March 2015

Yesterday body decided my brain was going to over ruled. Writing the blog was the most strenuous thing I managed. 

Not done much more today, but got dressed eventually; and for a few, brief, happy hours I thought I had found a woman willing to take my compost bin for her new allotment; only to have her reject me after she discovered the allotment had 3 compost bins hidden by undergrowth! 

Somebody in Bradford must want a compost bin. 

I got a call from the lender’s solicitor yesterday, who turned out to be a perfectly pleasant woman, prone to giggling. 

Turns out it is not proof of identity, but also proof of death and possession of probate, which is a sensible requirement. 

Also turns out it does not have to be asap, so I did not set off early this morning. Just as well, as I have spent the day in bed. 

These are new pics I took today of the primroses and burnt out forklift truck(?) I took last week(?).

PS. I had a letting agent in his early 30’s round today. He knew the holes in the Hawth as ‘dippers’ because him and his mates rode the bmx’s down them. My generation called them bomb craters. They are bell pits, left by iron mining. 

Clearing a garden. I borrowed the insinarator from next door. 

I am burning off things I last year and before. Sloe is the worst. The thorns make it stick together like Velcro, and one of them went through the sole of my wellington when I was jumping on a pile to break it up. I got a lovely fire by the end though. Wished I had thought about barbecuing the chicken I had brining beforehand. 

After that I ate the grand meatballs and potatoes next door gave me, opened a bottle of mum’ swine and checked my e-mails

I f&&&&&& well have to go to f&&&&&& Huddersfield as soon as f&&&&&& possible with my f&&&&&& passport to f&&&&&&& prove to the f&&&&&&& vendors solicitor to prove my f&&&&&&& identity AGAIN. Not f&&&&&& happy. 

…I painted this for my mum’s birthday present, probably in the early 80’s. It’s a bit big though, it’s on the floor and you can see my boot ends. 

My mother asked me to draw this so she could embroider it, and I obviously did it for her birthday. Not sure why she did not start it. 

I helped two women from Castleford by explaining Oyster Cards, the use of a national grannies bus pass in London (can use on buses but not any kind of train), and the best ways to, and from, the Elvis exhibition at the 02, North Greenwich. 

He got on at Leicester, we got talking, we got drinking, I did my best to get him on the train to Gatwick Aerodrome. I reckon I watched him building a road with dynamite in Auntie Klaudia’s town of Klaukula(?). I have somewhere to sleep in Vantaa now. 

I took him to Betjemin’s, I bought him a pint, and he smoked 2 cigarettes, and a nice man with a dog lent him a charger for his phone. 

MegaBus is owned by Stagecoach. The Plus brand sells cheap tickets to London and takes people by rattlely coaches to East Midlands Parkway to fill empty, Stagecoach owned, East Midlands Trains to London. 

My average cost to London is £8.50 on this service. I soon may not need to be that tight, but more significant is that Stagecoach now own 90% of East Coast Trains (Virgin get 10% in exchange for the brand), why would they pay for desperately needed new MegaBus Plus coaches that compete with East Coast?

Tell you what though, today’s commute was loads better than the last trip up on East Coast. 

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