Updated

I'm glad it's sunny.
A light on.

My mind feels like it's a mosaic. Fragments.
Fragile.
Handle carefully.

On way back from station tears dropped.
Delusions of the darker kind.
So utterly tired of winter, people, the never endingness of mazes.

But after a shower I expect I'll pick up.
I have the back door open, letting in cold air and sunlight. An hour ago I fed the birds barefoot, not because I didn't want to mess my slippers but because I wanted the brown endless earth to shock.

After talking on the phone with W.C.C man Phil, I felt a little better. Calling the Head of Housing by his first name kind of takes the sting out of going over and over and over the same bloody stuff. He even asked how I was, I lied...
After I hung up I felt satisfied that another irritation had dissolved so made yet another pot of tea. 

I've changed bags, made up my face, scented my body with Opium and will now boil a couple of Mother Eggs.

17:15...

Just as I was about to make a flan mother yelled. So I left the safety of the kitchen and ran into the front room. She had been sick.
A mad dash flurry of activity ensued, on my part naturally, she, being pale and exhausted . leant as I told her against the bathroom sink.
Why am I blogging about this? Because it's sweet release. 


She has just told me that her pork chop needn't be cooked but  that I was to roast mine.
I'm not in the mood for a bit of a dead pig.
I didn't tell her this of course, I just left her in the arms of Bradley Walsh and his Chase.
If I'm lucky I'll get to do the ironing which I should have done this morning.

Reminder List of The Good Stuff:

Wetherspoons in Leigh on Sea. Book lined shelves and a jolly decent Chicken burger. Life's not all about napkins and tips.

Red lipstick. God it looks divine.

St Clement's Roulade.The making thereof sometime next week.

Roast Beef. Sunday. Roasted and fat and bloody and glistening with oil. Mmmmm baby. Kill that cow now.

Silent men. Oooozing promise by a tongue left still. Yipppee.

My clear complexion.

30 tummy scrunchies on the kitchen floor whilst listening to Woman's Hour.

Masterchef.

The book of Job.

Kevin the cat from over the road. His timely afternoon visit to the conservatory made me laugh. Cheers Kev. 

Mr H's telephonic reminder that tomorrow is Sainsbury's Day. No wonder I have a barrel load of boyfriends.

My playfully dark sense of humour...

Now I must check on Mother's bib and then make a nice apple flan..



Bye bye