annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 113

Why am I (half) watching Touching The Void when a blogmate I've become very attached to is a climber? Yes, you, You be careful, ya hear?

So, my bad leg hurts like fuck. I had a codeine tablet when I went to bed last night, which knocked me right out, then this morning I went to the chemist who said it looked all right to her, but I'm anxious about infection so I bought an iodine patch which I've put on for a couple of days, just in case. But it hurts like fuck. Did I say that? Because it does. I've been doing paracetamol  but the last one's worn off and I'm leaving it as late as possible before taking another. Big sigh, big fucking sigh. And it turns out I fell onto a flowerpot that Bloke had moved from under the hedge and left in the middle of the path, so it's his fault not my dear little dog's. Nor mine, either, obviously, as nothing is my fault, ever.

So, first of a new batch of Thursday writing group, with the same tutor and one of the same writers. The tutor continues to irritate me, but I still like the group and the writing that emerges from it, mostly. Today's first exercise annoyed me though. What's the most expensive habit you've developed as an adult that you've been unable to give up? That put my back up and I wrote this, which is an exaggeration of my situation, but might not have been for all she knew:

Well, darlings, that's the wrong question for me. I've been hovering around the breadline since I last worked in 2007, till my pension came through this March and here I am, blowing it on writing courses and online painting. I can tell you what I've managed to live without in that time - clothes from proper shops, books when they're published, holidays, meals out, National Trust - man, I can't even remember how I used to live. I held on to smoking for much too long - a pouch of baccy felt like a life line between me and the real world. But you don't need much, it turns out. I haven't been hungry, though sometimes cold and you stop thinking about what you can't do. There's always something just out of reach for everyone - I bet Jeff Bezos* wishes he could afford a bigger Caribbean island...

*I always used to say Richard Branson, who did have an island. Fuck knows what, if anything, that psychotically greedy cunt Bezos can't afford.

Then we were asked to write about a memorable conversation and I wrote about Daughter and I on the beach yesterday. For the last part she showed us the Robert Frank photo New Orleans Trolley

and asked us to write about what we saw, without turning it into a story. She bunged us a new word every few minutes - Space; topography; spatial distance; shape; time. There are six of us in the group, four from the US, one Australian living in the UK and me. Not one of the writers from the US mentioned race. The Ozzie and I both related almost everything back to it. I don't know what to make of this. We were then asked to write a short reflective piece and two of them did reflect on the back of the bus aspect, but two of them stuck with the photo as a collection of shapes. Depressing, in the end. Black lives matter, but not to everyone.

This evening I did the Picasso self-portrait workshop which was very hard, as I'm too tired but too daft to just go to bed :78EB8D3E-6071-4E67-B893-9AD83825E508

I do quite like it.

Today I am grateful for: acupuncture; painting; iodine; friends; writing

Night night. xxx

12:20 a.m. - 03.07.20


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