Mood:  incredulous

MY PROPER POSTING for today. Yes I conked out again with my little Mousey up my sleeve. Mousing around, up and down my sleeve, whiskers all a-tickling me, push-push-pushing with his nose. Then, as I say, settling down to yet more extended hours of sleep. Funny, but when he’s intent on rambling somewhere more interesting, even if I put my forearms vertical he climbs up the material with ease, pops out and climbs on my hands, hangs over the brink of my cuffs, judging ever more cavalierly the distance for a leap down…

   I’M GLAD I’M AT HOME. Am not too much of a fan of the Vast Outside most of the time.

   People! Bloody people!

   The girls in the bookshop were sweet, wishing me happy new year. They know me well from my times last year when I went through a great deal of the Wordsworth Editions £1.99 Classics range. Ordering titles, one at a time, through their computer. Leaving me with half a shelf full of half read Victorian fiction. Anna Karenina I'm still tackling gamely. I adore that book. It's just that I have the attentionspan of a gnat that makes the concentrating upon all 850++ pages rather difficult.

   Then I’m leaving the booksshop when a Greek voice accosts me and two deranged eyes. A Local Psycho, who used to call himself my friend, demands £1. So he can go get a drink. I said no. Then, two glassy inner –spiralling eyes met mine and a rant — “I saw you with my friend (what friend?) in the off-licence (liquor store) this morning. What off licence? Don’t laugh at me. Next time I see you I’m gonna hit you. What’s wrong with now? Does he know my really puny left hook?

   (MY RIGHT HOOK, on the other hand, even Charles the Schizophrenic Boxer admires my right hook. He tries not to look pained when, standing palms out, he allows me to smack them fearlessly.)

   [I've just read this back the next day. And who was supposed to be fearless. Him or me?]

   So Zorba doddles off. I brave the local supermarket. “Brave” is the operative word for their most recent “StoreD”, in an Alzheimerian feat of confabulation, remembers calling me into the back room of a prominent high street pharmacy accused of theft of what I later identified as a £25 copper antiarthritis bangle. What else annoyed me in this incident was that nobody had witnessed me even touching said bangle (that’s because I hadn’t). A new and rather thick member of staff had merely witnessed me stand beside the empty packet as I perused camera batteries (I needed a new battery for my oldfashioned auto-advance film camera.)

   “Look, just put it on the table now and you’ll get a banning letter (banning me for life from the shop? For doing nothing? No thanks.) and we’ll leave it at that,” said Mr StoreD in a voice so reasonable I almost felt silly having to contradict him and tell him the truth. The harsh unpalatable truth that someone who looked like a junkie had actually, for once, not stolen the item in question. He didn’t like this. Once I’d emptied my every pocket, turned my bag inside-out, proved beyond doubt that no £25 arthritis bracelet was in my possession, I pointed to the luxuriant bank of CCTV monitors and challenged him to prove the “crime” on them.

   My invitation was immediately declined.

   What gets me the most about this episode is that the guilty StoreD remembers my face (though he assumed I’d forgotten his for I blanked him so effectively on so many occasions), remembers the accusation, yet affects to have forgotten my innocence. He even started getting quite lairy with me last time he caught me in this unnamed supermarket, ejecting me for “theft” of a single carrier bag. My friend Valium Marilyn’s had split so I was only doing a favour. He threw me out as if I’d been apprehended committing grand theft larceny. Well and truly in his element he threatened me with “the back room” should I dare set foot inside the hallowed sliding doors again. When I told him that the “last time” of which he kept reminding me, I’d actually done nothing wrong and he knew that, his eyes flashed with inner fury and he growled to , “Get out of my face.”...

   Thankfully no security appeared to be “on” this evening so I braved the supermarket, got all me food. Feeling well pleased with myself I breezed outside ony to run slap bang into Crackhead of the Century imploring me for £50p. Come on, just 50p I know you’ve got it.” I pleaded poverty and hurried to the busstop. People!

   Fair enough I used to beg up change. But I never begged “off my own” (why ask someone who has nothing?— that makes no sense. That is taking the pee-pee.) Also when I begged I sat down. In the end, I had so many “regulars” I didn’t even need to ask. The money came of people’s free will. If someone didn’t want to talk to me, so be it. I ignored them. And I got very little trouble because of this. C of the C, on the other hand, seems to have a bashed-in face nearly every other time I meet him. Which is far too frequently for my liking.

   And here endeth today’s posting. People! Ukk!!

Posted by gledwood at 12:51 AM GMT

Updated: Sunday, 7 January 2007 6:37 PM GMT

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Mood:  spacey

Wednesday 3^rd January 2007

I DO FIND IT AMUSING when I type these postings out on Word and the program presumes to (a) understand what I’m trying to say better than I can say so myself or (b) (most annoying of all) corrects my grammar. It even dove (or should that be “dived”, I prefer “dove”, I think it’s American English but still, I prefer it. Yeah, it dove in and informed me that my Revised Standard Version Bible quotation from Isaiah for the new year was ungrammatical. Honestly!

   Right so I’m meant to tell the nitty-gritty of my sad life. Sainsbury’s. No beef sausages. Exceedingly annoying. (I’m no swine-o-phile.) I’m getting loads of green underlining here. Bought “Healthy Options” wholegrain fresh and soft and bendy tagliatelle. Not your junkie Value baked beans and shoplifted bacon fayre, I know, but I’ve made more effort to take care of myself of late.

   Last night I conked out (addicts don’t just sleep, they conk out fully clothed for the night and call that sleeping). Yeah so I conked out with hammy out. In my hands he’s learnt to dive up my sleeves where he mouses around for up to twenty minutes before settling down to sleep. Yes, up my sleeve. And it being night, I fell into deep unconsciousness with said rodent nestling in the crook of my arm. (Hamsters are nocturnal, but this one just sleeps morning, noon and night; I’ve never had a pet like him.)

   When I awoke thinking “aaagh! He’s pinged out!” he hadn’t. He was just clinging (no doubt still unconscious) to the inside of my clothes. As I said, he is a very odd hamster. Chinese hamster if you want to be precise. He makes my sleeves his own domain then runs away from my hands when I try and get him out. Usually for some practical reason, like I’m popping down the shop. Sometimes I just think, well whatever and take him with me. He doesn’t mind.

   Now I’m trying to think of something more exciting to tell you. One of these days I shall get round to telling about my home detox. At my parents’ house. Unannounced. That was some chaos and a half!

   Meanwhile I’m signing off for now. Take care, folks.

Gleds

xx

Posted by gledwood at 9:20 PM GMT

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Mood:  chillin'

NEW YEAR’S DAY: I woke up at 3 or 4pm. As I said, I was going to go out “panhandling”like I used to… couldn’t bear to go back there.

   A middle-aged man on a sleeping bag was sat by our nearest cashpoint begging in the pouring rain. He is still there this evening. He looks miserable as sin.

   I tried to score but my current best dealers were (a) not answering and (b) hung over in bed. My phone was down to the last 60p in credit so I told man (b) to come round and not to be too long about it.

   An hour and a half later when I was tapping in my “detox” post, below I rang man (a) who picked up only to waste my last bit of talktime telling me he’d be “on” tomorrow. So had to txt man (b) saying call me or I’m on my way up the road.

   Having given (b) ten minutes’ grace, I called my dealer #3 who said come to a certain park (same as Xmas Day) which I duly did. An almighty rainstorm began to chuck it down. Of course right in the middle of this and just as I’m approaching the place for #3, man (b) calls back informing me he’s near my house: too late, mate, I’m not there. Sorry.

   Soaking wet and glad at least to find his “runner” lurking there, I handed £10 to a shadow beneath a plane tree.

   I trudged home in the cold and wet. And rather than ringing man (b) back as promised, I indulged in cyder, fresh (paid for) tobacco and beef in black bean sauce and egg fried rice from my nearest Chinese (about ten doors away from mine). I have all amenities here.

Laurie thank you for answering my Americana questionnaire: Come on all yous other Americans. Roll up! Roll up! Get answering! Anyone else from any other part of the world, just say where you’re from and answer my 7 questions anyway. I’m interested to know about the junkie life abroad…

Ta!

G

Posted by gledwood at 7:56 PM GMT

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Mood:  celebratory

CLOSE TO THE CUSP of New Year’s Day; I am tempted to go out begging the revellers for change. But that would be going backwards a few years.

   Sad as that may seem, I can’t do it. Also my gut feeling tells me to stay inside. I have my methadone. I’ve drunk quite some quantity in advance to prevent that nasty phenomenon of waking early feeling sick, like I did this morning. I was barely over the cusp of withdrawal — just a bit under the weather…

Posted by gledwood at 11:59 PM GMT

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Mood:  lyrical

NEW YEAR’S EVE and I’ve cut down smoking… not because of any New Year’s Resolution, though one friend of mine threatened to quit and I said (truthfully) that I’d do so too — if it happens. No, my lack of tobacco comes from rain (that has destroyed the local dogends collections) overzealous street-sweepers sweeping all the best butts away and my being too poor to be able to afford to buy any. So I’ve been on about five or ten a day, which is nothing to me. I had a cig just now, it gave me such a head-rush! People pay £5 to get something like that off crack! And mine came free courtesy of an old lady at a bus-stop…!

    As you can see I’ve altered my colour-scheme. I would like to know whether people think it really is better…

   I’ve been trying to send Happy New Year’s messages to everyone I know but have had problems getting through to the following: Micah — because Junkylife seems to be “down”. Ruth — the comments box won’t appear (and I keep getting the most extraordinary popups from your site). Istanbulwitchy — yours will only allow comments from googlers or blogspotters which I’m not so please alter the settings, I’d like to be able to talk to you! So a Happy New Year to all the above plus everyone else and thanks for all your support.

     Re my longed-for hits-counter, I’d still appreciate all the tips and info anyone has… especially if there’s a Tripod blogger out there… Please keep the instructions coming…

    I’m off now for Sunday lunch and a huge session of nature programme watching at my mate’s house… See yers in 2007.

   And let's hope the new year is tons better than the old one!

G.

xx

Posted by gledwood at 2:00 PM GMT

Updated: Sunday, 31 December 2006 9:07 PM GMT

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Mood:  caffeinated

RECOVERED QUITE NICELY from yesterday. After getting all wound up with nerves. (I’m not used to going out to nice places any more.) What was I so worried about, meeting my own brother-? We had a great time, curry and all. I had been drinking quite a lot that afternoon, but thankfully had sobered a little down by the time we actually met up. Right this moment he’s aboard a jetplane… When will I see you again, Bro? (Hopefully this time next year!!)

Posted by gledwood at 1:12 PM GMT

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Mood:  not sure

Beddy-byes indeed! Got five minutes sleep till the phone got me up...

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...

(Is my spelling correct up there? And is it le or la chose, j'ai proper oublié!)

Okay-doke, folks. Did I have something else to say?...

Yes, I've loads of stuff to say; nothing that fits in here though so let's go.

CUL8R, G.

Posted by gledwood at 1:27 AM GMT

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Mood:  chillin'

MY BROTHER

I SAW MY BROTHER (a computer programmer) who’s over from Los Angeles and staying in London just tonight. If I mention that I’ve not seen him for 5½ years and did last see him on day five of a cold turkey detox, perhaps you might understand my trepidation at meeting him again. I’m not trying to imply that we get on badly because nothing could be further from the truth; it’s just that a vast physical distance plus too many years have got in between us. That is why I felt nervous about meeting him. That is why I drank too much before our meeting. Thankfully the cyder was already wearing off by the time I staggered out of the tube at Piccadilly Circus. So by the time we arrived at the restaurant I was feeling remarkably clearheaded. I didn’t knock over the tables or anything…

    We had a yummy curry somewhere in Soho. He did remark to me that American curries aren’t quite as strong as their English counterparts. Plus American curryhouses don’t go in for the standard set menu that British Indian and Chinese restaurants go in for. (If you go somewhere like Brick Lane, a long road with literally scores of Indian restaurants along its length, you’ll see precisely the same menu in every window. The only thing that varies is possibly the price — and curryhouse prices stay suspiciously similar everywhere...  almost as if their owners are running a cartel...!)

    My Bro had to go to bed straight after the meal as he has an early flight.

    I didn’t feel as much of a f-up as I imagined I would, there in the presence of someone who’s doing pretty well in life. And my bhuna masala was pretty wonderful. So I’ll leave it at that. I’m knackered and I drank too much earlier so it’s beddy-byes for me.

L8rs, Gleds…

Posted by gledwood at 9:53 PM GMT

Updated: Thursday, 28 December 2006 10:00 PM GMT

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Mood:  on fire

Okay okay folks, I've steadied my nerves. With three litres of White Ace Cyder 7.5. Do yu know what I'm not so worried about NEthing now. Well I'll be back online L8r if I'm stil conscious... well that's about it. Hey!— no, I'll tell u L8r.

There's a smell coming up like rancid pork kidneys. Why do people eat such rank food???!¬!

Oh man he just rang we're meeting "down west in 2 hrs time". Man, why do I beat meself up so much about simply meeting my people?

I'm not used to this. I've grown unused to this.

Look I'm shutting up I'm off.

L8Rs.    g

Posted by gledwood at 5:02 PM GMT

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Mood:  energetic

It's 2o'clock on Thursday afternoon. I'm due to meet someone I haven't seen for years at about 6 o'clock this evening so I'm well nervous... Wish me luck...

What am I saying. We're just having a simple meal. What's to wish worried luck for??

See yers later.

Gled

Posted by gledwood at 2:11 PM GMT

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Mood:  loud

THE DAY AFTER BOXING DAY and life returns.

    The High Street heaving, seething with all those people who wisely put off spending until what used to be called the “January Sales”. Even I, feeling generous with myself, splashed out £5 on a mobile phone battery I’ve needed for weeks but never got round to sorting out… (The old battery was so knackered you got three minutes talk time before you had to rush and plug the handset into the wall.) So typical of me to live with something like that. Most people would get driven up the wall and replace it on day one. Most people!! That’s not me… If I were “most people”, imagine the pickle our world would be in! Office hours would be midday to eight pm for starters. Have a good lie in when you can, I say. Street lights would be Vegas-style multicolours so the metropolis looked amazing from descending aeroplanes. Trafalgar Square would be the scene of a humungous rave each weekend. Everyone would come to London, New Official Centre of the Universe!!! I could go on but the world’s a crazy enough place already…

    So we’re at a lull in the mass celebrations. People are composing themselves ready for New Year’s Eve. Now I did used to do New Year’s with some gusto, but two years in particular, 2000 and 2001 I think I overdid it. You shouldn’t have to recover from a night (+most of next day) partying as if you're convalescing from tuberculosis or cholera. That’s when “fun” is starting to go to unfunny extremes.

    No, I just have a few drinks and let the evening pass by now. To be honest, I remember New Year's Eve as pressurized fun. Everything you do on a night out you have to do three or four hours earlier, e.g. getting into club at nine rather than one. Arranging cabs hours in advance. Lots of stress and organized chaos. No, I did have some fun in years gone by but I’m happy for a younger generation to have taken up the baton (or light-stick)…

    Sometimes I muse about the 19-20somethings and wonder, is life as amazing for them as it seemed for us at that age? Everyone buries that amazing feeling of self-discovery in a rosy daze of nostalgia special only to them. People of my parents’ generation tended to rhapsodize over the 1960s. They’ve forgotten all the times they couldn’t have a drink because it was Sunday and the shops were shut, etc, etc. Our memories become canonized. We all do it.

    There’s an old raver’s joke: How many clubbers does it take to change a lightbulb? Fifty. One to change the lightbulb and forty-nine to say lightbulbs ain't what they used to be...

Posted by gledwood at 11:57 PM GMT

Updated: Thursday, 28 December 2006 5:01 PM GMT

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Mood:  chillin'

BOXING DAY and everyone slept in till well past eleven. I only woke once in the night with an intruder spooking sinisterly about my bed. Then I woke up a bit and realized I was in someone else’s house…

    Was offered a fry-up for breakfast. A fry-up is the best cure for a hangover, so the scientific Sunday papers say. I wasn’t hung over so I declined in favour of simple coffee and toast. Even the man of the house, the one who was swaying in mid-space with an inane grin on his face yesterday evening was not hung over. I had to go home in the end as I needed somewhere to take my last bit of gear in peace (everyone else had finished theirs). I was staying in a mixed house with users and nonusers; the rule there is if you have something, don’t get caught — which is difficult when the bed you slept in adjoins the kitchen with a door that won’t even close and even the bathroom has no lock… (for historical reasons). A great deal of history has gone on in that house and you have to respect people’s funny ways…

    So I went back to my place which is awfully quiet. I live in a kind of hostel. Christmas barely touched the place.

    The guy downstairs is a manic-depressive drinker with an exwife and kids. Every week or so a very well turned out woman draws up  in her gleaming car and a rabble of screaming gurgling children pile into his room. The place must feel very empty when they’re gone. Christmas Day can be a day that rubs your nose in all you’ve lost.

    Well I haven’t taken too many drugs or drink. (Though I have called myself an alcoholic, I know I drank less on Christmas Day than many “regular” folks do.)  I had a surprisingly nice time and it wasn’t as stressful as feared.

     If you didn’t have a great time, everyone, then I hope it was tolerable.

    Take care everybody,

    Gleds.

Posted by gledwood at 1:35 PM GMT

Updated: Tuesday, 26 December 2006 1:39 PM GMT

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Mood:  a-ok

Hi folks, I have to be quick.

Woke up at about 5 o'clock this morning. Nothing I own tells me the time (left my phone at my mate's charging by accident 2 days ago, getting it back when have Xmas dinner later).

Went out for cyder around 8am. Shops empty. These are 24 hour shops. Many are run by Moslems so they don't care what day it is as long as money's coming in.

Just before 9am I had my special Xmas day hit. Remember I said I had an Xmas 1g? That it lasted from 6pm on 23/12/6 till 9am 25/12/6 is a miracle in itself. Lovely big hit of B with a twinkle of coke... Set me up for the day, I'd like to say. Actually 10 minutes later I fell back to sleep... only rousing with the Queen's Speech at 3pm.

Scurried to my mate's house.

The lady of the house was bogged down in turkey trimmings. The man of the house was drunk enough to be swaying... (remember my sketch of Xmas Day I gave yesterday... too truthful!)

Of course we'd all run out of "gear" by now. So calling my dealer a big expedition to the park was arranged. Six bags bought from dodgy blokes on benches. Quite a regular queue of the local down-&-out were making their way in and out.

Xmas Dinner was absolutely lovely. HUGE turkey + all trimmings! + cauliflower + broccoli cheese (my favourite!) + Xmas pudding + an Xmas cake we've not even tackled yet...

Hope all your Christmases are this good.

See yers 2morrow, love Gleds xx

Posted by gledwood at 6:00 PM GMT

Updated: Monday, 25 December 2006 6:11 PM GMT

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Mood:  bright

RIGHTY-HO FOLKS — IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE well and truly. It being Sunday and my having done everything I was able to ahead of time, I had nothing to do today except to sleep… and sleep… and sleep… not waking up from my multiplicitous dreams till it truly was evening.

    I have always had mixed feelings about Christmas. I have to admit I did feel slightly tearful for the sake of certain Xmases past…

    The Anglo-American Christmas means going totally over the top. (It bears little resemblance to the same festival as celebrated in Continental Europe, seriously!) Tinselly decorations all over the place, Christmas trees popping up everywhere, Santa Claus’s dodgy face (what is he smiling about??), our high streets festooned with Christmas lights… office parties every night… TV and newspapers full of it… increasing drunken celebration every day… one big countdown… last shopping hours on Christmas Eve… then BANG! The entire country starts shutting down — so God help you if you have an emergency not covered by the 999/112 services. Trains stop running not far after eight o’clock (even if they are scheduled). By midnight nearly everyone is in Church… or down the pub. Christmas Morning is peak time for Children, tearing open their presents. Adults do the same in a more restrained manner. Americans have the edge over us Brits when it comes to Xmas dinner as they also cook turkey on Thanksgiving Day — more practice.

    There are two basic patterns of Christmas Day I could describe to you…

    A: the respectable family have their detested relations round. Not too many people get drunk. Dinner is definitely ready by 2 o’clock. Cuckoo clock-style presents are opened at five pm because the family are so respectable and restrained. They probably go to bed at five thirty, knackered out by the intoxicating kick of three extra-small Sainsbury’s own brand (Advocaat+lemonade) snowballs…

    B: the “normal” or “rough” (depending how you view ’em) family awaken at 11am hung over, kids twittering on downstairs. Wife swears, rushes downstairs, retrieves beachball sized turkey, slams it in oven. I can worry about the trimmings later, she tells herself lighting up a Benson and Hedges. Suddenly: — Gaah! People remember precisely which detested relations are expected in an hour’s time. Ten minutes later and a queue at the diarrohoea-stinking bathroom and a car honks merrily outside. The idiots are an hour early. Christmas Day for this family involves ever increasing doses of alcohol as anaesthetic. Drunken games of Trivial Pursuit (or Twister if you’re feeling daring). At three pm the Queen comes on television to make vague platitudes and wish everyone a pleasant Xmas. This marks a pause for renewed drink-pouring and much clinking of glasses (assuming by this time people are conscious enough to pay attention).

    Turkey is finally cooked by four or five pm. Most people can’t manage much more food as they’ve been at the Ferrero Rocher/Quality Street/Guylian Chocolate Shells/Terry’s All Gold all afternoon. But everyone gives the dry bird a good stabbing.

    Remember to compliment the cook. Six pm and emotions are running high. If outright hostilities have not broken out before, they’re well overdue now. If not, most people pile down the nearest pub (and it has to be the nearest as they’re all far too bladdered to drive — even on Albanian roads.

    And night-time passes in a haze…

    Come Boxing Day everyone wishes they’d remembered to stock up on more Alka-Seltzer.

    The country stays half dead until January 2^nd when things spring miraculously back to life and everyone has to work extra-hard to pay their humungous overdrafts off.

    And that, My Friends, is the Gledwood’s sketch of Xmas…

    Do have a Merry One!!

Posted by gledwood at 8:32 PM GMT

Updated: Sunday, 24 December 2006 8:34 PM GMT

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Mood:  cool

NOTHING’S GOING WELL today. For example, I had some fun seeking myself out on Yahoo and Google. In so doing, of course, I did eventually find a “recovering” heroin addict’s blog I’d stumbled upon a few days earlier. I knew I’d left a comment somewhere but it wasn’t there, so under the top post with “0 Comments”, I said hello and directed the author to my blog. I thought it would be interesting to get the viewpoint of another (ex-)user. I send my greeting off only for the old greeting (a couple of days old) suddenly to pop up underneath my new one and I can’t delete either. Now it looks like I’m really hassling this person… So if you are reading this, Micah, I’m sorry about that. I’m not always as crazy as I seem.

    Do you know what, even in my life, I feel my dreams from sleep seeping across daylight through my twilight.

    If I could be sleeping now…

    Let me say what I’m reminded of. In one of my old jobs, “inputting” at a greenscreen mainframe terminal of a huge company. Working nights. (I had poor sleep back then, and that was 15 years ago!) Plugged into our Walkmen, typing to music, my brains became neutralized, floating down the hallway of my dreams, unconsciousness dripping from the mirror of the pool where it had dropped.

Poetess Sleeping

Dumb in a numb tree, wailing gaze,

Glancing glad and mournfully, afire and tired,

She falls asleep and furnace of her eyes

Refracts, a million-fold, the cosmic fire.

If she is two her dream-half falls awake,

Finding one she lost in a rainbow’s eye,

The dewy pupil of a sleeping flower

Ensphered, like evening’s sun in eyes of rain

And raining dreams and pools;

The rain grows trees.

Night writes her book in the words of day

And after dreams her poetry awakes,

A drab aphasiac in this world of words.

One and a half shopping days to Christmas:

Strangely, the shops weren’t as jammed to the rafters as they’ve been in previous years.

    I had to “do” Boots the pharmacists with my mate “Valium” Marilyn. (Imagine a Valium’d Marilyn Monroe of pensionable age. Cockney accent and loud of voice.) She had bought someone in her family a hair clippers by mistake; she needed to exchange these for an electric face shaver.

    Being oblivious to her queue-jumping (about 20 couples of all races politely packing their perfume purchases behind her) — blustering direct to the front she grabbed a young male assistant. I haven’t seen a shop assistant look so down in the mouth at being accosted by a customer for quite some years. I assisted him by hurrying the conversation along and past the £79.99 Philishaves and down to our three options: Boots’ own (mains-only) £19.99 electric shaver; Braun razor plus clippers one hour recharge green £33.99 or ditto blue £33.99 with neck short-back-&-sides strasightener. So we went for the three-in-one blue.

    The poor shop assistant. To a series of inane yet surely stock-in-trade queries, e.g. “Which is the best one?” he rolled his eyes back like a boxer who’d taken one punch too many that afternoon.

    Fair enough, what is the guy meant to say to a question like that. We were stood facing three or four shelves full of electric razors £20-£120. If it was my shop, the “best” one would surely be the most expensive. But it was I who had to but in with “how much do you want to spend?” (he was really useless). “What do you need it to do?” (She didn’t know, she’s not a man. But she knew she didn’t want hair clippers.) So we (or rather I) edged her into choosing one that not only disposes of beard but trims sideburns and can do grade 5-4-3-2-1 head shaves — bit of everything: perfect!

    I left Marylin at the till. If anyone can swizzle a refund on her unwanted hair clippers, Marilyn can.

    Had to dash round to other friend’s. Dealer arrived and sold me a 1g lump of Xmas heroin. (Sorry but you “straight” lot do Xmas as plastered out of your heads on alcohol as you can manage; I’ve been hooked on my stuff for over seven years outright and if there’s any day I “need” it, it’s Xmas Day for sure.)

    Sitting here alone — one side of my room lit fireglow red (very drowsy (I’ve heard that red lights make you angry:— not me. The red light helped me sleep when I was insomniac some weeks back. And it’s for my pet hammy. But you can click Chinese Mouse under topics if you want to read about that)).

    I’ve no telly, just radio. I was going to tell you about that before but somehow the subject of my TV-free life never came up. It started as an experiment. A broken telly gave me the opportunity to try and live life TV-free. Well I have done for over a year now and have to say, I don’t even miss it now. (I do watch telly, of course; I just watch other people’s tellies…)

    My radio is tuned to Radio 4 and BBC World Service — talk radio so good it’s almost like TV for the blind. When I want music I tune into the pirates (the FM dial is jammed with pirate FM stations — one weekend I counted over 50). Every taste is catered for from funky Jamaican dub-ska-reggae to the UK style of 2-step garage to drum-&-bass breakbeat to “old-skool” hardcore rave (imagine a barn dance hosted by aliens at double speed and you have “happy hardcore”, the cheesiest emanation of this drug-inspired music. If you are in London, try Eruption FM for “further details”!)

    I once texted in my request “Just for You London” which is an early 90s raver’s track, something that, sandwiched between the most frantic of chainsaw tekno tracks hits you like a breath of fresh air. Because this 19 year-old DJ had actually heard of it, I got “respec-respec-respec” (everyone under 20 wants to talk like they just got off the boat from Kingston these days — even if they’re white).

    But the guy couldn’t play my track because he “didn’t have it on him”.

    Okay folks, it’s getting later.

    Time ticks on…

    I’m off!

    If perchance I don’t get online between now and then I’ll say this again: here is wishing yous all a Very Merry One Indeed!!!

    From Gleds!

Posted by gledwood at 12:42 AM GMT

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Mood:  d'oh

SATURDAY — THE PRE-CHRISTMAS RUSH DAY.

    Strangely the shops weren’t as jammed to the rafters as previous years I recall.

    There was the saga of Valium Marilyn and the hair clippers versus face shaver. She’s bought the wrong Xmas present for her son and I was there to see her take it back. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a shop assistant looking quite so put out in quite some time. (Marilyn’s constant questioning and requests are quite something to deal with.)

    The dreaded fog is clearing. London Heathrow airport, BBC news informs me, is up to 87% capacity on internal flights today. British Airways had to cancel HALF their inland flights for the last couple of days because the fog means twice as much time must be allotted to each take-off and landing slot…

    It was damp, chilly, and looked like a Christmas card, the infinite blurry fog through leafless trees…

    I’m feeling better today than yesterday when I wrote that miserable post below. I didn’t post it yesterday partly because as I said I felt so frozen I didn’t have any energy!

    Righty-ho. I’m not going to mention you-know-what’s today…

    One good piece of news though, Suffolk police have charged a man over the murders of all five Ipswich “vice” girls.

    If perchance I don’t get online between now and then, do have a merry one!

    Lots of love

       Gleds

            xx

Posted by gledwood at 8:21 PM GMT

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Mood:  blue

FROZEN WITH THE DEPRESSION OF CHRISTMAS. In town today. Lent my friend £15 — couldn’t really afford to — but this person’s been good to me. (I know 100% I’ll get the money back but it just happens to be the very same day I get paid.)

    Lying in bed, unconscious. Barely able to rouse self. Had things to do so I forced myself up.

    All the time I feel physically slowed down and physically ill (each day I wake up aching all over). Emotionally unhappy. Mentally slow. And spiritually frozen.

    London’s full of mist. No snow. No frost, even. But the place does look like a Christmas card.

    As for Christmas Day — to me it’s just a dinner and I’m having that round my mate’s house (the one I lent the £15 to; are things making sense now?) I will not be on my own over Xmas.

    Christmas for me has never been a truly joyous time. Having said that, I think back to Christmas past when I did indeed find Christmas spirits of excellent quality from a wide selection of bottles.

    I think the key to our experience lies in attitude and expectations. I try to keep my attitude positive. I fight the negativity.

    As for expectations, I find the key is not to expect too much; but on the other hand, don’t expect nothing. If you expect nothing from life, nothing might well be what you get!

    If you’re still feeling depressed, pay a visit to the magical village of Plumpiemousie (http://plumpiemousie.blogspot.com). Expect the unexpected.

    Have a merry Christmas Everyone,

    Love from

    Gledwood

               X X

               XxX

                X

                x

Posted by gledwood at 8:02 PM GMT

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Mood:  blue

THIS INTERNET-COMPUTER MALARKEY is driving me cuckoo.

    Trying to post a hitcounter. Does anyone out there know precisely how + where I paste that “html” code?

    I nearly got there. But I don’t know what I’m putting where: my head is spinning…

    Maria Callas & Elizabeth Schwarzkopf are on the radio. When Maria Callas was young, & before her voice was wrecked she sounded sublime. There are so few operatic singers with truly amazing voices. Luciano Pavarotti is another. Andrea Botteli has something. Joan Sutherland…

    I’m not one of these classical music snobs. Like the rest of us, I know most of my music from television commercials and films.

    One thing I’d always told myself I’d love to do, if I can get clean, would be to find out what this amazing music was called, who was who, what’s what, etc.

    At present I can say I like Beethoven and Shostokovich. Just don’t ask me to name a great list of their pieces…!

    The greatest musical instrument, in my opinion, is the human voice. There are some amazing pieces for great choirs — I don’t know what a single one is called though!

    Oh well.

    I’d also like to learn how to cook (I mean properly cook.) A few years ago, just before I coincidentally got chucked out of the über-bourgeois shared house I’d lived in for years for my drug using, I met a lady on the street who offered to take me in.

    She was an intensely complex person. How she knew she could trust me with her house keys I’ll never understand because I had them for a month before I ever moved in. I ended up staying for over two years.

    There’s two sides to every relationship, and I do believe that ours was what they label a co-dependent one.That is, each party was relying on the other to an unhealthy extent.

    Then there was my time “on the streets” (or more accurately, in a squat, mostly alone).

    It was a giant building (not a house, a business premises), full of rats and pigeons and wildlife, not to mention certain “apparitions problem” — I kept seeing strange lights playing across the ceiling — and no way was this the lights of passing traffic. Once I saw a ghost and got scared witless.

    Now I’m housed in what they call “temporary accommodation”.

    Sadly, I seem no more capable of living in a single room than I am of leading an ordinary life.

    Reading back through my postings I often cringe at what I’ve put, yet I make myself keep it in here, to keep a representative record of my life.

    You want to know what cheered me up this evening? That was my dealer’s phone call, telling me a lovely bag of heroin was waiting for me at the end of my road.

    Some things never change…

Posted by gledwood at 11:10 PM GMT

Updated: Saturday, 16 December 2006 11:14 PM GMT

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Mood:  down

HAVING STAYED OFF the “gear” as much as I could these past few days, I’ve been relying on methadone to keep me “sane”.

    I know my excessive sleep would be blamed on the heroin, if I complained to drugs workers or doctors about it. I now know this is not the case.

    No heroin and only the far weaker methadone and I’m still tired out and depressed and sleeping all day.

    Shouldn’t moan about this, I’ve had depressions for years. Winter has got me so bad this time around though.

    Christmas is looming. I’ve tried not to be gloomy about Christmas here, but to me and everyone like me, it’s a time of bleakness — no real fun. And the rest of the world feels like it’s stopped to boot.

    When I was working, years ago, I always used to get laid off for at least a week at Christmas. So in good times and in bad, Xmas was never really much of a time…

    As for New Year, I’ve never been one to choose that particular time to start imposing resolutions.

    Before my addiction came along I was always capable of sticking to any arrangement I chose to make with myself. I never needed New Year as an excuse to push me along.

    But I have to be honest, I’ve told myself I’m stopping heroin so many times only to let myself down, I’m very wary of making any resolutions at all nowadays, New Year or not…

Posted by gledwood at 6:42 PM GMT

Updated: Saturday, 16 December 2006 6:50 PM GMT

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Mood:  blue

MY SLEEP CYCLE, as I’ve remarked, is all over the place. Some things never change and my sleep is one of them. Thanks to some cheese, having zzz’d all night, I dragged myself up, forced myself to do some necessary things only to end up lying down again and drowsing deeply throughout much of the afternoon. Then I did get up, only to feel weary and depressed.

    I know the winter blues, when they fit the “syndrome” get labelled Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). That is, depression with massive over-sleeping and a craving for sweets and pasta etc is triggered by the (in my opinion massively) diminished hours of winter daylight.

    That said, I have noticed an added urge for Jaffa Cakes and Turkish lemon curd biscuits (the lemon curd is in the middle — yummy.

    Plus I have been spending hours and hours as unconscious as possible. “Hibernating,” I like to call it. Hmmm…

    As well as nasty old winter the killings of those young girls have got me down. As I implied earlier, I count myself lucky that in the roulette wheel of life chances, I was not born female. Because if I was, I can’t see that I would not be out on the midnight streets as those women were.

    A newspaper commentator called those “working girls” streetwise. Well of course they think they are.

    And to most “straight” people, no doubt they would seem that way. But as yet another article implied, drug addicts actually tend to be immature. (Streetwise and mature are not of course the same, but one thing does feed into the other.)

    Perhaps the Narcotics Anonymous theory is true and the age at which addiction grabs you is the emotional age at which you stay.

    That would put me in my 20s. But many of my acquaintances are stuck in their teens.

    Youngsters stuck in adult bodies. No wonder they live lives of such chaos…

Posted by gledwood at 11:46 PM GMT

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