March 2011


Yesterday me and Bev celebrated the first anniversary of our first date by going to by doing the same trip to Keighley, with a visit to the Boltmakers. This time, however, I did not make her pay for her own fish and chips, because we did not have any. Instead we went to Morrisons and I showed her the memorial stone by the River Worth, to Richard Turner, who died in his sleep there, on 5.8.01, at the age of 17. I would post a picture, but cannot find the lead.

I collected some ransom, or wild garlic, leaves and Bev cooked with them. Not as strong a taste as normal garlic bulbs (though with strong after effects) but I thought more tasty,

The ‘course’ is getting grim. I am doing far less to find work than I do when I spend my days at home. No help and no advice, at least none that is of use to me. Two computers with slow and restricted internet connection, and two telephones. This in a room with between 8 and 14 people, four of whom very nearly came to blows today while I was trying to write a new CV. It was like Lord of the Flies.

The sun is shining, physically, I will leave to others here to speak about methaphorically.

The course split us up after a whole group ‘ice breaker’, which translates as ‘keep em quiet while I fill out the lists of people who may never see each other again’. I was not the only person offering the names of sweets, but maybe the first loud one.

I think I am in the quiet group made up so the tutor who works too hard does not blow up; unfortunately he was forced to take a holiday today, snuck in, but left again before the new ticks arrived; so we all sat quiet for 80 minutes, and then got told to go to lunch.

I managed to get let off the afternoon so I could talk to the right people about working the next election. It was genuine, and if the right person was not in the office I would have to have come back one or two hors later, but as it was I was done in minutes.

I then bobbed in the Jacobs Well, where I listened to middle class folk drinking without alcohol and eating (whilst getting sroppy about what they ordered) talking about their children. However there was nobody there I could talk to about a possible show.

I then got a v=bus to Wibsey, and talked to a lass, who said the daffs and crocuses in her garden in Wibsey have come up early, I think at least two weeks from what I remember of what she said. I was thinking it were a late spring, but I am a man who forgets stuff.

All the possible venues were shut, but I did pop into the brown Cow, and talked to the posh drunk, and listened to some taking the piss, but others happily joined in.

Then to Nettos for cheap fruit, and it is early yet!

Been back awhile. Spent the longest part of the journey up talking to 10 month old Alex and his mum. I enjoyed it, and he appreciated playing with the small CAMRA magazine, especially licking the ink off the suduko I had just done. I was impressed he recognized it as being different from the print.

The hope grinding dole course has begun. I have work in the next few months, but it is single days paid and probably a few weeks self employed, which I intend signing off to do. It would be complicated enough if I was just signing on; but this course makes it a potential nightmare.

I may be performing on St. George’s Day.

Last night my father knocked bleach from an almost full bottle onto the bathroom floor. I think he tried to pour some down the toilet and dropped it. I cannot be sure because the first thing he shouted at me was:
Look what you’ve done Glyn!!!
In the most violent tone he has used to me for decades. I did not react in any way unprofessionally, but coping with him with his pants down, standing in puddles of water, whilst trying to keep my mother from making things worse took all my energy, and by the time I had mopped up, washed his feet, got rid of him, and rinsed and hung the mats I was passed being able to to face the far more difficult task of getting answers from him.

It is reversion to childhood brainstem, or id if you are a fraudinan. It is also also worrying. There was no danger to short team helth, but still.

Was awoken at 07.30 by my mother. The coffee machine had gone BANG! and all the sockets had stopped supplying electricity. It turns out she had had put the correct trip switch back, but then turned the master for the ring main off.
At least I was up in time to watch Timmy Time, which is my favourite.
Took Ma to town in the afternoon, where she chose a me coffee machine and got her eyes tested. A nice little trip, apart from the driver of the 2 bus (bus number 218, run by Metro Bus) saying Can you read sir? when I pulled my ticket before it had stopped being printed by the brand new machine, which caused him to have to reset the paper. I did say that I did not have to read instruction to take a bus ticket and more, but nothing untoward, but would have said a lot more if my 89 mother was not there. As it was I did not grind my teeth at all; and will probably write a complaint, rather than fume. The machine is shit, but telling people off because they do not cope with pulling the ticket (!?) is the behaviour of a wanker.

This Acer netbook with windows 7 is really getting on my tits now. I suddenly have two windows. One with text too small and one behind it with massive text. Don’t know how or why, or how to get rid.

Well, I have got rid, but it keeps doing things for no reason obvious to me: highlighting; moving the cursor whilst I type; opening new windows.

Eeee. OOOOw, aaaaah. Not just coz a Frankie Howard story is on now. Nooo. I’ve been thinking it most of the day, probably on account of the sap rising.

Whilst walking down Baildon Bank late this morning I heard grasshoppers. The sun was shining but it were fresh, but Spring must be here, now the invertibrates are bigging it up in the open air.

John in The Grove (Leeds) welcomed me and my late Walburgas as his own harbinger of spring: I never think the year’s started until I get your Walburgas!

Talked a bit to two lasses on the train, but only a bit; and Bev doubted the claim via txt Soon after she refused my offer to talk to them to find out, if I passed the phone over the table.

In the Betjemin Bar I talked to Richard from Hartlepool. A nice bloke who asked me to sign the Walburgas card to his wife of 21 yrears, Pauline.

Parents seem well.

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