AlBarclay

I sent pretty much all the cards but of course two people didn’t pay until I was back home so I’ll have to go back and do two more. Still, that’s some stuff moved on and hopefully I’ll never have to think about it again.

Oh lord I’m tired out somehow. I think it’s just the dark and the cold. I’m not enjoying this season, even though I’m looking ahead to some interesting work. I guess that’s the eternal malaise. What’s after the thing that’s after now? Momentum momentum momentum.

Still, I emailed the guys where I go and blither on about electricity to children. Children will continue to need to understand electricity. I can be part of that equation and use the money to buy my own electricity. I might even get more careful as a result.

I’ve bought a metal kettle that keeps the water hot like a thermos. Once I’ve set it up I’ll be able to tell it to boil from my bed on an app in the same way Brian can make the litter box clean itself. Brave New World. The litter box is filling up fast these days but it is a result that both of the cats like to shit in it. Whoever worked out the draw of cat litter deserves a medal. That stuff makes domestic cats possible in flats. These are both indoor beasts and they don’t drop poo randomly. Boo likes to watch Misty go, but she’s weird like that, she loves to come and hang when anyone is on the loo. She’ll jump up between your legs if you aren’t careful. It’s disconcerting.

She’s finally off heat at last. That was a tough time for us all and we are gonna make certain she is spayed as a matter of priority. Have to wait a bit but then it’ll be done and she won’t have to go through that with us again. She largely hated it. She’s getting back to her playful self now, and hopefully Misty will be tolerant. They aren’t fighting, but Misty has the ragdoll boundaries, and will take a swipe if Boo gets too playful.

It’s dark and late. I’ve had a bit of a walk around the area today but nothing like snowy Hampstead Heath yesterday. I’ll be asleep before midnight again I’m sure. And that’s nothing but a good thing. With Brian’s sourdough thing, and the horny cat, early mornings are very much more active in this flat than they used to be. I’m up for that, you get the best of the light at this time of year. And that’s important. God we are all ready for a summer in this country. At least I had one in Paris, but I know it didn’t quite get across the channel. And with the depressing news across the pond where just what??! Idiot. I love Americans, usually. How did they majority vote this guy? It’s not gonna be easy now, with such a mouthpiece for simplistic thinking, reactionary behaviour, schoolboy mean-ness being called acceptable. I guess I’m out of touch, as there’s a majority vote there, just as with Brexit. Dad once said “the clever people don’t breed, so eventually the stupid people have the numbers”. He bred lots. “I’m trying to redress the balance. Don’t be stupid.”

On and off I’ve been selling stuff on eBay for decades. They were the market leader and I was there as they slowly deconstructed their own appeal. People use the phrase “slow car crash” too much but we all knew where it was going, the sellers. Advantage the buyer, absolutely. I know I can buy on eBay with confidence. But the sellers?

The rot set in properly when they introduced “Variable selling fees” aka incomprehensible fees for sellers based on maths that, if you tried to ask about them (and I did) you got patronising replies basically telling you you aren’t good enough at maths and it’s all very easy. So that persisted for years while everyone was shedding to Etsy and then Vinted and still the one time market leader couldn’t understand who they were alienating. “Buy Gold for the Price of Silver,” they put on a fucking billboard, and as someone with gold to sell I knew not to go there. “Buy good things without the business markup” sure…. But the point of eBay was transference. We put our things there, they go for what people want to pay. Nothing is worth more than what someone will pay. They connected the item with the someone.

It needs to work hard to get back. Finally now they have shifted their “You need to be a math genius to understand our fees” stance and they let us list for free, which is what I would do anyway just by waiting for the free listing weekends. This is likely because they’ve spent so long servicing their buyers that they lost their sellers, not just with ridiculous fees and policies but also just with obviously giving no shits.

So I listed a bunch of magic cards and some other stuff. And people still check it. But it’s not what it was. Well watched items were sniped for tits all. One guy made an early bid and then cancelled it at the end of the sale saying “Found it cheaper elsewhere”. It was a £4.99 card worth £12. I accepted the cancel but honestly he can go fuck himself.

Tomorrow I’ll have to do all the nice packaging, and so many of the people who buy this stuff are neurotic – it’s like selling clothes – I realised I can tell them “Stop taking the piss, I said it was LP and that takes in edge damage,” but when I tried to sell clothes and patterns I got so much crap and so much stuff returned and I couldn’t speak the language and the fucking buyer wins on eBay, every argument, every time.

I’ve eaten shit for dozens of neurotic arseholes. I bought something from a trader recently and he apologised in advance that it wasn’t in quite the condition he described and sent me a load of free shit. I didn’t give a fuck. But he knows how it works on eBay and there are always arsehole buyers exploiting the advantage to the buyer thing.

But yeah, I’m back listing things when I have a moment. I hated the variable selling fee bullshit so much I stopped for years. It seems they’ve finally realised the extent to which they alienated us. You can’t provide a buying service if nobody wants to sell. Incomprehensible fees and a mission statement where people could get things cheaper than they should be. Your things that you care about. Gold for the price of silver? Ptoooie

A new household. Brian and I here, of course as forever with this blog, barring a hiatus. It’s BarclayHook Towers. Boo, who you all know. She’s still horny. She’s incredibly vocal with it, as you’d expect. We’ve had no rest, day and night, for five days now. I really hope she comes off it soon. We are in communication with the vet to have her spayed. That’ll be the next chapter. She will utterly hate having a cone on her. Then there’s Misty, a ragdoll, a seat stealer. She’s a big old fluffy plumpkin. She’s not thinking about nuance. She’s just there. And then Maddy, quickly becoming a friend, new to this country and from the other side of the world.

I’ve booked a late Sunday lunch at The Old Bull and Bush cos apparently it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow. We’re gonna hit the heath, do some walking, enjoy the fact it is February at last, probably go to the pergola. Maddy’s a photographer, and she’s not fucking around. She showed me some of the stuff she got in Richmond Park. She came over here with minimal stuff, one cat… Incredible behaviour. I’m trying to help by getting this flat less cluttered. Most of this stuff is bollocks. Time to move it on.

We are all in a puddle watching Ted Lasso. I’ve watched the first season already once, I’m watching it again. It’s joyful, so joyful. I’m so glad it was so successful, this thing that on paper I would never like, but this wonderful wonderful show about integrity and football… who knew? Impeccably acted, funny and human.

I’m burning frankincense and have candles in the window. Tonight we bring the light back by leaving light in our windows, although we need to have removed the vestiges of the winter festival decoration. Now we are moving to the light, the heat, the warmth. Fuck yeah. (Tomorrow is just as good for the light in the window thing. Just leave an old candle there on a plate so you don’t burn yourself down and blame me.)

Goodnight and happy light return.

Friday night. January.

I got out of bed to heat up a sticky toffee pudding and then got right back in. Here I lie in my jimmyjamas. It isn’t nine yet. I am going to sleep and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Just got to write a few words first.

Invigilating today. A slow and thoughtful exam, lots of relaxed people doing difficult sums. I just make sure they have a chilled out room, and that they all have the things they need. Then I send an invoice. It’s more about that part of the process than anything else to be honest. I’ve been back on eBay trying to declutter and improve my cashflow at the same time. I’ll throw in some shifts helping the future entrepreneurs of this world.

I’m happy to be in bed early on a night like this. I’m done with January and it seems January is done with us. Onwards towards Candlemas now and the climb back to the light. I want to go on holiday. Money money money. For now I’ll just flog things flog things flog things, do the invigilation, live life.

I’m feeling the cold, and I’m still empathing into jetlag hours with Brian and Maddy, plus I’ve caught their cold. I’m totally unconcerned about losing Friday night. Twelve years ago I was proudly #LOFNOTC. Parties happen when they happen, they don’t have to be Friday. This one is certainly not a party, despite what the people on the river boats seem to think.

Maybe I’ll get out of bed one more time, make chamomile and wash my teeth. Fill up water. Fuck around with Boo. Back in bed by half nine. The ghost of Marianne Faithfull would understand that we can’t always be rock and roll. I’m spent and I’ve done very little. Extra rest will make me better tomorrow, aye? The sooner I’m over this cold the better.

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.