Seige Day

Dear Diary,

Good Morning. I awake this glorious morning to a text message saying that I don't have to babysit for Wolfairy. I suspect she'll be hanging out with her friend J. who lives in the orient. He's an old scouser hippy-guru, a gentleman, and a groover.

I am just waking up with a cup of green tea, some 100% organic brown-bread toast, a bowl of rice, an orange, and some vegetable soup I just made - with plenty of garlic and ginger in. I am on this 'health-trip' trying to get myself together.

The house is still a state, but at least I managed to get the rubbish taken out this morning. One and half carrier bags, not a lot of waste for a single-guy. I am also coming off the fags and drink today. Thought I hath not drunk this week a great deal, (yesterday I had a celebratory tipple) I have however smoked a lot of tabac' which wasn't helping my singing voice, or rather, lack of.

It was nice to turn on the radio (4) today and hear In Our Time, I have missed the last month or so worths of broadcasts but normally listen-in religiously to Melvyn Bragg and company, intellectualising, philosophising, it is seriously on the flex.

Today, today I will tidy the house. Do the laundry. Change the bed-clothes. Do my taxes. Then go see Susie-Q (Sue). Man, she's a total babe, so very geeky, glasses (my only real kink, well, that and music, art or history being a major turn-on for me) anyway, she is ideal. Late thirties. Doesn't drink too much, doesn't smoke too much, is open-minded, gentle, soft, warm. Ahh. I hope she's in. Ever since she left the note in through my door, I have wondered if she is off with some other man(s). Maybe. Probably. It's hardly surprizing. She's cute. I know she speaks to my 'nemesis' (the male one). Ah-well, nobodies perfect.

Coming off cigarettes is not so easy for me. When I do so I always put every bit of smoking paraphernalia out of sight: mind. Then I will stumble across a rizla packet or lighter, and cannot be bothered to move it, and it will be looking at me, irritating me, out of the corner of my eye. Blogging helps. Stroking my self-centred ego. Yey.

This In Our Time is seriously On the Flex, talking about some dude called Al'Qunidi (dodge spelling prolly). Intellectual intercourse. Mass debate. I think the soup is almost done, then it's bath-time and cleaning up the house. Anything to distract me from being sober, out of cigarettes, and unable to smoke any kind of chollie. Bugger. Oh well. Will-power. Volontaire through Voltaire.

Stay On the Flex,

Maxx