Pages

Posts

28 Apr 2013

Post 394: Second week trying to somehow get by


I have survived week 2 of operation ‘enforced survival’, two to go. You might think that is a slightly melodramatic name, so sue me. I could have gone for operation ‘I will not roll over and die’. I should be so lucky.
My strategy for dealing with this has been to beg people to do an evening meal here, a weekend day there and work around any events I’ve had in the diary. One of my biggest worries, how to handle my morning routine (showering and washing myself, then breakfasting) has been handled during the week by a combination of my brother (Tuesdays and Thursdays) and Jose (Mondays, Wedensdays and Fridays). Knowing I’ve had these guys doing my weekday mornings has been a big help, it has seriously reduced the fear. Thanks lads. Evenings have been a different kettle of bicycles ;). They’re a bit of a funny one, because it’s obviously about being fed something non-fattening as I’m always trying to lose weight and maintain a high protein, low carb, medium fat diet. Despite not being fussy about what I eat in any way shape or form, if food gets put in front of me, I’ll eat it –I’m just grateful to eat!
Perhaps a bigger deal than I’d imagined was dealing with the solitude in the evenings. I’m sure people who have lived on their own know what I’m banging on about. When I used to live on my own before this, if you felt the sudden urge to not be on your own you’d get up and go out, you’d meet someone for a drink or go and have dinner in a restaurant or wander round Tesco’s, basically, any ploy to be where there are other people, it’s a strange sort of mammalian impulse, ‘safety in numbers’ I guess, the impulse to be alone does happen but not nearly as often. It’s got to be to do with feeling safe, I think, sadly disability means you never feel completely safe on your own. Asking for help is a nasty grey area because there seems to be a point where people’s goodwill runs out and it feels pretty undignified asking for more help, plus my experience with former carers in Oxshott and some less than kind nursing staff in hospital has rather undermined my faith in human nature and any confidence in myself to be the type of human being that people want to be around. Because, what my stroke has meant to me is that what I can give in any relationship is seriously undermined. I do everything I can (eg Concerts, lunches, even offering to pay for travel to/from here) but it doesn’t seem to be proportionate (and quite rightly you don’t pay people to be your friends, people hate it, I don’t like it, plus I’m hardly flush, the offer of reimbursing expenses is always there). I rely on a group (thankfully quite a large one) of real friends (mainly my university friends, the loyal (and charitable) friends I have met since coming to London and some real gems I have met recently, not forgetting my family whose patience with me has been unsurpassed.
As an independent, employed, late 20 something my family and friends had probably hoped I could fend for myself, which I was doing just fine at until Christmas 2005.
Changing the subject ever so slightly: Probably quite a controversial statement is saying that 90s music was far better than the 80s. I would go so far as to say the 90s was a golden age for music and a lot of the 80s was a bit cack. I have a few mates (obviously who are slightly older) who might be incandescent that I’ve dared say such a thing but this is my blog and what I say goes. FACT! No, I’m not that much of an idiot. I have discovered that putting FACT after a statement does not make it so. FACT. Anyway, the reason I bring this up is I make it my mission to go to any 80s/90s band revival gigs and decent comedy shows at the larger London venues as I can get my hands on. It’s what I do. I glumly might speculate it’s all I can do. Luckily they’re a big part of operation ‘enforced survival’!
When I put out my undignified ‘HELP’ appeal on facebook a few weeks ago, I had one or two encouraging replies, they largely meant I got through the week just been and next week isn’t looking too disastrous, but always having a different person who doesn’t know where things are or how things work as I suspected has turned out to be the hardest thing. When just explaining where things are is exhausting things can get a little tedious for people doing their level best. The cats and I will be so pleased to see the Palmer’s.
Such a big thankyou goes to one of my favourite girls in the world, the lovely Alice Icely, who kindly dropped her sons off with her mother-in-law and took me to see a band we vaguely remembered from the 90s ‘Counting Crows’ at the Hammersmith Apollo, a superb venue for live stuff, so naturally I’d had a go at getting tickets and luckily I’d got them. The 90s was certainly a golden age for this kind of guitar and piano driven indie rock’n’roll. It is quite ballad heavy rock’n’roll blues and the lead singer has a voice straight out of grungeville, Seattle. Thankfully,It isn’t the absurdly disingenuous ‘lets be positive for the sake of it’ crap that bands like ‘Two Door Cinema Club’ churn out. I do try to be positive but reality sadly seems to be a bit shit. Counting Crows did however commit the #1 sin that revival tours from 90s/80s bands sometimes make, that of not playing their most popular song, ‘Mr Jones’. I don’t understand why bands do this. I couldn’t give a f*ck that they’re tired of playing it. Us concert goers pay their wages. Play it and look like you’re enjoying it – the capacity crowd would have gone beserk – what’s not to like? F*cking Primadonna rockstars, not content with their cushy ‘not real’ jobs. Their ‘Musical Integrity, dude’ somehow comes into it. Harumph. So, that was Monday survived, I love Alice – it’s a happy coincidence she’s ended up marrying my oldest friend Dom. Tuesday, I had down Marcus Brigstocke’s show ‘the Brig Society’ in the diary and I had asked the lovely Mel (seen here looking after the last of our takeaway Nandos) to take me. Mel is one of the brave few who have decided that I’m worth getting to know since my stroke. She’s a kind soul and is quick to tell me off when it looks like I’m about to be a miseryguts. Good on her. Like my other science teacher friend Rachel teaching is the thing that dominates her life and I don’t get to see her as much as I’d like. Still, I’m grateful that she (and Rachel) have given me the chance to be their friend.
Now, I have seen Brigstocke a couple of times – at both ends of 2009 . Now back then I was finding a lot of common ground on his rants about how all organised religion was tosh but now all he does is pour himself a glass of champagne, put on his Fabian society corduroy and complain about how ‘unfair’ everything is. It is yet more Champagne Socialism which is one of my pet hates. I try and keep politics out of this blog and separate from most of my post university friendships because I seem to be at ideological loggerheads with a few of the more misguided ones. I just believe in taking the opportunities you’re given. I can’t be doing with idleness. I see a lot of the way I think as logical common sense, but apparently it’s only logical common sense because I am right-wing. I would of course argue it’s logical common sense because I am right. As much as I enjoy the occasional ideological scrap online, I do understand how people get bloody tired and fed up with constant moaning, something I almost certainly do too much of. I don’t want people to get more tired and fed up with me than they already are. My point is this: Get a real reason to complain before doing it rather than complaining on behalf of people who would more than likely tell you to f*ck off. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all lived in a Utopian world where everyone cared about each other where everything is fair? Well it would be and socialism is a nice idea in theory but a disaster in practice, but that won’t stop the bleaters, people like Brigstocke. These people are often very charismatic and funny, but they don’t half talk shit. Still, challenging my perspectives is what I aim to do. Champagne Socialism is just an example of a deeper malaise – that of caring about things that you don’t really care about. eg Religious Fundamentalists that work themselves up into believing that blowing yourself up and killing other people who don’t believe in the same nonsense will earn you favour in an afterlife that has no empirical evidence it exists. I sometimes can’t believe people are that stupid!
Thank goodness I can call that rant to a halt, it is much more important that I let people know how important and grateful I am in helping me survive. So, I’d made it to Wednesday where I’d booked to go to a charity comedy gig at the Bloomsbury Theatre with Isabel, a quite amazing lady who to me has been the find of the last few years. While Gary and Gwen have been away she has literally offered to help whenever I have a gap in my evenings and what’s more she is competing in a triathlon in a couple of weeks to raise money for the Dom Pardey Trust. She doesn’t think she is, but what a saint! Please look for the method of donating by paypal after looking up Isabel Gomes on Facebook. Taking her (or rather her driving me and sharing her babysitting costs is the least I can do. We’re going to some good stuff in the next few weeks. And finally, a great big thankyou to Christian and his wife Terri (the Cheds) for looking after my wellbeing this weekend. We had one of our customary wine, cheese and Homeland watching sessions which are bloody great! And Cheese (one of my cat) couldn’t resist cosying up to actual walking humans that could actually feed him. Thanks for staying over Friday and Saturday nights guys and just as an addendum, thanks to Gary for writing out a lexicon of ‘how to deal with Dom’ what a help it’s been, especially in the mornings when I’m often too tired to speak!
Apologies if this is a bit long and boring for some people.

21 Apr 2013

Post 393: Fending for myself as best I can


Well, I have somehow survived week one of Gary/Gwens well deserved holiday but I learnt a valuable lesson yesterday – I do attempt to only go to good things, but sometimes assumption is the mother of all f*ck ups and I had ‘Horrible Histories, The Terrible Tudors and the Vile Victorians’ in the diary, and I had assumed it would be a dramatised look at history – well, it was, but aimed at 7 year olds! Having suffered five minutes of the ‘learning the Henry VIII song for remembering what had happened to his six wives’ – Isabel and I opted to leave and hit the pub for a sociable glass of red wine – my abilities may be below those of a seven year old, but at least beneath this pathetic exterior, I’m not a pre-school learner. Isabel luckily saw the funny side. She has basically taken over carer duties since Thursday – what a hero!
Even though I am a bit lost without Gary and Gwen, my do they deserve/need their break. After all, they have put up with me for well over 52 weeks without a rest and I am tiresome!
I am surviving but lost without them but so grateful to people who are helping me out, kind friends like Isabel, who is right this second giving my lounge a proper vacuum, we went to see Il Divo and Katherine Jenkins at the Dome on Friday (before the Horrible histories debacle) with Isa’s mate, Jolanta. It was a good thing to have gone to because the male tenor voice at full whack sounds triumphant and uplifting, if you’re not familiar with Il Divo (as I wasn’t), they are 4 late 30s/early 40s good looking Operatic tenors(apols for the sound going off during zooms, a particularly sh*te feature of this particular camera) who have simultaneously invented the classical/pop crossover genre whilst setting pulses racing among ladies that loved ’50 shades of gray’ and we all know how popular that bloody book was. La di da, I think I’ll stick with the copious volume of free internet pornography, thanks.
Just deviating slightly, I can think of a few reasons why I might be interested in seeing Katherine Jenkins. Two are immediately obvious, The third is obviously her unbelievable voice which you can scarcely believe comes from that body! There are no two ways about it, she is a 10. The type of girl, who like seeing a supercar, would make you turn your head, and cause a certain ex of mine to fly into a strop because I’d glanced. Anyway that’s another story, not for this blog! This wasn’t my first visit to the Dome even this week. On Tuesday, I’d been to see Canadian Indian comic Russell Peters. The reason he can fill out the Dome is his franchise is ethnic minorities with darker skins, and because of his Indian heritage, he’s in the ‘club’, he can take the piss out of ethnic stereotypes all day, till the sacred cows come home! And they bloody love it. My former colleague, Will and I, were the only non-brown people I think. We came to his Dome show back in late 2010, and I’m pretty sure his modus operandi hasn’t changed. It is just to pick on somebody in the first ten rows and then mock their racial stereotype to immense hilarity. It’s hardly rocket surgery and because I’m a fan of stereotype impressions and general mockery, I’m a big fan. Will is a fan because he used to be a buyer at John Lewis and has dealt with every kind of brown person imaginable. I have respect for how quick Peters is, especially as he’s in front of such a large crowd.
I’m always a little humbled when people take me out, just for something like lunch as it shows a generosity of spirit that it’s not hard to believe doesn’t exist in this work-a-day world, but as if to piss on my chips, my friends (Tristan and Macca) have just called to say thry have foolishly put unleaded into their diesel Streetcar, and as John Bishop says ‘like pouring gin into a woman, sooner or later, she’s gonna breakdown’ which is precisely what’s happened. No lunch for me today,I could probably stand to lose some weight. Tristan and lovely wife Macca should get here in time for Tea
Enough of what I’m doing to try and ward off boredom, starvation, squalor and death, my strategy for getting through this has been to nicely ask people for help. Luckily my weekday mornings are being covered by a combination of Jose and my brother, evenings/weekends are a bit more ad hoc but so far, so good. People are doing a brilliant job, and there’s nothing like the sense of gratitude you feel to people who are genuinely saving your life. That may sound like I’m over-egging things but when you can’t cook , clean or get off the floor and trying to do any of these things without help is impossibly exhausting, you soon realise that there isn’t a way you could cope on your own. Trying to stay mentally tough in these circumstances isn’t really an option, in fact, racking my brains, I can’t think of a single person who wouldn’t find this to be one of the biggest mental challenges of their life, it’s not just not being able to do things, it’s the solitude, seriously, I don’t understand how I cope with being on my own. I’m really not bigging myself up, far from it, but I’m amazed I’m not more miserable, it doesn’t get much worse!
Sort of changing the subject: ‘Some people will always need help, it doesn’t mean they’re not worth helping’ is a line from a recent episode of HBO megaseries Game of Thrones that I am just a bit addicted to. [There aren’t going to be any spoilers, I’m not a dick] I know I’m not the only fan of the series, but I have no doubt there are some eyes glazing over thinking ‘Here he goes again’. It throws up some questions, that at least I think are interesting. I used to be a reader, not so much a series watcher. On that score This made me laugh [warning, loud with occasional swearing but so funny]Now, my eyesight and dexterity are not really good enough to read books, and watching TV is a bit of a nightmare – so I gave audiobooks a shot but even then I’m too tired to listen to the bastards. I started trying to listen to them whilst lying down in my bed, after syncing them to an ipad, which I can just about use to play them out loud and guess what? I fell asleep. So I can’t sit up or lie down or see a TV that well. I’m between a rock, a hard place and a diamond mine!
To me, the only logical thing to hope for any quality of life is to find a way where sitting in a f*cking wheelchair isn’t so exhausting, and my neurologist has said to me that if I stay fit and healthy that I stand a good chance of being one of the early beneficiaries of the ‘constant breakthroughs they’re always making in neuroscience’
I hate not sounding positive but in almost eight f*cking years since my stroke, I have not heard of a single useful breakthrough. I have been put on specific medication three times that I was told ‘might improve things’ and numerous USELESS antidepressants. Ritalin made my carer think I’d had another stroke. Keppra made my balance and speech worse, at least Phampridine just did nothing. Prozac made me suicidal. Boredom doesn’t do justice to how I feel, and I feel that I’ll be told off now for not being upbeat enough, ‘being too honest’, ‘being too negative’ et-bleedin-cetera. Just about the only thing that has cheered me up has been a couple of emails from my dad, who is having the most well deserved escape with Mum and my sister’s family in Antigua to celebrate their golden (yes 50 years) wedding anniversary. As soon as dad said that it’s a ‘bit like paradise’ I wanted to see pictures. Dad worked it out, and sent a few. It looks alright, I even found myself replying to my dad
very amusing and it's always re-assuring to hear from you. I'm very envious of the free-flowing Malbec and all I can imagine is that Mum and the kids must be in heaven[not because of the Malbec], they are, who after-all, the holiday was aimed at, I'm sure you're under no illusions. Chris is being awesome, the list is too long
Last but not least, a quick vid just to prove that having a stroke is pretty bloody far from being a lifetime holiday

14 Apr 2013

Post 392: Things will never be the same again


First off, thanks to my fellow stroke surviving blogger Lou, who’s email lifted me out of a terrible mental cul-de-sac. Sometimes a well worded email or blog post is what is required to move you from point A to point B. I am pretty sure he’ll like reading that.

I sometimes worry I’m a bit of a snob, but even if I am importantly I’m not a dick about it because:
Exhibit A: When Mrs Thatcher died, I thought ‘that’s a pity’, she was following the well-worn and terrifying dementia path so in a funny kind of way it is more dignified that she died rather than us seeing her in 10 years time visiting Downing street and not recognising it. I am not the kind of arse to contemplate ‘celebrating’ anyone’s death, not least because I am right of centre and liberal conservative in my outlook anyway and because you don’t celebrate anyone dying, you just don’t, also because Mrs T was what the country needed at the time, - a bit like Churchill during the war except fighting a different enemy. I have little doubt that their leadership styles would have been a disaster at other times, ie if Churchill had stayed in power after the war we wouldn’t have a welfare state or an NHS. As you might imagine I’m no friend of organised Labour, and I have a more articulate reason than just hating rotund meathead technocrat Bob Crow.
Being Liberal conservative means you believe in moral truth and social justice which basically boils down to ‘People should be encouraged and incentivised to work hard, the state should be a safety net and nothing more’ I was a bit hurt when someone described these as ‘weasel words’, ie that you can say what you want but anything in word form is meaningless unless you genuinely believe them or ‘I dunno, actively stand on a street corner doling out any money I have to anyone who looks worse off until I’m destitute. That’s proper redistribution of wealth! Instead we have a taxation system that does it for us, apparently. I would feel better if I knew exactly how much tax I have paid in my lifetime and some sort of visualisation on what it’s been spent on!
Anyway, the last thing I want this blog to be about is politics!
Exhibit B: My taste in comedy, although I find some slapstick amusing,(eg the ‘how animals eat their food video that screwed up my first attempt at posting this) I went to see Harry Hill on Thursday and these were my thoughts on facebook the next day:
I went to see Harry Hill last night and it was funny but mainly because Paul Brennan is such hilarious company. Thanks to Phillip Dunford for stopping by to say hello. It does make me slightly despair that Hill is as popular as he is. He's a classic moron. The audience rarely laugh with him. He's like a performing monkey. I do like stupid comedy in small doses but it feels like we should have slightly higher standards. Thank f*ck Moyles has gone

Paul has always been a fan of ‘silly comedy’, well, what can I say – Paul is a silly bloke but a good lad! He’s not stupid in any way, shape or form despite the ‘Midlands accent’ and the fact I used to be his boss, in fact, also his now wife’s boss and they still speak to me – I can’t be all bad!
My carers are off for a month tomorrow and I’m frankly sh*tting it. Plans for cover are sketchy at best but I hope I’ll survive despite at times feeling like a toddler who’s lost his parents. Oh hell, I’m not doing very well at putting drama aside? I have a feeling (well it will be them) friends will save me this month. People like Isabel who will be coming to cook and watch Game of thrones on Monday (please sponsor her running another triathlon for the trust) or Jose, my friend and torturer (physical trainer) or my practical genius of a brother or Jonny, a guy I played in the Varsity golf match 15 years ago. He had bumped into a mutual friend and I had somehow been mentioned. He had then decided to pop in which was a very kind thing to do. It is visits like this that give me a bit of hope that I might be able to cope with the rest of a life that is going to be approximately a trillion times worse than I had thought. There are lots of other kind people who are going to make the difference this month. I’m sure they have an inkling of who they are and how grateful I am. I know I’m prone to exaggeration but I’m in the right ballpark with ‘a trillion times’ worse.

Post 392: Things will never be the same again


First off, thanks to my fellow stroke surviving blogger Lou, who’s email lifted me out of a terrible mental cul-de-sac. Sometimes a well worded email or blog post is what is required to move you from point A to point B. I am pretty sure he’ll like reading that.

I sometimes worry I’m a bit of a snob, but even if I am importantly I’m not a dick about it because:
Exhibit A: When Mrs Thatcher died, I thought ‘that’s a pity’, she was following the well-worn and terrifying dementia path so in a funny kind of way it is more dignified that she died rather than us seeing her in 10 years time visiting Downing street and not recognising it. I am not the kind of arse to contemplate ‘celebrating’ anyone’s death, not least because I am right of centre and liberal conservative in my outlook anyway and because you don’t celebrate anyone dying, you just don’t, also because Mrs T was what the country needed at the time, - a bit like Churchill during the war except fighting a different enemy. I have little doubt that their leadership styles would have been a disaster at other times, ie if Churchill had stayed in power after the war we wouldn’t have a welfare state or an NHS. As you might imagine I’m no friend of organised Labour, and I have a more articulate reason than just hating rotund meathead technocrat Bob Crow.
Being Liberal conservative means you believe in moral truth and social justice which basically boils down to ‘People should be encouraged and incentivised to work hard, the state should be a safety net and nothing more’ I was a bit hurt when someone described these as ‘weasel words’, ie that you can say what you want but anything in word form is meaningless unless you genuinely believe them or ‘I dunno, actively stand on a street corner doling out any money I have to anyone who looks worse off until I’m destitute. That’s proper redistribution of wealth! Instead we have a taxation system that does it for us, apparently. I would feel better if I knew exactly how much tax I have paid in my lifetime and some sort of visualisation on what it’s been spent on!
Anyway, the last thing I want this blog to be about is politics!
Exhibit B: My taste in comedy, although I find some slapstick amusing No comments:

7 Apr 2013

Post 391: Indecision, confusion, doubt


You (hopefully plural), whoever it is that reads this, are probably fed up with me never having the answer to anything, week in bloody week out. Let me just say that I’m pretty damn apologetic for making everyone endure me (especially since my stroke). I do believe that the measure of a person is doing what they can for the people who genuinely care for/about them. I’m sure I’ve said this before which is why I don’t think writing is quite going to be the thing for me. No, I need a plan, and not a Blackadder style cunning one and no, I’ve never considered a career in the church!
What I have been considering is getting out of this damn country, if mainly to stop me complaining about the weather but because if you’re forced to live in a wheelchair, it has to be somewhere warm! Now, I do worry about being able to cope in a strange land – but realistically being in the countryside has been a bit like being in a faraway land, except with the British weather, which as we all know is unacceptable. It would only be for 3-5 months of the year and only as far as somewhere like Malaga where the spoken Language is pretty much English. This is a fairly terrifying prospect but I’m pretty sure I can afford it, I wouldn’t be living like a Russian oligarch –but for being able to even think about this I am fortunate and grateful. In a strange kind of way even thinking of buggering off like this may at first sound a bit self-serving but I think further out of sight is further out of mind and at least if people want to drop in there’ll be some Winter sunshine and they’ll be on holiday. I know my mum’d be all over that and there’s some great golf so Dad’d be happy. It’s not the stupidest idea I’ve ever had too which is reason enough to give it a go.
Speaking of my parents, you know how I’m always so polite and complimentary about them – well I’m gonna become unbearably sycophantic because I learned last night what high esteem they are held in when they had a drink’s party to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary(that’s right 50 years), and my old man gave a brilliant heartfelt totally off the cuff speech, and there was I cynically thinking he’d be far too pissed by them, SHAME ON ME! By today’s standards being married 50 years is hard to imagine. Ryan Giggs, Wayne Rooney, Cheryl bloody Cole and even f*cking Princess Di have pretty much taught us that marriage is an excuse for a party and written words on a piece of paper. I suppose I’m quite old fashioned, in that if I ever got married (which let’s be honest isn’t looking likely) then that would be the only person I would devote myself to and it would always be my mission to do anything I could for that person. I already try to do that for my friends and family but this would be different. You can be as cynical about that as you like, I don’t give a sh*t – I really don’t. There are obvious faults with my parents generation, not least that they’re fuddy-duddy, a bit divorced from the real world and a bit reactionary, tending to take at face-value a lot of the sh*t that gets written in the Daily Hatemail but they know how to behave, they have decent manners and they understand that they have responsibility for their families and friends. I’m not saying that lower class people don’t, I’m just saying that that generation seem to get what the ‘greater good’ is better. I’m slightly conscious I’m going a bit ‘Big Society’ here but I’m going on how much safer I felt among a bunch of old farts. I really am conservative with a small c.
Someone else who would broadly share such sentiments was Comedian Simon Evans who I went to see at Farnham Maltings on Thursday with my mate Ched who lives down the road. Ched and his wife Terri are real ‘go to’ people because not only are they local and reliable, we know a lot of the same people and are interested in loads of the same stuff. The Ched’s also don’t seem to find me as tedious as I know the post-stroke me can be. That’s why I take in so much live stand up. I’ve seen Simon Evans about 4 times, apart from being brilliant and not being afraid to call an Oik an Oik, he’s described as a ‘fearsome iconoclast’ which I’ll be honest I had to look up, it is someone who attacks/debunks cherished beliefs or destroys religious idols ie a heretic who would probably have been burned at the stake a few hundred years ago – excellent, my kind of guy – anyone who says that ‘football draws the poison from the high street and corals the underclasses in huge out of town holding pens where they can go at each other based on the colour of the shirt someone is wearing’ gets my vote.
Hardly iconoclasm. Champagne socialists, Guardian readers and lefties will call it snobbery and tell me I’m frightfully unpleasant. Watch me care!
There seem to be a few counter-examples to how tedious I am – firstly, a new mate from the area who I hadn’t seen for aaaages had arranged to take me out for lunch on Tuesday. The reason I don’t see the lovely Rachel ‘Dr Oz’ is that she got offered a job as head of Physics at a school near St Albans so unsurprisingly she upped sticks from Leatherhead and her and her partner Matt live near there. What I (usually just me) finds hilarious is that said school is a Catholic school so I can’t resist making endless nun based puns. What can I say, it’s a bad habit! In my head she dresses like a mother superior which is obvious nonsense! She’s not in the least bit religious (I reckon being a religious physics teacher might be a bit tricky. ‘now the reason that bulb goes on children is because of the magic light angels sent by god when you press the switch’ Anyway, the fact that people like Rachel bother being friends with me helps alleviate a little self-doubt. I said a little. I am doing my best at trying to piece together the logistics for when Gwen and Gary are away. It seems to be harder than finding Lord Lucan.

Followers

stats


View My Stats