Daisy Chain

i'm gorn too. It's a bit too cosy here for me... i don't mean that in a bad way. I shall pop in now and again to keep an eye on a couple of folks (feathers!) but i'm away to pastures new. anyone that wants the new blog can mail me for the link. 

tara chucks. 

Or something like that. A few hours after the last entry, the 'i've had no fags aren't i a genius' dam broke, and a poor hapless woman bore the brunt. Ages ago I blogged about my insomnia and how the community house directly opposite my house had a hair trigger alarm that kept going off. Saturday night (1.09 sunday morning actually) it went off again, for about the third time that very windy day. I'd only been asleep ten minutes and woke in a rush of ARGWTFARG. Laid there for ten minutes, duvet over head, pillows bunched around ears, attempting to ignore. Turned the tv on and listened to the wahhhhh weeeeeee of the alarm over the top. Turned the tv off again. Looked at phone clock under the duvet. 01.30. Poked my head through the curtain to glare at flashing alarm. Glared at closed door. Glared up and down the (empty) road, looking for signs of community lady or man running along, slippers a flipflopping along the pavement, large key in hand. Nothing.

So, I lay down, and I fumed. I hid under duvet and sucked on my emergency nicotine inhalator. Thought how lovely it is that I can do this without fear of setting fire to myself. Looked at the clock again. 01.40. Felt cross. Very. Alarm stopped. Hurrah! Peered out of window, noticed open community house door. Laid down again, snuggled up. Alarm started again. Flapped arms up and down on duvet in enormous impotent rage. Got up, looked out of window. Alarm stops. :isten to neighbour who is lovely, snoring in oblivion.

Alarm starts. Alarm stops... starts.... stops. Still stopped. Still. Snooze.... drift.... alarm starts. Stops. Starts again. Stops. Starts. Stops. Jumped out of bed, flung open curtains, glared at open door. Opened window, plotting a huge yell. Lovely neighbour still snoring. Bastard. Utter fucking bastard. Neighbour is not lovely at all. Alarm even louder. Then stop. Then start again. And stop. And start.

Run downstairs three stairs at a time, pull on trenchcoat and slippers, flipflop across the road in four stride major fury, startle hapless community caretaker type woman (tartan nightie, not a pretty sight. Her not me. OK, I'm not a pretty sight either, what with my bulging eyes and throbbing temple veins, but at least I'm stylish in trenchcoat (if you ignore slippers) ). She has large instructions in her hand, she is flapping them about like a map in a tornado.

This ensues. (I'm not proud).

Turn it OFF turn it OFF It's the wind, just turn it OFF

I am TRYING, I am TRYING

No you are NOT you are trying to RESET it, turn it OFF! (wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)

I AM, I AM, it wont WORK

WHAT? Why won't it??

I dont KNOW

Well who who else knows how to do it?

Les, I suppose (wahhhhhhhhhhhhh wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)

Where is Les?

Asleep

Well lucky fucking LES.

Pause.

wahhhh wheeeeee.

Glare.

Please make it stop.

I can't. I hate it.

I hate it too.

It's very loud.

Traipse back to house with a dejected flipflopflip. Take off coat. Discover that dog is barking. Alarm stops.

Neighbour is still snoring.

Do you think I should post an apology through the door for being so awful? I would dearly love to move.

You know what, when non smokers are urging smokers to quit, they go about it all the wrong way. All that ridiculous wrinkling of noses, as though smokers are walking talking turds, all that incredulous with more than a hint of smug "Oh My! How many? Why that's five/ten pounds a DAY, however can you AFFORD it!" stuff is completely wrong (not to mention fucking annoying). Smoking is an addiction, I used to say. One affords any addiction usually (you twat, is what I didn't say). I've stopped. I can't believe I have, but I have, and I can honestly say, that after 15 years of twenty a day followed by 10 years of forty a day, I will never, ever, smoke again. That's it, it is gone. And pretty painlessly really if I'm being really honest. I can scarcely credit it myself. I expected raging, storming up and down, beating of breast (or children) and pulling of hair. But no, not a great deal. I was shorter of temper for a wee while, but generally only with fuckwits that have long deserved a tonguelashing anyway. Call it therapy.

No, the way to go about helping someone to stop, is to try and convey what it's like when you do. The sheer verve of life you get. The sudden sharpness of everything, it's like having cataracts whipped off, like losing five stone, like diving into an icy pool on a hot day. I want to run. I want to laugh out loud and hard, for the sheer amazement and pleasure of anything, everything. I know that you read in magazines that it's bad for skin blah you think, yeah blah, I look ok, I look ten years younger than I actually am. Well, I look fucking great now. My purse is empty. That's because I'm not at the cashpoint every day taking out marlboromoney. Oh yes, my purse is empty, but I've got cash in the bank. I look great, and I have this charge of WHOOOOOooo about me. My willpower does exist. I can bloody well do it. I don't want people giving patronising oh well dones at me, I didnt even tel anyone for the longest time.

Oh and smokers? You know that you 'enjoy smoking?' I used to say that, and it's a nonsense. Try not smoking, it's way more fun. What's not fun is having to wash everything in the house because it genuinely does reek. I never believed that either, but it does. It's as rank as a tramps sock. 

Anyway, no children today, they've been with their other granny. It's been a top day full of notihng much. Went shopping with mum, made her try on some shocking pink crocs, bought some horrendously expensive something or other which might or might not have versace in the title, and had my car washed for a fiver by six hunky fireman in the supermarket car park. That was a treat. People were parking up, handing over their cash and going in to do the shop while the car got washed. What? I wouldn't miss it for the world. Did the shopping, came out and stood drinking fresh orange whilst they got to work with their chamois leathers and water. Well worth a fiver. AND I managed not to make any flop yer hose out comments.

Did the ironing, walked the dog, and watched Gilbert Grape. Nowt special, but I'm really on happy avenue. 

Previously known as freecycle.

Why are people so GREEDY? Freecycle is a brilliant idea. I have watched the most bizarre items come and go over the last few months... old sunbed with knackered tubes, tv brackets, rolls of chicken wire. I have received a dog guard for the boot of my car, offloaded three dozen unused white bathroom tiles and a set of three drawer bedside tables. It's good - useful. Today I have seen 'wanted's for -

1. a small car, in good working order.

2. laminate flooring + underlay to fit room 24ft by 13ft.

3. electric guitar.

4. large trampoline with nets.

5. a caravan.

6. a laptop in good working order.

I have discussed this with Alison, and we decided that we might post some of our own greedy bastid requests. Alison would like an all inclusive holiday in Mauritius and a fully furnished house please, and I am asking for an estate car (on a plate no older than 2004 and with a full tank of petrol), and an aga/smeg with no rust and a full set of copper bottomed pans. Oh, and if anyone has 11 months gym membership cluttering up their flat, I'll have that too.

One of my wants is a lie. Can you guess which?

One of these is me. Hey hey.

Saw the shmokin cessation woman at the hospital today. She was kind of alright, and I could tell that she used to be a smoker (wrinkled upper lip) so I didnt hate her totally.

Cool. Things are looking up.