Sunday, 8 March 2015


Yesterday was my mate Ian's 50th Birthday Party. He's 2 years older than me. I moan and fret about my age - he doesn't. In the last 2 years he's married (for the first time) become a father (ditto) and bought a big house. There is hope for me yet.

His party was a joint affair with another 50 year old, it was an afternoon thing - they hired out the local independent cinema and showed films - with food and beer. I arrived 5 mins into 'Lift to the scaffold' - one of my favourite films - it was already full - so I had to stand at the back. 2 hours later I was in great pain. I gave him his present and left.

I have spent the day listing things on ebay and cataloguing books to sell. It's exhausting. It has also been really stressful. Yesterday I had a candid conversation with a dealer about selling some of my better furniture. That hurt. To be fair - once I decide to do something, I can be ruthless. There are a lot of things I bought with my X, in a way they have felt like dragging a corpse in a sack around with me. I'm probably better off without them. I need the money more than the memories.

In an amusing interlude. A friend has uncovered a scam of monumental proportions. A person has been masquerading as the wife of a very famous 60's actor (who now lives quietly and in some financial distress in central London), they have been running a web page and facebook fan group - totally bogus, quite insane and a screaming fantasist with sinister overtones. The fallout has been amusing.

The weather was lovely yesterday - and this morning, senile greyhound lay on a duvet in the garden for a couple of hours - he was happy.

I walked through the Old Town yesterday during the sunny afternoon 'shopping and drinking' period. There were an astonishing number of hipster types - most significantly, men with beards and waxed moustaches that had little curls at the end. Fucking ridiculous. They all looked the same.

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