Tuesday

Warning, this post includes repeated episodes of self pity and references to the mess I've managed to make of my mouth. It also rambles a bt - blame the Cocodamine.

I watched part one of the BBC drama about the Bloomsbury group last night, I actually quite enjoyed it, even if it was a little self consious and nobody had any visible means of support or social responsibility towards anyone except themselves. I thought it was an interesting diversion, I liked the time-slip technique and everyone looked 'real', Duncan Grant turns out to be an even bigger slut that I imagined, and as such - far more believable. I'm quite sure I've met him or people like him. Frequently.

I managed to finish watching 'Cordon' - the Dutch drama / horror about a contained disease outbreak in Antwerp - I really enjoyed it and I'm not surprised that it's already being re-made for American Television as 'Containment'. I doubt that they will get it right - it was an very challenging and intriguing concept - and oddly, not a million miles away from a joke/speculative idea I had for a film a few months ago based on the Barbican estate in London - which gets cordoned off after a disease outbreak - a Barbican being a fortified tower  (see what I did there!!) - the drama being the question over which was really the right side to be on. My exciting foray into film lasted about as long as 3 pints of lager and then I went home and did something else, probably went to bed.

One of the odd things that I've noticed about my current predicament is how people have reacted. Some people have kept a very obvious distance, others have been uexpectedly warm and kind. It hasn't worked out how I expected at all. I suppose it's been an education and usefull to know. I've also become aware of vultures flying about, ready to pick off any work I can't complete - the joy of being a self employed consultant.

I know I've been massively grumpy recenty - I'm just grumbling. I didn't sleep well again last night and I'm gearing up to go to hospital shortly. I loathe being unwell and I'm starting to think that this must be what it's like to be old. When I went to the Maxio-Facial clinic last week there were two doctors, a nurse and a consultant who all came and had a look at me in turn, chatted amongst themselves and talked 'at' me - not in a bad way, they didn't mean any harm and I didn't need anyone to hold my hand, but I felt like a 'thing' - and it was frightening. I found myself being uncharacteristically meek and passive, I'm seeing the same consultant later and I'm already practising how I'm going to point out that nobody in the last 3 weeks has noticed that my cheek is broken and the bone moves about when you prod it. I'll try to be assertive without being cocky. I've come to realise that the expression on the face of the young girl who struggled to sew up my mouth in A&E was actually not concern, but more a case of 'what the fuck an I supposed to do with this"

I've a couple of wounds that are covered with quite large scabs that have just reached that final stage before they heal where they are painful, itchy and burning. It's amazing how distracting they are.


Now that Alfie Greyhound has settled into a fog of mild senility - his new favourite thing is to suddenly need to go to the toilet in the middle of the road. Repeated episodes of me dragging a reluctant, squatting dog out of the path of a speeding car are getting wearing.

On Wednesday evening - I'm determined to help out at an event in the theatre space below my studio. It's organised by the Writer Paul Burston and is a six month Arts Council funded monthly residency for the promotion of writing and publishing in the LGBT arena - I worked the last one, making sure nobody got lost in the building or fell down the stairs - and hopefuly I'll be doing this one too. One of the authors will be David MacAlmont who had a brief but spectacular pop career with Bernard Butler fron the group Suede. As long as I don't have any more stitches 'outside'  my mouth and just 'inside'  I'll be fine. I actualy think they are going to tell me to accept my new mouth the way it is - I'm kinda inclined to agree - they have already admitted they could end up making me look much worse. I've already found myself unconcioiusly biting my lip to hide it and talking out of one side of my mouth. I knew someone once who was so embarassed by a rogue tooth  (really not that bad ) that he taught himself to talk, smile and laugh without ever showing his teeth - until he had very expensive dental work in his 40's. I presume this gave him a new lease of life, which unfortunatly included dumping me.