annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


15th Feb

Today I just feel overwhelmed with sorrow that Caroline Flack took her own life. I don't usually get upset over celebrities dying (apart from Bowie), but this has really touched me. She was young, only 40, younger than Sam, and seemed so full of life and laughter. I feel for her family and I feel for her, that this seemed like the best choice she had, that she had no faith that it would pass. 

It was a Son Saturday, a day when he came to see his therapist which happens every two weeks at the moment, followed by have lunch somewhere, usually at Billie's these days, a cafe I took Ligia to twice, by accident, what with having a crap memory and thinking we'd gone somewhere else the first time. It's cool though. Has the same menu and decor as when I first went there in about 1990 and you often have to wait for a table. I remembered that's where he likes to go and only had a piece of toast for breakfast - aha good memory... 

I like that he chooses to spend time with me when he comes down. We talk a lot, about how we're doing, the state of the world, books, music, films, telly, gossip. About the rights and wrongs of minor infringements of the law, currently around parking, which we disagree on - he (and his sister) are big 12 steppers, which includes a promise to always do the right thing, to not take short cuts, especially illegal ones no matter how minor. Yawn. I'm not a 12 stepper and I can make my own decisions, actually. So we tend to start our meetings with the same old same old about the parking and I always give in, because he won't, he absolutely won't, and we have limited time. I spoke to my councillor about it, who thinks that it's about trying to keep as many things as possible safe and controlled, when that's hard, what with dying sisters and vile politicians and good flats turning out to be covered in mould. But we're cut from the same cloth, me and my boy. Today we were talking about politics and someone was mentioned - I can't even remember who it was, someone in politics or a journalist - but we both said, vehemently, at the same time, "Cunt!" the kind of timing that kids say "Jinxed!" after, but not usually about the word cunt spoken in an inter-generational context. So we both laughed and were pleased to be us, which was good. 

I'm trying not to do walking, or not to force myself when I'm tired which has been all this week at least. And I feel saddened that I can't take any pleasure in gardening any more. Growing plants to eat or to make a place beautiful has given me so much since I first got into it in 1986, halfway through doing my degree. I can't do it with Bloke - I can't bear even that much sharing with him. The garden was why we bought this place - 90' by 30' which is massive for a cheap house in the UK. But I can't. I don't know if I wish I could soften up and do it with Bloke - it's some kind of measure of where I am with him - the very thought of mellowing towards him, even to make a garden... No. 

I just read Three Hours by Rosamund Lupton, which is fucking gripping.

Really I should go to be instead of typing odd sentences to see if they provoke a paragraph. I like this time after Bloke has gone to bed - it's the only time I feel alone in the house. But yeah, bed. Good night xx

12:57 a.m. - 16.02.20


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