Saturday night and sleep eluded me. Utterly deserted me, it went next door and bedded down with Simba the dog, but not one tiny bit of shut eye visited me.
I went to bed early in the hope that I could doze having listened to Clever Trever’s little 9 min. 27 second CD.
Got up and wandered round the flat, watched some BBC IPlayer.
Went back to bed and listened to some music.
Read until my eyes felt heavy.
Got up and made porridge with cuinnamon and agarve syrup. Filled my belly.
Absolutely totally nothing.
Put on The World Service and listened to reporters fropm all over the world giving me info, ideas but precious little respite.
And then the slicing voice of a radio announcer cut through my sleep. At 7.15. precisely an hour and a half later after I had finally dropped off, I had to get up for the 24th Radio Show for BBC London.
I felt ill.
I felt queasy.
I felt really sick.
I had opted to drive myself into Egton House so I could get myself back to the cottage in double quick time after the show. A red people carrier was waiting for me. I knew it was for me, even though it had been cancelled, I just knew it was my driver. Two missed messages confirmed that it was, that it hadn’t been cancelled and the driver was patiently waiting for his pick up. He may still be there for all I know.
The drive to the BBC from my flat is really easy. Left at 8.53 and arrived at 8.05. See I said it was easy.
I parked outside Ozer, a restaurant with an umlaut over it’s ‘O’. and gingerly walked into the reception. The newly refurbished BBC has copper names in the paving stones. So I walked over Mont St. Michel, round Galway Bay, past Nagasaki, traversing places I have never heard of which I am trying to commit to memory…..no it’s no good I can’t remember them!
Walked into reception, sounded chirpier than I felt, ran my pass over the electronic eye, took the lift to the second floor and staggered into Esther, the best producer in the world. Kevin Young, the news reader offered to sit in for me BUT…
I was so tired and sickly I nearly gave in BUT I choose the music I want for my contributors and Sundays Show is normally a hoot , with clever people and the friendliest atmosphere this side of Baku – one of the copper-paving-slab-destinations…. so I supped boiling hot water, and prayed.
Mike Sarni came in and talked about Biting the Ballot, an initiative he has set up with a whole load of youngsters who believe that having an interest in poitics is good for them and us and the future.
I chose a funky piece called ‘Get Involved’ by George Soule…
Then we talked about festivals and Glastonbury, about DIY and the eating of chitterlings….testicles to you and me.
I have a regular guy from Lewisham who writes me brilliantly offensive emails, so I read out his complaint – why is it permissable to talk about mens bits but not womens on air – he has a point, if you’ll forgive the expression.
I made it through the show with the help of Sarah the gorgeous engineer, Phil the delightful phone op and my very own Esther with whom I would have babies if I weren’t already taken and over the hill.
Took the lid down of my car, plugged in my hands free and set off for home.
I am having to get used to the travelling as I have finally made the decision to leave the flat.
Yes it’s sad. Yes it’s difficult, Yes it’s inconvenient BUT, it really is time to move on. I have resisted and resisted, have talked to my girl friends, my husband, my homeopath, my acupunturist, Clever Trevor I’ve even asked the driver who is probably still pondering over it in his red people carrier in my drive way in Battersea…..
I had the most cooling of drives until I got to the A21 where I sat in the blistering heat without my hat, couldn’t find it anywhere, waiting for the traffic to weave its way through traffic cones and roadworks, called Gods Gift and managed to make him the BUTT of my anger. I finally arrived back in the cottage two and half hours later. I was pooped, I was hungry I was iriitable but most of all I was home.
Stayed up far too late watching ‘Beyonce’ do her thing at ‘Glasto’ and went to bed feeling worse than I did in the morning. Clutched hold of the ‘oosbinds arm as I thought I was dying.
I was relieved to wake this morning BUT ( blimey three BIG BUTS and A BUTT in one blog) my head still feels heavy, I still feel sick and I am still running and re-running my life without Battersea.
At 9.30 tomorrow we collect a van and drive to Hackney where the daughter has boxed up her life in preparation for moving back to the cottage too.
Corrie used to help but it’s absolute colones at the moment I can’t watch it, and anyway my eyes feel like they are being squeezed together by one of those metal lemon squeezy things you get in the Indian Restaurant.
When I do go to bed I run through all the direct debits I have to cancel, all the cupboards I have to unload, all the books and CD’s I have to box up, all the shoes, the clothes, the towels, the duvets, the furniture. Nearly 9 years of living in Sarf London, all decanted to my tiny little cottage in East Sussex…..
When I closed the front door when I left on Sunday the number ‘1’ fell off leaving me with a single digit. I did think the Gods were trying to tell me somethihng. Take ‘1’ self off now…….
I lay in the garden today trying to stop my dizzy spells and thinking about how lucky I was to have my real home. Battersea will be forever in my heart BUT….holy moley that’s another big BUT….
Does my BUTT look big in this?