Oh, what’s the bleedin’ point?

When things are afoot, every part of one’s life seems to go awry. The temptation, and it’s not entirely unwarranted, is to hunker down in a quiet room, wrap yourself up in your best goose down, and apply wine. It may yet come to that.

And things, as they say, are most definitely afoot. It began a couple of weeks ago, when the long saga of Plashet Grove came to an end. This was my first piece of property, a huge wreck of a place which I bought in 1993, and proceeded to renovate to within an inch of its life. I installed a recording studio, acquired a cat. I had a home for the first time in years.

Boris died. I left. I began a new life. It was fabulous. Then I was diagnosed with PD, at the same time as my wife and I were undergoing an extreme amount of stress. I defy any relationship to survive – ours didn’t. By september I was living in a small room in Hove, before moving to a flat, which while not home, was homely. Then women intervened, and I moved to a friend’s flat while he was in Australia, and then to another friend’s house while he was in Senegal. Now he’s moving, and I have ten days in which to find a new home. Well, ten days in which to move.

I am lonely. I am so very, very tired.

I have an interview to write.

I have a novel to write.

I have a play to write.

I can barely write my own name.

Two days ago I discovered something. It has fucked up my planned new home. At least for a day or three. Utterly depressing.

I can’t write.

I can’t read.

I just want to sleep.

But in my own bed.

Under my own roof.

Too much to ask for, apparently.

Far, far too much.

8 thoughts on “Oh, what’s the bleedin’ point?

  1. You think you rule the world with a nicely turned sentence.

    And, I grant you, it’s nice,

    but you’re entirely missing the point.


  2. You missed something out. There was something between your ex-wife and the present, and that was me. Some might say that you’re lonely now because you loved a woman and you hurt her so much that she had to leave – but I’m sure if that was the case, she’d at least get a mention.

    The friend of a friend, I have to assume, is someone I know. Although, you have a lot of friends of friends, so it may not be. Either way, they have a point: unless you start letting people in – and then treating them right – you will continue to be lonely. I certainly won’t be one of those people, but I hope you do find them.

    I’m not here to engage in a conversation with you. This is just to let you know that, as a result of this post and other things, I’ll be closing my own blog down. Explanation here: http://wp.me/pYcCC-8n and the link will only be live until tomorrow.

    Best of luck, Pete. That’s all I got.

    • This is true, if not the whole truth.

      The whole truth is always messier, more complicated, and more difficult to engage with than the selective version which we all create for ourselves, knowingly or not.

      It is true that I hurt Cathy, a woman whom I loved, more than she could bear. For this I am culpable, and something I regret, and will continue to regret – not because I have lost her (though this is a matter of regret), but because I hurt her.

      Like everyone, there are things with which I struggle. Some of these things Cathy fell foul of, and for that I am truly sorry.

      We all miss things out.

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