annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Wednesday morning at 3 am

Last night before I went to bed I transferred the money for my therapy session to the therapist's account and set my alarm for the crack of sparrow's fart, having arranged with Bloke that I could take his car. I woke up at about 3 am for a wee and had a sudden revelation that we weren't meeting this week. Or were we? Where was my diary? I still use a paper diary as I lose my phone quite regularly, but where the fuck is it at the tail end of Christmas week?  After scrabbling about through piles of books and papers all over the fucking house I found it at the bottom of a bag full of art materials for a thing I chickened out of at the last minute. I was wide awake by this time and quite relieved to discover I'd been right - NO THERAPY - written in caps against 29/12. But also - I could have remembered this on Tuesday perhaps. 

Whatever, I went back to sleep and had lovely dreams of the kind I wish I'd written down as soon as I woke up as all I have left now is a kind of warm sensation. Better than nothing, I suppose.

First day of post for what seems like forever, usually brings late posted Christmas cards from my most disorganised of mates but today it was a fucking £100 fine for parking outside the lines of a marked parking bay down by the harbour, the industrial part, at 4.30 in the afternoon, nearly dark in December, when no other fucker was there and if anyone did turn up there are at least thirty bays, but hardly anyone does come then as I know because I often go there at that time and I'd even bought a fucking ticket but still have a £100 fine. Sorry for the endless, ranting sentence but, honestly, I'm so pissed off, and I've already had one run-in with the port authority over parking - they don't back down so I'll have to pay it. Meh. 

To cheer myself up I borrowed Bloke's car - a bit anxiety-provoking as it's a brand new thing he's leasing and I'd much rather drive an old shitter--

I'm interrupting this to say I've got Lady Gaga at the BBC on the telly in the background, most of which is footage from her Glasto set in 2009 - why didn't I see her then? I'm enjoying it now anyway and yes, I am on the right track baby, I was born this way. (See also Shirley Bassey, I am what I am (and Chesney, lovely Chesney, I am the one and only)) Those brackets remind me that the best thing I've read today was this sentence from Daniel Lavelle, writing in the Guardian about surviving being brought up in care and being homeless: 

One teacher – let’s call him Mr X – remarked that my grasp of grammar was “limp-wristed in the extreme”. (Mr X, if you are reading this, I started this sentence with a bracket, just for you – and now I am not going to close it.

I fucking love that, even as, or maybe especially as, an ex-English teacher. I know what cunts some teachers can be.

Anyway, back to me and the dog and Bloke's shiny new car, off to the woods at the top of the hill, muddy as fuck, but I had my wellies on and found a stick to lean on crossing the slippery downhill bits and the sun was low in the sky and the air was fresh and I felt blessed to be me and to have access to such beauty and grateful to Dangerspouse for telling me how to share photos because in the end here are some that I think are worth sharing, of how lush it was:

and we found a dew pond, which I'm a bit obsessed with, god knows why, but they please me a lot:

12:42 a.m. - 30.12.21

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