Yesterday I had a difficult chat with someone I’ve had to put at arm’s length. I stupidly invited them to share a show tonight, thinking maybe we could be theatre buddies or something. Turns out not yet, it immediately kicked off a thing where I found myself having to express something I just instinctively know. Problem with instinct is that it doesn’t elocute itself very well.

I’m happy to start drawing boundaries. There are aspects of myself that aren’t helpful and need to be shifted. Growing up is hard. But we all have to do it or we end up Michael Jacksoning our way out of this mad glory. I have a kind of freedom here. I’ve avoided breeders, apart from as friends. Haven’t accidentally made progeny. I can still pretend to be 19, but I don’t want to cos in reality I’m a hoary old oak tree and actually can find more use and satisfaction by stepping into my roots, not pretending I’m still a sapling. There are plenty of good people much older than me, still in the struggle. There are plenty of good people much younger than me struggling too. We can all do it together but we serve ourselves better if we fully accept who we are within it. This involves some hard decisions.

Still enough vagueness. I’m home alone, it’s dark and cold and I’ve stopped playing Baldur’s Gate for about a week now as I was clocking up too many hours and not looking at the things I needed to. Like tax. That’s in for this year.

I’m sure there are bright and optimistic things to talk about but I can’t find them. Maybe I should’ve just used one of the two tickets I bought for the theatre. It’s hard to be cheerful right now.

It got late without me noticing. I was with Min having pizza, which is a tonic and long overdue. I took her home and picked up some boxes of magic cards. Rhys her man has had them since childhood, they’ve grown complicated for him. Some have value, most don’t. I know these things pretty well – I flogged all my best ones just before the crackhead got wind that I had them and nicked the best of the rest. 50/50 I told him as these days it ain’t worth the rigmarole for a worse deal than that. We’ll list the lot on Thursday.

Darkness happens so early that I’m used to it so by the time I was home my body thought it was early evening, so I took it slow, ran a bath, read a bit of my silly Terry Pratchett book, played with Boo and just looked at my clock and it’s past 1. Bedtime.

Apparently yesterday is meant to be the saddest day of the year. The bullshit of Christmas is a memory, the blossoms of spring an impossible dream. The light goes before the day ends and it is cold. Cats and blankets and friends and fires, snuggles and hot drinks. I helped a friend with a self tape this afternoon, got an offer through for a short but lovely job that might grow longer. I’m looking for the light but the fingers of winter have been in my heart today. I’m very glad of Minnie and the pizza. Glad of Boo and her fluffy affection and buzzing warmth. She’s taking to sniffing my nose as I sleep. It’s a good snoring monitor.

I bought daffodils. They haven’t opened yet. I finished my first loaf baked from scratch and it wasn’t shite. I’ll have more tomorrow morning and I made it and that’s satisfying. The last one was a copro with Brian.

Bed is warm. Too tired to read now, I’m just gonna flop until a hairy face wakes me up at dawn. Hopefully some sunlight tomorrow. I’m sad. Bring Spring…