Saturday Mourning

I am merely mourning my temporary lack of funds. But I have a master plan that will soon abort this status. I won't say what that is. Not just because I have been slagged off enough by spiteful C**ts (well just the one) for being broke, and not working in a factory or for an agency, for I wont, I am a superstar, secretly so, so far, but because I firmly believe in the possibility that if you talk, or write about your plans, ideas and impending actions, there ends the the drive to see it through, because its just been spat out on ears that don't give a shit what you do. Well, my lad is happily playing with those little spiky bricks and making a bridge, and now saying, 'mum, come 'ere, please' in the most affectionate way. Go on kid, drop them H's all over the town like bombs on the posh mums that surround me near and far in this cosy corner of the town where we live. I am lucky being near the river, and lucky that when the chance provides I can roll out of bed into a shop that sells more than just newspapers and oysters. I said to that council, I said, 'Give me that one!!!!!!' and pointed at this here homestead. Well, I think my melancholic feeling has lifted - a bit of vodka spliced with some red vit c, and some good sleep, following a few laughs or rather sniggers, at Partridge re-runs, AND, Jack Dee and his some how adorable self on the channel four quiz - (I think I am falling in love with many comedians at the moment NOT the Partridge one though, thanks) I feel OK. 'Cetp - Baby lad is going to be picked up by his dad soon, and taken to his house where awaits his little brother, literally by another mother. So after that I can sleep, practice my jazz set, or get out there in the pre-season streets, and strut about abit until I get depressed and start craving my first drink of the evening. Oh Lord, who designed my troubled soul - what shall it be?


Come on dad of my son, get here then, take my gorgeous glowing little lumpet then : ( & : (
but also : ) & ; )

'cause I don't get no breaks. Well not regularly. x

Friday Friday should be my day

I have just rescued myself 3 for 5 vodka and cranberrys for my Friday night in. My good friend J___ is coming round so that we can smoke and talk and watch Eastenders. I am planning to put on the scary thing at nine o'clock as I know J____ doesnt much like horror, but she is quite sweet when scared or whatever. Anyway, my son aged 3 is fast asleep on the sofa, and has been ill lately, so I have to spirit the little man up to his bed without waking him from his baby dreams - who knows what these consist of - Bob the builder stealing his mummy and turning all the lights off? Pingu crying and not stopping? He did mention to me today that Pingu was sad, and indeed, the little plasticine bugger was crying great big plasticine tears. I feel crap, because my first crappy roll up of the day (it is 19:21) tasted like shit, and the dead man on the packet wasn't too encouraging - I honestly thought it was a fat woman on a sunbed at first, and I thought, 'how incredibly cryptic the government are these days'. But no, further inspection yielded for me a dead man, who while not at all looking like my big brother, reminded me of him and his 1000 a day habit, and in dispair with a low, softly thudding heart, I rolled my rollup and lit the thing taking a little slug of V&C. I really do think that I am getting a bit bored of this melancholy season, all those little crisp leaves everywhere. I think i just prefer good old cold and bone like trees, at least I know where I am. This is too melancholic for someone who gets melancholic even in the midst of July.