Wasted weekend so far.

Dear Diary,

Boned. I’m boned. Friday night and I was wont for some good company, so headed round to Mr.X’s gaff.

He needed to walk his hounds so left me at his place. As I stared at the giant brain-washing machine (television) little Ronulus Latratus wandered off to have a sniff about the house. I used an old army technique for commanding him: C.L.A.

It’s an acronym for Clear, Loud, As an order. Used for staggering advancement of charlie and delta fire-teams in a section, anyway. I shouted, “Ronulus! ueni uir!” (Ron’! Here boy!) Rather than his usual, “sic dominus” reply I heard a loud, audible *thunk!*

Right in front of me were a dozen or so large snakes that I had completely forgotten about, and being focused on the huge brain-washing screen meant I had not been using my peripheral vision. One of the giant Boa-constrictors was trying to escape its tank, and a ten foot long serpent looked right at me, before bashing its head against the glass again.

Admittedly this was nowhere near as scary as when Mr.X lived at mine, when the tank had broke, and the only thing separating me from them was a piece of cardboard and some sellotape! It made me thankful that he has three complete snake tanks now, with several heavy objects on top of them. Equally, if that thing had snuck its head out of the top, it could surely have slithered its way to freedom, then Ron’ would be the starter, and me the main course. Considering where I was and the choice of potential defence mechanisms, had the giant snake escaped, I would have had an excellent array of armaments with which to fend it off with: tomahawk, hammer, crossbow, et cetera. (Though had I killed his snake, even in self-defence, matey would have been none to happy about it upon his return!)

Meanwhile, once I was back at base, I tried to motivate myself to study. It didn’t work. I just can’t seem to force myself to focus, so, instead of forcing it, I am going to feel it. Gently. Concentrating on the positive aspects of learning which I enjoy, that are directly relevant to the task at hand.

In between time I have frittered away much time needlessly in a state of near constant distraction. Yesterday I walked to the shop, the way there was flooded. I left only ten minutes before it shut, so it was time critical that I go that way. I just thought, “Fcuk it!” and waded through the river. I ran through it on the way back, carrying the shopping in a rucksack. Ron’ paddled through, which is surprising as he doesn’t like water.

Oh man! You should have seen little Ron’ on the escalator the other day, he was f- terrified! First time for him, being an ex-farm working dog, a ratter. He doesn’t get frightened by the sound of gun-shots, but ascending or descending an escalator is a traumatising experience for my little Norfolk. He kept wanting to go up, and not wait, he sat there impatiently, shaking. Anyhow, must get back to A251 then A297. Busy busy busy.

I got a load of essays on the Hittites from Delli. Just as he transferred them I said, “Remember to eject it, unmount the drive properly.” He just yanked it out of the machine. All the data he transferred has become corrupted, as it was reading/writing to the drive at the time he unceremoniously just ripped it out of the machine (with the files open to ‘verify’ that it won’t work properly!) Grrr. I will just have to earn some more money and go and buy hard copies of the books. Good old-fashioned books do not require electrickery, nor do they crash or become glitchy.

A few days ago when I went walking Ronulus, in a storm, upon my return I noticed that my letterbox had been torn out. I glued it back in place, which did not work on account of rain. Thinking nothing of it (but supposing the ‘usual suspects’ being who had vandalised my front door) I just had a visit from a couple of dodgy guys. The two of them kept pointing out about my damaged letterbox. Even after the conversation had moved on, they kept coming back to it. Neither of them are the type that would tear off a letterbox, but I know just who might, as do they. I kept quiet. They mentioned what may have happened, that somebody tore it off, thinking they could reach through and open the lock. Evidently that was not going to work, without tools, by clumsy brute force. It has cemented the most likely culprits in my mind - they have both stolen from me before, numerous times. I know who they are, and they cannot take anything so long as I am here. It’s a jolly good show that I did not stay up north even a day longer, or the underhand thieves may have found a way inside, and my artwork and artefacts may have been at risk.