Happily home, warm and toasty in bed, around about the time I might normally be finishing the walk. It’s raining outside.
Many of the masks and costume bits are in my car. I’ll decant them to the attic at some point soon, labelled up. They’re only useful for a month. No point having them in the corner of the living room for the other eleven months of the year.
Siwan and I wound up strategising. Why the hell not have two of them running simultaneously next year – there are some creepy tales and great pubs in Chelsea.
I do need to sort my own life out too though. This next month is going to be unusually empty of work, but the one after it is shaping up to be absolutely fucking carnagetastic. I’ll need Christmas Day to fall flat on my face, but Brian and I are doing the usual and I’ll be sober so I’ll be able to drive the sleigh and get people home at night which opens up all sorts of possibilities. But before all that madness begins wouldn’t it be nice to put my house in order and address the things I’m constantly dropping and ignoring.
If only I was wired to get my missing dopamine out of filling in forms and bringing in money, rather than moving things around or telling stories. Gonna have to trick myself into it sometime or other. Much is still undone. Mummy and daddy very much not going to do it for me.
I booked an MOT and so far so good, nobody has jumped up my arse for being late with tax. I think you get a week of grace. I can get these things done, jiggle my diary, and find time to relax so I’m ready for December, and perhaps I can go visit an old friend in Hungary and empty out some more expensive storage. Making lists helps, as I learnt from Lou.
It’s great having her here. She’s asleep beside me as I write. She’s working hard – we have had opposite schedules. I try to wake up early, see her off to work, go back to sleep a bit, then get stuck into the day and finish later than her. Usually she’s been asleep by the time I’ve got back from walkies.
I was fiddling with AI in an idle two minutes and described an image for next year’s walk that will overcome the fact it was advertised with a gravestone saying “last year” this year. It still might be the last year, Siwan will need to be persuaded, but I’m holding out hope.
AlBarclay 