I could scream but I won't. I'll stick with what's been occurring. I'm very twitchy though - going to have a 'fasting' blood test in the morning so haven't been able to eat since 8.30 this evening. AND I'M HUNGRY. If I'd known it was going to make me this cross I'd have blogged earlier but too late now.

So. Yesterday evening there was a ring on the doorbell, some bloke who flashed police ID at me and asked if I'd been aware of an 'incident' out the front at 3 am Friday night/Saturday morning. No, I was asleep, goodbye, end of. You'd think. But ten minutes later Sarah (the woman across the hall) is there, asking me if I thought he was a real copper, was it fake ID and all kinds of malarkey that I couldn't really be arsed to even think about. All I knew was I'd been considering having a pipe (of weed) before the bell went so I'd been quite glad to have not got around to it as the current stuff is very smelly and I'd have been busted bang to rights as soon as I opened the door. So I mumbled a bit and she went away but was back later on to say she hadn't been able to let it lie and had phoned the police station who said there hadn't been an incident in our street last night and there wasn't a detective going round doing house-to-house so they sent round a couple of uniformed ones to ask her all about it. Blimey.

When I thought about it, a while ago there'd been a burglary across the road and it was uniform who came round asking questions and they didn't want my name, which this bloke had done, but I can't think what he was hoping to gain. Neither me or Sarah have any possessions that have any resale value worth bothering about. No technology that isn't knackered, no jewellery that cost as much as a tenner - I did have a lovely pair of silver earrings that LA gave me but one fell out and was lost during The Great Earring Fuckery of this summer, when I lost one of every pair of earrings I possess.

So, apart from that (sorry, I should mention that I read an article recently ranting against the use of 'So' to start sentences (it's a conjunction for fuck's sake, was the gist of it (and now I've got two sets of brackets open, shit, that makes three - I think I'm going to have to bail out on this paragraph...

So. I moved the furniture round today, which was a right to do, and I've still got a million things to either throw away or find a home for and to be honest I could walk away from the whole fucking lot - it's all just stuff and I cannot for the life of me apportion value in ascending or descending order. I'm sixty now and there's fuck all here that I had when I was thirty - I had a different pile of crap then. Some books, that's all. A few photos.

I've just bought a book for my kindle called "The Year of Reading Dangerously: How Fifty Great Books Saved My Life" by Andy Miller. It'll be there already, when I turn it on. Sometimes I look at this world - we don't know where we are, do we, spoiled rotten, everything there at the click of your fingers. Photos. Taken this today, looked at in America this evening. Or I'll be complaining - the fucking camera won't work, or the internet...

I walked by the sea yesterday, quite grumpy because it was cold and I was alone and lonely and resentful of the obligation I feel to look after my health by walking 6,000 steps every day, but the light was lovely, in fact kept changing from one kind of lovely to another:









then today Bloke and I walked across the lock gates to the other side of the harbour arm, which was the first time I've ever been there:



Grateful for: friends; family; furniture; furry slippers; free blood tests

Sleep tight xxx