Hhhhyup...
Well, I got 50 minutes spare while I'm converting Jeff's step-step-mother's daughter's wedding video. That barely makes sense to me either, welcome to Pembrokeshire kids. Anyway, I didn't know they made valve-operated cameras with firewire ports but it seems they did and it only took three days to get the video off.
Note to self: Stop telling people "yeah mate, should be easy." Have we not learned yet? When it should be easy is when it's hardest. It's the scary hard stuff that's all over and done with and you go "well, that wasn't as bad as I expected." 30 years man, get a clue. Full stop.
Haaaa, so. Hmmmm. What was I whining about last time? Oh yeah bad sleeping. Well I went to the Doc's and he diagnosed me with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I laughed but it turned out he wasn't joking. He said he'd have to sign me off for like YEARS and I said I really didn't want to be branded with the "weakling sicky puller" brand if he put that down so he went with neurasthenia which is a word that hasn't meant anything for a hundred years now. Nervous Exhaustion is about the best parallel. So, he gave me pills, despite me saying "no medication please." They're not bad but they're not right either, they're sedatives, the idea being I'm tired but my brain is too busy to shut down so if we sedate me... yup, you see the line of reasoning, I'll slip off to the land of nod.
Worked for about 4 days, now I take a pill, feel really sleepy till 4 or 5AM and then Morpheus pops out from under the bed and goes "sleepy sleepy!" So, I dunno, it's either I don't need sedation OR 6 months of living in a morphine coma has left me the ability to ignore sedation. If it's the second can I claim it as a superpower? At least I'm getting up somewhere before the 1st world cup game each day now. I have a suspicion that's more me than the drugs tho.
While we're on the subject... Fussball OVERLOAD! I'm gonna be the first to throw my hands up in the air here and say "Club Football is boring and stupid!" but I usually love internationals 'cos, you know, people doing it for the honour, not the cash. Wicked! I got a digression going on, let me rein that bad boy in.
I've only missed three games so far and I could happily miss all the rest now. Too much fucking fussball! I don't care, take my fucking membership of the "Man Club" and rip it into tiny pieces, call me a girly-girl-with-the-boobs-and-everything, see if I care. No man can be expected to watch more than, I dunno, what's a good number? Let's say 3, no more than 3 games a week before he can legitamately claim "I'm really fucking bored now, can we get to the knockout stages already?"
3 a DAY?!?!?! No, sorry, I just can't concentrate anymore, I spent the whole of Holland Vs Ivory Coast fantasising how good an aquaintance's girlfriend would look in nothing but stockings, high heels, a ponytail and a pout. This leads to awkward sitting and is noticeable, especially in pubs, even more especially if she notices and starts grinning. So avoid, just advice, not a command.
30 minutes to go...
Unnngh, S'OK, lots of people have been asking me how I'm finding Milford now I've come back and I think the best answer I've given so far is...
"if you'd asked me ten years ago I'd have told you the place was small, stupid, boring and dull. Now I'm older and wiser and it's quiet, full of very funny people, surrounded by achingly beautiful countryside and is one of the last places in Britain where people still live in harmony with the land. It's an awe inspiring place and I guess I had to leave b4 I could see that"
I was trying to get in her pants at that point (a gentleman never confirms nor denies) so please ignore the romantic novel sorta phrasing. It is essentially true but in the best tradition of WhineJournal I'm gonna now whine about the bad bits. I know 4 people down here now. 4 fucking people. One of them is a weed-addict in denial who really does go thru physical withdrawal if he doesn't get a spliff. I thought that shit was a rumour but no, turns out it's true. One is a mate's ex who believes that it's fun and cute to spot the issue that is gnawing people alive at night and making sly, pointed comments about it at unexpected intervals and then grinning like "who, me?" I don't care her estranged fucking step-dad popped his clogs this year and her mum is very sad. Life sucks as a rule, to stop it sucking takes some effort and strength of mind, not offloading your fucking issues all over other people when you feel like it, get over it before I slap you. I haven't actually said that because I'm not actually into mind-raping people for shits and giggles, I just give her the finger every time she pulls that shit on me, I'm noticing it less and less.
Yeah, so, I'm not gonna be knocking on that door looking for the fun times and the giggles I think...
The other two are an aquaintance and his girlfriend (yeah that one) who keeps flirting with me 'cos she's sick of her boyfriend and she's fancied me since I was nineteen and oh, looky! It's like "I wish someone would turn up out of the blue and rescue me from this life of misery and boredom... Helllll-LO Rob, long time no see, didn't you grow up hot?" I trust my instincts, they are sharp and well-honed and things of that nature. So, obviously, knocking on the door and asking if she fancies a walk on the coastal path with all it's dramatic, tempestous scenery and little private spots where two naked bodies can stay for quite a while unnoticed? Probably not fucking wise.
The aquaintance is sound enough that I have real issues about screwing his girlfriend but on the other hand, he really doesn't deserve a girlfriend that hot and if he can't actually see that the ONLY reason they are together is 8 years old and such a sweet kid, well, he deserves to lose her. Don't get me wrong I like the guy but he is a total football nerd, he's proud of the fact he's been on the dole for Christ alone knows how many years now and even prouder he refused any jobstart course that didn't have at least an oblique reference to football. Is it just me or if you're in your mid to late twenties with a kid and you still haven't made it to playing for a fucking conference team at least, is it not time to accept the dream is over and 1st thought is feeding the kid by any means possible? Hmmm, anyway, anyone who has seen me screaming into the night because I'm so fucking useless and I can't do anything about it, or has read those little dark moments where I questioned what is the point of even being alive if all you can achieve is getting out of bed 1 day a week, those people can perhaps see why I like the guy but don't think much of him.
The next door neighbours seem like sound people except the Rob-Sense keeps tingling, "self-serving fuckwit who'd stab your grandmother with a 5 foot blade because his grandmother is standing right behind her and he wants the inheritance, not need, just want." You know what I mean, when you've got no reason to think "Twat" and yet! U still do...
There's a few other people I know down here, Andy should be OK but I pissed off a lot of his friends and he's not the strongest minded individual so no doubt "on the street" conversations will be rare and kinda weird. All the others are small minded "never left town never will" idiots with huge opinions and small self images. I told them all to go fuck themselves when I thought the next stop on the Rob train was Tartarus and just because the Rob train detoured on the Life-line for a while doesn't mean I'm changing my opinion of them. If I'm reduced to knocking on those doors, I might just as well tattoo "country fuckwit" on my forehead and be done with it.
Edit: Forgot Jeff! Jeff's sound, this is why I live with him. 'Nuff said.
20 minutes.
I've run out of things to whine about...
Oh! No I haven't.
Women down here. Don't be getting the Rob all wrong, I think I've mentioned before, this sector of the country throws up some right beauties and the Rob has seen sights recently that has made him want to claw his eyes out so she would be the last thing he'd ever seen. Thing is, Jesus I thought city women were hard work but the real scarcity of men worth a shit down here seems to have driven them all a bit out of balance. I was out and about the other day, started chatting to "what seemed like" a nice lass on the street, got a bit flirty and fun, looking great AND THEN? She starts like making me work really hard just to get her name. No, not like "I ain't giving you my name you fucking weirdo" just trying to be cute and difficult. Which was funny until she dragged it out too long and all I could think is "yeah, with all the amazing male potential round here, you're making ME jump thru hoops just for your NAME? You're the kind of girl that wants a dishwasher in return for a blowjob..." I wrote it off as "this is why she's single" and remembered something I had to do like, right then and there, somewhere else.
Actually this is something I've been thinking of a lot, no not girls, well yes girls but shut up, I'm concentrating here. The quiet and solitude down here gives me even more time to think, (sweet Jesus NO!) except for one little thing. I don't get interrupted as much. Well no fucker can interrupt you when you're 14 miles away from the nearest mobile phone mast with your MP3 Player on full and sitting on the very tip of a spur of basalt spitting a mile out to sea. So, instead of doing all that circular thinking, coming back to the same points and dwelling on them until someone knocks on the door and puts a spliff in my hand completely killing the bubble, I actually get a chance to bust those "dwelling issues" like an exploded diagram. I get to examine all the parts in intricate and, sometime, painful detail and then put them back together again, cleaner, better, more efficient. A lot of shit that's been poured in agony into these pages is now handled, not all of it, you can't stop being in denial about everything you're in denial about all at once, fuck, tried that once, fell over.
Perversely, there's no way I could have become this annoyed and this dedicated to the cause of getting up again without the trip into the 14th century that is moving home. I know in my heart I can never live in a city again, I don't know how I coped without the sea and the cliffs. Without the fields and the untamed woods. Concrete has no soul. That always makes me think of the saddest thing I ever saw which was in Cardiff. Back in the Victorian era they were mad for planting the trees in pavements, I think the french did it first and they were all "Fuck you froggies! Anything you can do and all that. Top hole! Tally ho!" So anyway, all the cities have got Victorian terraces with these hundred year old trees blessing them with their benevolence. Or at least, they did. 'Cos modern councils, being made up of modern dead-head fuckwits, decided trees, right? Trees, they get in the way of modern progress and we must chop them down. So yeah, in a street in Cardiff somewhere, can't quite remember, there's one tree left, right in the middle of the street. Alone. Surrounded by concrete. Alive but something about the way the branches hang and the canopy droops towards the ground in lonely defeat. I'm not 100% sure it wouldn't be happy to feel the axe. So sad...
Yay! The video is done, oh wait, I've got to wait 6 hours for the software to build the DVD to download. Bollocks to it, I really wanted to go for a walk in the sun too. Ah well, that's what Sundays are for I guess.
So where was I? Oh yeah, I really need to talk to you Claire 'cos you've got some experience of what I want to talk about and it isn't male-female dynamics this time although that is an interesting subject. I've got a wacky idea and you're the one I need to talk to. Don't worry, I'm much more focused with the stuff I wanna talk about.
7 Hours?!?! OK, screw this, I'm going out. :D