annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 239

Too late again, too late for an old woman like me to be up just starting to write a blog. There's David Bowie on TV playing China Girl on The Serious Moonlight tour which is fucking forever ago - 1980s perhaps. He looks terrible, yellow bleached hair, red face and all that, but is utterly brilliant and wonderful, of course. It makes me want to sort my music out. I used to have all his stuff on vinyl but haven't had a deck for years and ended up selling all my albums when I had my benefits cut off one year when the kids were small.

Ah well. It's very distracting - I had a little pipe just for the hell of it and I keep getting drawn into what a fucking fab gig this is and how Bowie was such a powerful performer with a range of songs that is hard to believe.

But I am recording it to watch another day when I'm not trying to write a blog post before I go to bed. Today was hard, again. Richard came and grouted the tiles in the kitchen and then packed up all his gear and that's it, job done. So now we just have to get everything back on the walls, all the shelves and hanging rails, so the implements can get off the table and into their proper places. Bloke has suddenly found a strong but slow-moving urge to have everything sanded and varnished before it goes up and I'm too exhausted to respond with anything other than a big sigh.

I have a set of shelves that are quite unattractive but have a history that makes me value them more highly than he can understand. When I first left Sammie's dad I had no money at all, and in the flat I finally moved into my books were piled up against the wall for months and were likely to have stayed there until one of my pals, Bob, turned up one night with a load of bricks and planks he'd stolen from a building site. So they made basic brick and plank shelves, then a couple of years later another mate. Clive, brought his tools round and made it into a bookcase, very rough and ready until even more years later Dot's dad (and my pal) Mike, got a jigsaw and asked if he could practise by shaping the ends into nice curves, which he did. So I like my shelves, they speak to me of times past, of getting by with a little help from my friends. If Bloke really doesn't like them I can have them in my bedroom but let's have a decision.

I wish I had a wall to practise using a drill on. I used one once at our last house on the beach, probably in 1993, and I didn't hold it properly so it spun about and created a massive shallow hole over a wide area in no time at all, and Bloke grabbed it off me and said he'd do it. I should have said no, fucker, show me how to do it properly as then I'd be able to put all the shit up without having to wait for him. I don't want it enough to risk spoiling all the nice paintwork, but I'm not promising I never will be that impatient.

I went for a walk up the river with my pal M who's a special needs consultant and knows loads about autism and the spectrum. I told her about all that that I blogged about Bloke last night and she was very encouraging about the idea of pursuing a diagnosis. The website was also encouraging about this - it was a section for partners of people on the spectrum and had a whole load of advice under the heading 'broaching the subject' but it makes me feel so tired.

Three good things:
1. Watching the water flowing upstream on the river as the tide was coming in. We were about six miles inland so it just seemed a rural scene but with this weird shit going on with the water.
2. Spending time with M, who is just lovely and, I realise, one of my oldest friends. We met in 1985, so that's cool.
3. Having resisted eating a couple of times despite feeling a bit hungry. I'm a hair's breath away from being under 14 stone for the first time since shortly after I stopped smoking in 2015

10:57 p.m. - 08.11.20


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