Life Reboot

A few things have changed:

1. I’ve got a flat
2. I now have broadband (don’t ask, oh, ok, go on, ask)
3. I’ve packed in cigarettes. Again. Please God.
4. I’ve eaten healthily. Today.
5. I call “time-out” on chats with my ex before they become arguments

It is of course, time to grow up. One other thing I’ll probably do is cut down on the swearing. In fact, I’ve already done that to some extent. I’ve just trawled through this entire page and found it reasonably devoid of vitriol. Well, by my standards anyway. Which of course, are a degree, but no more, above sub-neanderthal.

My life is getting a re-boot. You should have seen the pile of papers that I threw out! I had a folder from the day my father died that grew and grew, and stopped growing once I had handled the probate, the will, the estate, the Revenue, the creditors, the beneficiaries, the mortgage company, the managing agents, the solicitors, yes, the list is endless. This file took up a third of an archive box. Maybe 500 pages or more of material. I dumped all bar 5 pages.

All my receipts and most of my phone bills and statements went too. Anything related to my involvement with the community I used to belong to, pretty much all of that got binned. I filled two blag bin bags with paperwork. It was impressive. I figured that since the filing cabinet had been pre-emptively trashed, I might as well follow through and discard the detritus that after yet another move, would have been re-housed with nary a glance at the contents. The cycle had to be interrupted. I am lighter, but I must get lighter still.

The great book give-away has started. I have piles and piles of good books in great condition - if you know me at all, you know the condition in which my stuff is kept - if you want any of these, pop over and just take them. There’s some good stuff there. Most of it in fact, is expensive and good. I don’t want it because I’ve either read it, or don’t want to read it. And I simply can’t be bothered to sell it. So if you want some of it, come over!

A dear, dear, dear friend sent me this text last December, which I prize and which has in its own way, helped me over the last six months when I felt groundless:

Hope everything went well! You have courage in your convictions, proud to call you a friend. Those who point their fingers at you, fuck them

Fuck them indeed. Except that now, nobody is really pointing fingers and if they were, I would no longer notice. If you’ve got time to take out of your own valuable life to point fingers, then good luck to you. Only don’t be surprised when I no longer take time out of mine to notice. Some things have changed. And it’s about time.

***

I saw my girls today. I picked them up from school, and you should have seen them run towards me in the playground. If I could only describe to you how a father feels when his child runs towards him with sheer joy. Sometimes I mentally pinch myself, surely, this love is not for me? What did I do to earn this?

I took them to JJ Toys, Gap and the sweet shop. Then we took a tube and a bus to my place in Cricklewood. (My home. It’s good to have a home. Don’t take it for granted.) We got bagels, pasties, cookies and browsed around a few local shops. If you know Cricklewood, you’ll remember that the local facilities aren’t much to write home about. Which is just as well because if you live there, it would be stupid to write home, you might as well just walk back.

My eldest, get this, is recreating a scene from Macbeth with papier mache. When I was a boy, we were lucky just to read Macbeth before secondary school. My youngest did some homework and showed me her growing pile of Pokemon cards. Worrying. Weren’t these things supposed to have gone out of fashion? They’re £2.75 for a packet of 9! Of course, children don’t get that. Why should they? It’s only money! It took me 39 years to learn the value of money.

I made them dinner then dropped them home by bus.

***

I was hoping to try out StreetCar in order to visit Ikea and pick up some more bookcases. I was at Maida Vale and wanted some place slightly north of me, but hopefully, not too far from Cricklewood. The nearest one, as I suspected, was at West Hampstead.

“Is there an automatic there?” I asked the Australian rep (London has become utterly besieged by Ozzies)
“Err, no, we have just the one car at West Hampstead and it’s out, sorry”
Not easily deterred, I continued “Fine, so when’s it back?”
“Erm, tomorrow 9a.m.”

Great. They have a branch at Camden and another at Bayswater. I just took a bus home. I think I’ll retrieve my deposit from this slightly worse than useless outfit and use it to service my bicycle.