Still swampy!

Sunday 6.30 p.m.
                          The Domestic Bliss has finally been stricken by the disease.
                           When it rains, I feel surprised. It's been raining all summer, but I'm still surprised that it can keep raining. I'm just back from the hut. Hardly have I meditated in the hut this summer. The dream of spending all day outside in the hut or the Botanics never happened this year.
                            I've sold eleven books this month so far. Last month I sold eight and the month before that I sold six, I think. July is supposed to be a slow month. The cycling book has sold four copies this month. This may have something to do with me saying it was mommy porn on forum. What has happened to the world?

Emerging from the swamp!

          I felt a good bit better today, so I went for a walk round the Botanics, as one does. I should be good again by Monday.
          I was counting my blessings this evening in a cozy cocoon. I have had a wonderful life, so I have.

Two Old Photies

          I've been labouring under a debilitating disease this week past. It's just a flu like thing, but I'm completely useless at being sick. I just hate it. I suppose since I'm sixty one that sometime over the next few years it's entirely possible that I will become ill and be ill for some time before dying. I hope I don't have to do that because I wouldn't be any good at it.
           The best thing that's happened all week was getting a good review for the book about the bliss. The last review it got said it was excoriating. The woman hated it. But the guy who liked it was bang on the demographic really - someone who taught English in a secondary school.
            The second best thing that happened this week was getting £11.97 from Kindle. That's about forty five quid I've made, which is forty five more than I expected!
             The best thing about this disease is that you can sometimes still do the bliss. The worst thing is that when you are not doing the bliss, you feel scunnered by everything. Oh well, at least it should go away soon!

For some reason I can write in this space again!

I went for a walk in the Botties today. It was not raining. I have a head cold. I hate not feeling well. I'm not very good at it. Everywhere you look, there's more stuff to do your head in. The Year of the Dragon. That doesn't mean anything. Oh well.

          I dug up the weeds which were all the slugs and snails had left. They do not seem to like weeds, but find cabbage delicious. This put me in a moral dilemma since I promised not to kill stuff once, but since they're eating my cabbages, I've decided to let slip the dogs of war. So I dug up some of the weeds and planted the new cabbage plants the Domestic Bliss got somewhere, and have surrounded them with slug traps; plastic cups with Guinness in them. Drowning in Guinness, which they find even more delicious than cabbage, may they be reborn as Irishmen!

Allotment soup day!!!

The guitar on the left of the top photie was bought in the pawn shop for £15 just over twenty years ago. Hardly playable now. The one on the right was bought a few days ago from the Shelter shop and it also cost £15. I was wanting to buy a half decent guitar with my lump sum, but I spend all my money on drink and drugs, so the fifteen quid one is fine.
          I love the first day I can take stuff out of the allotment for soup! So today I brought home a cabbage, a leek, two turnips, curly kale, and three onions. You can make soup from that if you add lentils and the usual condiments. Hurrah!!! The stuff for the soup is in the bottom photie.
           In one of the other photies is the cabbage and kale patch of the Domestic Bliss. She protects hers with wee blue pills. When the slugs eat these, they become over-sexualised and thrill themselves to death. Or maybe not.
            The photie with the munched, scabby cabbage leaves is the most of what's left of my cabbages. I've never tried to grow cabbages before. You have to live and learn. I would not put down the blue pills because  ... anyway, you don't want the traces in the soil really, do you? Then you might digest it in your vegetables, but if you don't put it down, you don't get any vegetables to eat. I think next year I set slug traps using beer. Drowning in beer. It's kind of poetic. Maybe ironic since I stopped drinking yesterday.

Maybe after the wake, Skinny McDuck  got off with the wummin in the pub who had stabbed her husband in the belly, and the chest, and the face. He was beating her up at the time, so I'm sorry he's not deid, and I hope Skinny got on okay with that, and managed to get away the next day with all his bits.
                    His brother from Denmark was in Bellshill for two hours before he got knocked unconscious by the kick-boxing champion, but his pal, who was also knocked unconscious, is a taxi driver with a long memory, and that's not a taxi you want to fall into one night pissed if you were involved, due to the retributions.
                     An elephant was buried in the foundations of the chapel in Mossend where the funeral was, and not at lot of people know that.
                      They were not allowed to put a steeple on the catholic church, the same chapel, were my grandfather was married because the protestants wouldn't let them, as it would have been bigger than the steeple of the protestant church at Bellshill cross. But they are all going to hell, Jack. They're all going to fucking hell.
                       The Domestic Bliss thinks I should go to the Holy Isle off Arran from January till the end of March to do the juju, and I think I will. Do you know anyone else who would like to go to jail and lock themselves up like that? Froggy McDuck told me today that I should be going there right now because it is my chance and opportunity to do this. Also, your body starts to die after you are sixty two no matter what you think.
                         You have to accept the world as it is.
                          At the funeral I met the other two folk from the half back line I was in at the Holy Family primary school. Right back, centre half, left back, which was moi.
                          Some folk asked me if I was the writer. Well, I am not, but what can you say?
                       
                     

Saturday 6.00 p.m.
                               Dreich and drookit!

Walkies and photies today in the Botties!