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My mother steals my inheritance

  Fri 21st October 2016

7pm the evening before my already once-rearranged date with the art teacher. I leave the second of my messages on her phone, wondering if she'd had any ideas yet about the finer details, like where, and when.

She emails to cancel, saying that she needs some "downtime totally away from an urban environment" to take care of herself "mentally and physically." She apologised for any further interruptions in communication as she's in the middle of the Lake District.

Let's leave it F---. I've been so fucked about by women lately, to the extent of having to change my mobile number, that my tolerance for cancelled and rearranged meetings is very low. It's clearly not a priority for you.

Hope you enjoy your time in the Lake District and every good wish for the future.

looby


My mum's staying at the moment. She said that when my Dad died last year, she was contacted by the bank asking her to collect the balance in his account. It was 47p.


Yesterday morning, I saw an employee of Ladbrokes fagging it outside the shop. She was wearing a sweatshirt with the slogan "Stand Up For Cancer."

13 comments

Comment from: Liverdrawer [Visitor]

Fucking hell Looby, I know you fancy borderline deranged women, but your love life might be easier if you went for someone - you know - normal.

The sheer narcissism of that email. She sounds a right twat. I bet she describes herself as “spiritual but not religious".

Fri 21st October 2016 @ 18:38
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

You’ve nailed her right there and your description of her makes me laugh. A comfortably-off woman who hasn’t had a day’s material hardship in her life so has to invent problems from her own navel fluff.

I find most people boring, but meeting the ones that aren’t comes with a cost. I want to meet an over-sexed, well-dressed, clever, potty-mouthed, piss-taking, tactile, optimistic 50 or 60 something who likes dancing. Maybe I should add that to my dating profile, narrow them down a bit.

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 00:58
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

I was wrong, she’s a train wreck, of course that’s referring back to my comment last post, maybe i should have added on the other hand those Art School girls can be completely up their own ass, in love with their own voice and prone to bouts of melancholia that Morrissey himself would be proud of… you should send her flowers and a note thanking her for her act of human kindness by canceling the date, freeing those hours of your life for better things, like pretty much anything…

and that second paragraph there, that should be your fucking dating profile, that’s ace, the faint of heart won’t respond to that, you’ll be getting the few proper lunatics (and i mean that in the fondest, most loving way possible when i say lunatics) out there, at the very least it’d be interesting…

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 03:15
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Ah well, we weren’t to know kono. I agree, I’ve had a narrow escape there.

I’ve added that paragraph to my profile. Let’s see what’ll happen :)

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 06:48
Comment from: J-P [Visitor]

“Eddie [puts head in hands] it’s meant to say ‘Stand up TO Cancer’. If you print ‘Stand up FOR Cancer’ people are gonna think they’re supposed to queue.”

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 09:01
Comment from: [Member]

Erm… I might have remember that incorrectly. Either way, she’s heading the right way for an encounter with it.

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 09:13
Comment from: J-P [Visitor]

Ha! The misprint honestly wouldn’t surprise me anyway. So much of those “cancer promotional materials” is cargo-cult, as you’ve seen.

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 10:56
Comment from: isabelle [Visitor]

Blimey, I think you’ve had a narrow escape there, sounds like too much hard work before it’s even begun. I think kono is right, better to lay it out clearly in your daring profile, sort out the wheat from the chaff ;)

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 16:44
Comment from: isabelle [Visitor]

Dating , I meant !
( although I suppose to some it would be daring!)

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 16:46

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles…”

The problem is that there aren’t many tactile, optimistic 50 or 60 somethings who aren’t boring. And the ones who aren’t are going to give you a load of trouble.

My mom left just enough cash to pay for her own funeral. So that was kind of her.

Sat 22nd October 2016 @ 23:43
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Exile:
Burroughs, that must be. I can see the attraction, but how tiring it would be surrounded by people like that all the time.

And yes, it is difficult. A great many people my age have given up. They basically think that the period for anything exciting or new or exploratory in their lives is over (if it ever started).

My mum said she’s paying into some sort of funeral plan. Which is handy, because none of us could afford a funeral for her.

isabelle:
Yes, I’ve altered it so it’s a bit more daring :)

Sun 23rd October 2016 @ 09:24
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

That’s a Kerouac quote that Exile pulled out up there… and yes people get fucking boring, they worry about their careers and “image", they drive swanky cars and think they’ve fucking made it and yet they haven’t lived a day in their lives, i figured out long ago that being “rich and successful” ain’t shit, being happy and enjoying this ride is what it’s all about, if grass were booze i’d be considered a raging alcoholic, i study the strains and play with them and get fucking zonked and then go about my day, the soccer moms probably wonder what i’m always grinning or giggling about but little do they know, (it’s all the dirty things i’d do to them) that it’s all just a laugh…

Sun 23rd October 2016 @ 17:35
Comment from: [Member]

Ah…Kerouac. Thanks.

I consider myself successful too kono. I’m in the kitchen at Kirsty’s house, doing Gruyère and tomato quiche, roast potatoes, honeyed carrots, and runner beans, for me, the girls, Kirsty and her boyfriend. I’ve got the most wonderful speed up my nostrils (it is so good. I wish I could could bung you a gramme) and organic Dunkertons cider at my side. I don’t have an alarm clock in my life.

(Actually in this one particular exception I will be using one to get me up at 4.45 to listen to the conclusion of the First Test against Bangladesh. But not to go to work.)

And just now Wendy’s rung me asking me whether 9am would be too early to go up to the park and get wasted on unrealised sexual desire Prosecco and mdma.

People moan and moan and moan about their lives. Change it then.

Sun 23rd October 2016 @ 20:04


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