Well I finally got in, I went to college to enrol this morning then got the bus back with a bunch of people I know and walked down my clos to my house - which is right at the end of a clos with 40 houses. Anyway. I got to the front door and dumped the pile of trees I seemed to have collected during the morning and threw my diary and shirt down on top of them, so as to take a proper look in my bag for my keys. Now it's quite a big bag - the pink one I had in London - and I assumed my keys were at the bottom. They were not. They were not anywhere in my bag. So I phoned Mum who agreed that yes my keys were on the back seat of her car, but no she would not bring them to me. I phoned my sister, but I forgot she couldn't drive, so she couldn't bring them. Total last resort was Dad, there was a set in the car he picked me up from the airport in, but that car was now in the possession of a customer who was borrowing it while his was fixed, so Dad couldn't come either, secretly I didn't mind. By now I need the toilet. I phone to Mum and actually beg her, until the battery on my phone ran out. She came, not happily, but she came. There, wasn't that a great story? Now I'm in my bedroom with the stereo turned up full-blast and I'm here trying to write something to update my blog. I kept detailed diariy entries whilst on the mainland, so I think I'm just going to take a few extracts from that, not all of it because some was written in the dark and I can hardly read that, and some of it is just crap.
"You look tired Nik, carrying the weight of the world. Still, you'll sort it out." Yes this is Grandad's welcome. I must work harder to cover it up. The number of relatives who told me I looked pale, maybe I should break the habit of a lifetime and wear make up. Nah.
This holiday my sister stole my bedroom so I had to stay on the futon in the front room, I have always been sort of afraid of that room. It's too big and open and the bed was right in the middle of it. It was my uncle's room up till a few years ago when he moved out (he's autistic) and he still keeps his guns in there. It was creepy, I prefer small spaces, preferably the corners of them.
The ITV news reports on underage drinking and drugs, they have experts and parents - none of which are under 30 years old. Yet they know all about it, they know why we do it, what the attractions are, and they think we make up exscuses for it. Now have any of them actually asked a 16 year old why they drink or take drugs? I doubt it. Perhaps teenagers have just as much, or more, to worry about than adults - maybe some of us are practically adults, just early. They should ask us, not a 60 year old professor from america.
"If you don't believe in yourself, who else can be expected to?" Oh great.
My Grandad used to be a Market Gardener, before he quit and took to the stock market. That is to say he owns acres of land and lots of vehicles, all housed in a huge warehouse - the pictures of my house in England can be found on my msn space - and I spent a lot of time out there. I can drive a tractor and his transit van, I used to wear his hat and go tearing off across his fields.
I rode my bike, the only thing that no one else can touch, down to the village to post a letter. The brakes failed. It was totally reckless, I was going down a huge hill and got to a junction and just sped right through, causing a car to practise an emergency stop. You don't speed across junctions on B - roads, without stopping. For the rest of the way and the way back I listened to my mp3 very loud and accepted that if a car didn't stop, it didnt stop. They all stopped. Hence, I am intact. Awesome riding though.
Ever seen 'The Perfect Storm'? I liked it. This will sound totally morbid but, there was no happy ending. The fishermen all drowned. It was honest and life-like, it was the sea.
28th August (getting bored yet?)
I have a little blue cable-tie, you know the ones? It was used to fasten a label to my camp rucksack and when you cut them off they are great to fiddle with, they only go one way. I have been fiddling with this a lot, I like to have something in my hands, like to keep them busy. I think it makes me less self-conscious.
I've got my Hampshire accent back really quickly, sounding like a true farmer.
Went to Oxford today, what I think made the day for me was sitting the back of Grandma's Vauxhall Vectra while she did 90mph down a dual-carriageway. Reckless lady. Funny, I thought exceeding the speed limit might be 'rude'.
Emily, my youngest sister, was supposed to be getting christened, but Mum changed her mind. Strangely, I'm glad - I was to be her Godmother. The thought of promising something to God doesn't really appeal to me, bad enough my parents offered me to God when I was one year old. Did you know I can recite the entire Lord's Prayer? I used to have to do it daily, but I haven't for about five years, I haven't forgotten it though.
Steven Eric Daysh and Paula Robertson were today joined in Holy Matrimony, to become Mr+ Mrs Daysh. When my parents divorced I was offered the chance to change to my maternal name, Daysh, but I refused. It was a cool wedding, sort of. I read that poem thing and there were loads of pictures and champagne and decorating of Uncle Steve's car. Don't you find it amazing how two people can trust each other so completely? There are a tiny handful of people I trust. But to give yourself to someone, surrender your whole self to them, well I find that pretty scary. Shall I do the cycnical marriage bit and write the poem I wrote? Tough, I'm going to anyway.
So she sits and she smiles,
There she sits laughing,
He sits with a childish grin,
There he is staring at her,
Never quite believing he was chosen.
He looks away and she turns and she watches,
Watches the man she loves,
Wondering when she got so lucky.
I sit here, observing them all,
Family, friends, new lives and old,
Full up with love,
I see the blindness,
Their blinkered eyes, I see,
The illusion they believe in,
The shattering, I see,
They've seen it once.
Yet still they try,
A second dose of love,
But I see.
Ok not one of the best.
Emily has been listening to Grandad's music again, she is walking around singing 'Joleen' by Dolly Parton. She's got the accent but unfortunately not the tune, if you could call it that.
In the UK you have letters and numbers in your car registration, like KB53EZP, if I see these or in fact anything with letters, I automatically put them in alphabetical order, any words. I don't know why.
Did you know wherever you are in the UK you are never further than 72 miles from the sea? Reassuring huh?
Another of those cycle rides, but to a different town this time. The brakes have not yet been fixed, so down a 10% slope was awesome. Coming back up - not so much. Still it was hard ride and oddly cleansing. More loud music to try and block out those stupid voices in my head.
Jemma and I had an arguement over the front seat of all things. I didn't want it but I got there first and felt like standing my ground. So she phyisically fought me. She is strong. But she seemed to forget I do quite a lot of sailing, so I'm stronger. And taller. With longer legs. Still I let her get me to the floor until I sort of flipped her over and, well she started to cry. Aren't I a bitchy sister? Still she got the front seat. Even though she started it. It put me in a really odd mood, I mean she's 12. When she gets the seat and I have Mum yelling how terrible I am, are you supposed to feel like chucking yourself off a bridge onto the M27? Or is that just me?
It is rude to decline a cup of tea when offered, unless you have a legitimate reason for doing so - eg a big lunch filled you up. I went for another cycle ride and actually yelled along to the music, it was the first time I had sworn for ages - since swearing is rude. Therefore I would like to announce that I am rude. As Keir said, 'Fuck them'. * clears throat* Sorry, more tea?
Love you x x x
PS I think I need a few ideas for posts since I'm sure this is boring you, any ideas?