...or my scruffy WH Smith's notebook, but let's not quibble.
Sunday 30th October 2011
So, I find myself taking comfort in the most extroadinary ways, for example by sitting in the dark on the garden bench, sipping port, smoking cigarettes and clutching a small cuddly toy to my bosom, and this is no mean feat considering I only have two hands. So what has encouraged these outside pursuits, this need to be alone to think? Damaged pride at being duped? No it isn't this. It is more likely to be my damaged philosophy for living my life. I have , over the years trained myself to be non-judgemental of others; to be accepting of different attitudes; to understand that other people have and are entitled to live their lives anyway they see fit, so long as they don't impact negatively on others. And where has this politically correct, woolly thinking attitude led me... other than up the garden path to a bench with a packet of cigarettes... glass of port.... weird cuddly toy...etc... well, I fear it has led me to being dismissive of my gut instincts about people. He was an idiot; she was peculiar; I always knew that. So why did I give them the time of day?
Gut instincts are there for a reason, ignore them at your peril.
Tomorrow I will push the bottle of port to the back of the larder cupboard. Tomorrow I will return to my yoga mat [which looks suspiciously like a wii-fit balance board]. Tomorrow I will cut back my smoking habit to the usual thirteen cigarettes a day. Tomorrow I will return to normal. But I'll be damned if I'm going to give up that weird cuddly toy. I shall carry him always and name him Fred.
