Thaid Up

I walked in really fast this morning.
I stopped off in a chemist in Victoria and bought really expensive blister plasters. Buy cheap buy twice. I bought a packet of three from Asda and they were about as effective as slapping a kipper on my soul.
The chemist assistant and I had a bit of a banter about the high pollen count. Me blowing my nose to prove that I really was pollenated.
Then through St. James Park – why are the Japanese so obsessed by the squirrels – I want to yell they’re rats by any other name, but then it was into the National Portrait Gallery for breakfast.
If you sit at the third table in you can look up at the blue sky through the glass roof. The Nepalese waitress swore she knew me but then she said that all us caucasions look the same to her. I had yoghurt and granola and a calming tea which was sorely needed after yesterday.

I had a barny at work. I screamed so loudly that my vocal chords went all husky and flabby.
It was frustration, exhaustion, anxiety and sheer white rage.
I felt like Melanie Griffith in ‘Working Girl’, all mouth and attitude. But it resulted in me walking out of tLBC Towers, an agreed outcome by the boss and me.
I called Bee who was driving back to the cottage to pack her car for her new flat in Hackney, she collected me from TWells Station and told me I looked yellow.
I re-enacted the row and felt that I had let my acupuncturist down. The Swede has been telling me for the last four years that the art of wisdom is non-reaction. Non-reaction and me are mutually exclusive, when injustice stares at me from three inches away I can smell the acidity on its breath like a dead mouse under the sofa.
All my allies said I had a Che Guevara moment, I fancy it was just a moment of unhingement.
Bee drove us home and I made enough calls to keep BT in bizness for the next 47 years.
Then we went and spent non existent money, I bought the girl a gold chain as a graduation present.
I went off and had a wonderful facial from Amanda Day. She had a sudden flash and told me to look out for a Henry, Armstrong and Nigel. So if you are H, A or N contact me immediately.
I eventually arrived back at the flat by 11.30, hugged the old git and fell into bed at 2.00
Today the show was fierce. Yoof culture, single parents, horse riding in Brixton all part of the same jig-saw of re-thinking our young peoples future. Bring back respect, discipline and compassion was the verdict.
We also talked about having naked Friday where inhibition is thrown to the wind and everybody is revealed both literally and metaphorically. I wondered where would I stash my lippy. But it was interesting after yesterdays debacle; honesty in the work place is the only way forward.
This evening I ate Thai with Suzy who is going to audio blog me, which doesn’t mean anything yet, but we both got excited over pork balls, Jim joined us with a bowl of special fried rice then Bee flew in with her chicken wings….
It’s now 23.00 and I am so tired I can’t be bothered to brush the almonds out of my teeth let alone worry about Jim’s blood shot eye, thankfully B doesn’t need me to be overly concerned about her, although now that she’s back on track I am considerably concerned about my phone bills. She’s been on the phone all night to her girl friends, Sybil the soothsayer in Hollywood, and Queenie in Brockley, I may have to take out a fourth mortgage to cover the charges. Okay like mother like daughter…..
I’m told there are eclipses happening and a new moon on Monday which means my Aquarious moon is flipping out. I’m not sure I can take any more lunacy….