June 2016

A long, and possibly last, blog. 

As I said previously, you can text or phone. No internet based method is certain to get to me. I nolonger want to know what is going on, and I don’t much care what people think about it. 

I will have to leave the house, but until I feel something better than I do now I will not be wasting time or money on bars, or meaningless things like sport. 

This may be a passing phrase of depression, but it comes on top of long disquiet.

 I have remortgage, and am fortunate to have 2 years fixed interest, but after that who knows what I’ll be paying. 

I also rely on rent from a man working at Gatwick. Interest rates will go up, less people will travel. 

I live in a country I have lost all love for. 

Goodbye for now from this blog. 

A spoilt but pretty enough dope head, and a landlord who did nothing when I was assaulted in his pub. 

Religion, or maybe drugs, might help now. 

Retford. I have enjoyed talking to almost all the strangers of England, but a small number remind me why this country is so shit. 

I have called only one man a cunt, because he called a complete stranger an idiot, jokingly. He will do that to all the strangers. Well the Turks Head is up for sale, so he is obviously adding to the trade. 

The skinny young bar woman in the Idle Valley Taps was entertaining enough, until her young friend came in, and they talked about why they voted leave. Opinionated and cretinous. Today’s Enland. 

But I have not had a fight. 

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