AlBarclay

Today was a down day in the flat, continuing the endless task of sorting things out. Sheets now, and making sure that the nice ones are in use and the unnecessary ones are donated. A simple task, but somehow I’ve accumulated lots of sheets. These ones went on for autumn. Others went in the pile for charity.

Boy is settling in now but he is very vocal if I don’t get up in the morning. He likes to be entertained. The headbutts started at half five and I fed him, but he wants to be entertained and I wanted a lie in. By mid morning he was whacking me every ten minutes just as he wanted to play. I tried my best to ignore him but by eleven I was jiggling around a mouse on a rope.

The slow process of sorting and getting rid of things is bringing gold to the surface. There’s lots more to do but I’m happy with what has happened so far and feeling very chilled and intentional in my space for the first time in never. There are standing lamps I’ve had forever but now with bulbs and shades making things feel cosier as winter comes. I’ll be in Jersey for December, but hopefully can get a great deal more done here before I go.

First walk tomorrow and now I’ve done it in the rain I’m ready for anything. Hopefully they’ll be a fun and hardy lot to start us into a new season. It’s a long walk this year but I like it, and I’m glad to have a distraction and money coming in as things are getting colder. I haven’t really had my summer fix, but these few warm weeks were a plaster. I fear we might be into the bluster now.

Test run for the walk. Lou was in town so she could get the first half before the train to Brighton. This dress rehearsal is always a bit kamikaze for me, and I can say that with two previous years under my belt. I know what I think the walk can be, but until there’s an audience it’s hard to make sense of it. I’m trying stuff out, scratching. “We need another 5 minutes,” I was told about a residential street. There’s nowt there but … the guys need a costume change. Improv time.

This evening I played with my group, using the truth of the fact I was filling time, joining them in the creation process. A big area that I had earmarked for a story had been filled in with roadworks barriers and a davlav. There was an Amazon delivery guy. It all ended up built into a delightful mischief story, pretty much made by the group but spoken by me. Likely I’ll use bits of it again, but it’ll never be as fresh as tonight when we were all a little unit, laughing hysterically in the rain about something as ancient as the art of making up a story in the moment, but enjoying the fact that we made it together live. I don’t remember who asked “Is the Davlav haunted?” but “I was afraid to call your attention to it, as it isn’t just haunted, it’s dangerous and let me tell you why…” There’s something about visibly flying by the seat of your pants that really floats my boat. Here with this walk I’m the point of a triangle, but there’s no right way up for a triangle and there are two more points. It’s me in my hat thinking I’m leading the way and then all the unusual humans who have decided that a spooky walk is the way to spend the evening doing interesting things as we go. They feed the material. I just have the map. And the mouth. And then some wonderful humans do their own peculiar little scenes as we go.

It’s an evening job for this month as we get used to the fact that the world is getting colder. It’s a friendship group doing something we think is fun in the belief that others will agree. It’s entertainment. I’m happy to have it in the diary.

Things are getting wetter. Maybe we will be rained on lots… My little group tonight helped me see that this walk – it works in the rain as well. It’s easy to forget it, but people havecome expecting a long walk. They get one.

Lou always had to leave halfway to get back home to the cat. We both are slaves to the fluffy ones right now. It was wonderful to have some time with her in my city. I love this place and its ways, I’m part of it now. Lahdahn. Bring on a month of leafy Hampstead evenings…

This is rushed but I’m knackered.

“You won’t get in there with jeans on,” she tells me as I pick her up from Victoria. She’s worrying about a bite on her face. She’s already run up the hill to the station in Brighton with a big bag. Now she’s in the big city and she’s booked me birthday lunch at The Wolseley. That’s next door to The Ritz. Mum used to use The Ritz as a loo whenever we were on Piccadilly and I never thought about what I was wearing back then, but maybe the fact she was always dripping with gold and Hermes silk and I was twelve – that allowed the gatekeepers to overlook any clothing infractions on the part of her spawn. And challenging her would have been too much effort.

I put on some flannels.

We walk there, down the river and then up through Pimlico to Buck House and then through Green Park, but we are early. I’m on the mum-trail now though so “Let’s go to Fortnums” comes easy and next thing we know, Lou and I are surrounded by expensive biscuits. We get off lightly. We buy some house coffee and some chocolate. We get out of there for less than a pony which is winning. Our table awaits.

17:45 is a strange time for dinner but Lou couldn’t get any other so I’ve skipped lunch and I’m starving. I get through the bread in seconds. We share a Leek and Potato Soup and a Salmon and Dill Thing. This menu would be very comfortable in the eighties, so they’ve had time to get it right. Main course is Goulash for me and Bream for Lou. We’re both on the Prix Fixe cos neither of us own an international conglomerate. I’m still off the booze and Lou is never on it, which takes one of the greatest expenses and temptations off the list. I don’t even ask to see the wines in case they make me weep.

They give me a birthday eclair. It’s the only photo I’ve got. It’ll have to do.

Lou is staying over at mine. I’m on an early sleep and wake routine, largely because Boy ramraids my face at dawn every day no matter the dream. A late birthday treat from lovely Lou. A close to tourism as I ever get in my city. A considered meal, just enough and everything done really well. Personality and care from the waiter. Now for my first night without those fecking antibiotics.

I feel like a basketball. All I’ve done is walk around a bit and think about stories. It’s these damned antibiotics. Better than dying of blood poisoning, but wearing. Weary. That’s how I’m feeling. Ground out.

Believe it or not I’m running a bath. All the environment stuff I go on about and that has been a nightly occurrence for a long time. I cooked Amatriciana and Frank and I ate it just now and it’s as if someone pumped suet at high speed into my navel.

The dentist this morning sucked his teeth and told me I’d have to sell the farm. I’ve kicked it all down the road too far. Time to bite the bullet. I had to bite the X-ray things again today and I was almost sick on the dentist. “Whoever took out your back teeth has got a lot to answer for,” and that was my mum trying to stop me from having snaggle teeth from overcrowding as a child. She succeeded but now I haven’t got enough teeth.

Still, nothing that everything I earn for the next six months can’t solve.

Boy is being very persistent because he wants me to play ribbon with him. He’s been sleeping in my bed all day while I’ve been yomping and having my face poked. Still, I’ve got ten minutes in me I guess.

Hopefully his sojourn here will be over soon and he can be restored to his home, but it has been a delight to have this pudding underfoot. I’ve never known a cat less inclined to get out of the way, and his kamikaze tendencies extend to sleeping by my feet every night. He is definitely influencing my dreams though. Things have been very catty the last few sleeps.

How lovely to be working creatively outdoors in this long long lasting Indian summer. Joyful.

Mackerel sky at sunset. We met up at half past three at The Flask. Logistics with a paper maché chicken. I’m trying out material with myself and random passers by. Trying to blend facts with joy to create the right cocktail. I can swear as much as I want, and I’m actively encouraged to shoehorn politics into it. The wonderful thing about truth is that it is frequently madness. True stories can be told dry or messy and I find that the messy tellings taste better. “Two old men drunkenly squabbling in a carriage” is a more human view and just as true as “renowned essayist debating philosophy with celebrated doctor on their return journey to London”.

I’ve been thinking about death and bodies and vampires and psychics and philanthropy and love and heaven and hell. Bullets and booze. Hanging and housing.

I can’t drink at the moment cos of the metronidazole and I’m loving it. I get home light and airy. This evening we zipped through the pointers and then at the top of parliament hill, looking down over the lights of London, a group of Hare Krishna gave us tasty vegetable curry in plastic plates, and a semolina pudding that didn’t match the promise of the curry, but free and given with that kindness that marks an unusual but still very active group of believers. I couldn’t join as it’s too focused and limited, but there’s not much to choose between vibrating the universe through singing “hare rama” etc and vibrating the universe with “immortal invisible” “nam myo ho renge kyo” “om” whatever your noisejam might be. It’s all resonance and shared breath and finding the weight of the silences between.

I’m home now and thinking of the noises I’ll be making on the heath. How will we annoy the local residents this time? Which odd people will start to attach themselves? Will I manage to do it all without drinking? Watch this space kids.

Bathtime.

I was supposed to be taking it easy today. I ended up running around all over the place. Carrying heavy stuff up and down stairs. Driving all around London.

The day started by loading in my first EVER Ocado order. Then at twenty to eleven on a Saturday I correctly gaged it as the right time to go to A&E for something minor. These antibiotics – they’ve been pretty slow in fighting the infection in my gum. 4 days on metronidazole doesn’t seem enough despite the fact it saps my energy. I needed at least one more day to ensure that the course was completed and I wasn’t manufacturing the next generation of bioweapon in my face. Frankly I find erythromycin more effective for dental things, but it isn’t listed as being so. The good thing about this metronidazole is you can’t drink. I would be completely whacked out if I was having alcohol on top of how I’m feeling tonight. The bad thing is, it’s almost as impotent as penicillin these days. Finish your courses, kids!

Half an hour in A&E and I’m in front of a doctor who looks at my gum and agrees with me and grabs two more days from the stash. “Definitely take one more, but the sixth day you might be able to stop. You have to finish the course but this stuff will exhaust you.” She also gives me a pack of codeine. “I know what dental pain is like.” More so than my fucking dentist.

Then I went and got a bed, loaded it into a lift, carried it to the car, shoved it in (just), tied the boot closed with a shoelace, took it home, unloaded it, took it 3 floors in the lift and pulled it up the final one, built a bed, put the mattress on it. Boy helped.

Now I am no longer sleeping on a mattress on the floor. I was drenched in sweat. I had a wash, cooked a chicken korma, went to rehearse the Halloween walk. My legs feel like jelly. I have no desire to be awake. “Just take it easy all day tomorrow,” says Lou and I’m rehearsing from half 3.

I’m just home. Curry was waiting for a quick reheat and it provided a cushion for those pesky antibiotics. Sleep now, thank the lord. I’m pooped. Pain is finally just an occasional background hum, or when I’m biting.

A nice quiet day around the house with Frank and our low level pain. I just attempted my first solid meal with some sausages and mash. Ate it mostly with my mouth at a 90 degree angle, and the whole cooking and eating thing left me feeling pretty whacked out. Most of the day though, as you might expect of me, I’ve been remaining pretty upbeat, to the extent that one dear old friend couldn’t compute why I was being cheerful, as if we all have to be constantly morose when we’re in pain.

One extremely decayed tooth is out. Its neighbour is still trying to kill me, but once my extraction hole is healed I’ll pay someone a ridiculous amount of money to kill the nerve and fill the tooth with non reactive latex. What else did I have to spend my money on, hey? I have been trying to persuade the dentist by phone to give me a prescription for decent painkillers. Before the antibiotics brought down the infection it was a klaxon through max strength ibuprofen and paracetamol. Sadly they are a new dentist to me, and despite obvious pain they were cagey about prescribing anything at all. Fuckers. I don’t know how Tristan got that bottle of morphine from the doc.

I didn’t need it, truth be told, after last night. Still I was using an opportunity to get some in case last night happened again. I like to know there’s something in the house for when I accidently cut my arm off. But yeah, its not their first rodeo so no go bobo.

I was being cheerful through the pain. That’s who I am. It’s a lovely day in October, I’m finally taking action on an ancient series of dental issues, so despite the pain it is progress and progress is good.

Still it is barely 7pm and I’m looking longingly at my bed. The pain is draining over time but I fear I might not have enough antibiotics for the size of the infection. Plus there’s strong emotional bollocks running alongside my day that I won’t write about for fear of exacerbating it. I think that has hugely added to my feeling of being wrung out.

Oof.

I’m just gonna get in a bath, read my kindle and then snuggle with this little sausage.

Oh good heavens. I’m home from a tooth extraction. The anaesthetic is wearing off. But the pain is still there so it is possible, as the dentist observed, that the real source of the pain could be the tooth next to the one he pulled. That tooth had to go for sure. But yet, maybe I’ll have three days more agony to recover from the extraction and then a root canal. The very thought of it is bringing me out in a cold sweat.

The pain was totally gone from the injection so it’s possible that this is just a miserable return of sensation and that things will settle. Everything tastes of blood. I really really am not happy in my own skin at the moment. Thankfully to my huge relief it transpires that the charity auction I thought I was running on Sunday is November 8th not October 8th.

This returning pain is like nothing I have experienced yet. Wowee. Pain is just a warning mechanism etc. But this is not going to be a fun night. No sireee. Fuck.

I’m writing this early as the anaesthetic isn’t even fully worn off yet. I suspect that with an extraction so close to it I can’t get it rooted for a few days. I’m honestly not sure how I’ll manage if it stays at this level. It’s constant and like a clamp. I’m having to work really hard not to tense all the muscles in my face. Oh please let his just be post extraction pain and not that we did the wrong tooth first. Hellfire.

I have a comfortable room and a hot bath is possible. Some form of sleep will come. Oh pain. Oh pain. Oh horrible pain, why so near my brain.

I think the pain might exhaust me towards sleep. Or it might abate. I have some ten year old tramadol from a chef. Might be the time for that? Gods. I’m scared I will run out of stamina and just be a gibbering wreck in 3 three days time if it continues at anything like this level. I’m shivering. Frank is recovering from major surgery in the room next door. What a fucking pair.

owie.

I’m such a wuss. One second I’m blustering around announcing what a high pain threshold I’ve got. Next second I’m laid low by a tooth. Thank God I cleared my diary this week for Frank. If this had happened just a week ago it would have been a disaster. As it is it is just pain. Might affect Halloween walk practice a bit, might make it hard to catch Lou before her tour starts. But I don’t have to start work at 6 tomorrow morning…

So much for the plan where I was gonna be a tower of strength for Frank. You can’t predict toothache. Poor guy has had to put up with my pain for two days, and I’m vocal. Now I can’t stop shaking as soon as I get out of bed.

Antibiotics again soon, and one more ibu and codeine for all the difference they make. Then I’ll try and sleep. Long night ahead. Long few days I fear.

—

Hot bath and time and it has dropped in pitch a little and I fear that it was magnified by returning after the total absence left by the anaesthetic. Life is pain, but we mostly put it to the background. This too shall pass. I’m staying up 2 more hours to have my second dose of antibiotics and then maybe an actual sleep.

Today I woke up in the middle of the night to that old familiar pain. I never made it to Turkey. The tooth that has been the bane of my adult life has started shouting again. I usually have a course of antibiotics handy but I think I’ve lost them. Somewhere I’ve got the entire packet of “that’s what we give for bullet wounds – you’ll only need two max and frankly one will do it.” Good old Doctor Jesus in Tabuk. I’ve had two courses out of him, and taken 3 each time as you never want to make something resistant. Somewhere there’s four more. Hopefully I won’t need them but I fear I might. I’ll rummage later.

There’s really no choice but to bite the bullet. Teeth are teeth are teeth. They are in our face. I’ve avoided spending for too long now. Time to blow my fee from Scotland.

I’m home and it is peaceful. I’m gonna lure Boy into my room with treats as he bonded hard to Frank when I was in Scotland, and Frank can’t have him jumping up. He’s convalescing. Cat energy will be healing. Heavy cat suddenly on the wound will not. So… I’ll try and persuade him that even though I’m just a mattress on the floor that still counts as a bed. He can’t quite compute it at the moment.

Constant pain is tiring, and I’ve been max dosed with the best ones that come over the counter. Frank has been prescribed codeine and doesn’t want it. I’m trying everything I can to get him to let me pick it up rather than let the prescription go to waste. If he doesn’t want it, I do. I’m gonna try to go to sleep soon even though it’s barely 9, but I’m dosed to the max with over the counter stuff and I still can barely think. I’ve located the cipromax so I’ve got big guns if I need them. Somewhere I’ve got a ten year old tramadol. Root canal pain really sucks.

Boy has no desire to sleep with me and is attacking Frank’s closed door. He hates closed doors generally, and particularly if it leads to the room he prefers. My tooth hurts despite maximum dosage. It’s 9pm. I’m going to attempt something like sleep through the pain. Or maybe I should eat a cipromax.

On top of the multistorey car park on Putney High Street there’s a very active car valet service. It ain’t cheap – £38 cash for the whole shebang. But there aren’t enough hours in the day. Bergman was sitting under a pine tree when I was in Aberdeen. His interior bore all the hallmarks of a working car too. Chocolate stains in the seats, toothpicks in the cup holders, coffee stains on the carpet. He needed some tlc.

The clean-up showed lots of new marks. He’s been keyed a bit on the driver’s side, or I pulled in too close to a tree. His sensors are oversensitive so I keep moving when they’re solid beeping. He has picked up wear and tear. I still love him but I feel we might be moving on before long to stay ahead of emissions targets. I’ll have to get him touched up though if I’m gonna get a good price for him. Need to find the log book too.

Today was about reclaiming hospitals as well as getting the car cleaned. A close friend had surgery. They’re keeping him overnight but I arranged to drive him in and then keep him company after he woke. He was groggy but happy it was successful. General anesthetic is a scary thing on its own, and coupled with surgery it can hang over your thoughts in the run up. Despite a very early morning, I was bringing my brightest face. And largely the experience helped me realise hospitals can be a place for getting well again. I’m gonna pick him up at half ten tomorrow in my newly cleaned chariot. Might locate my chauffeurs hat as well. He’ll convalesce here and I’ve largely cleared my diary in case it’s tough and he needs basic help type things done. I’m not certain how much help he’ll need but I’m game to try my best. He’s been a good friend to me lately.

On a run for lunch and snacks I found myself anxious about any decision I made that allocated time to myself. I had to deconstruct the PA habit when, if I’m on a shopping trip, I absolutely have to be as quick as possible. I stopped for a moment and quietly ate my lunch with no sense of hurry. My time is my own again. But I’m still exhausted. Was up at crack of dawn.