Mon 9th September 2019

Apologies for the site being down for a week or so; this was a fault at my hosting company.

Roll on getting out of this place. I was shouted at by Unhinged Landlady -- through the door, whilst I was talking on the phone call at 9.40am yesterday.

That doesn't include all bills: I was reminded yesterday that it's my turn to buy the toilet rolls, because despite having given her several thousands of pounds over the past year or so, she's still short of a couple of quid for some bog roll.

I finished the call and noticed a text asking me to take phonecalls downstairs. With Unhinged Landlady it's either shouting, or texting. The middle ground -- the practice known as "talking" -- seems a difficult register for her.

I went to see a couple of rooms last week. Found one in the suburb named for me -- Totterdown. The estate agent was a young woman in an occupationally-demanded tight skirt, which she repeatedly smoothed as she went up the stairs, thus drawing more attention to the area of her body from which she wished to deflect it.

Single bed, lots of light, recently refurbished, quiet street, ten minutes walk to Temple Meads. I said I was interested, and she took my details. In her first phone call after my viewing she used the word "congratulations" three times, as if agreeing to make a landlord richer than he already is is a success in life. Her harassing texts and phone calls were urging me to get on with it and I felt bludgeoned into cancelling two appointments at other places for the next day.

I rang Kim, who advised me to go for the bird in the hand rather than the one in the bush. How I would love to have a bird in the bush now. It's been a while.

I had to fill in a form detailing my probity. I've had to invent a current landlord, complete with fake email, as Unhinged Landlady would take pleasure in depriving me of a future tenancy. A spare domain and a second phone number are so useful in life.

Hayley went on a date. A few hours later, "we are officially seeing each other! I fucking love you. I'm so happy xx". It set off somersaults of jealousy in my stomach, even as I know that he will unwittingly help me gain the healthier degree of distance from her that I need.

2 comments

Comment from: Exile on Pain Street [Visitor]

Glad you got the site sorted out. I need it, thank you very much.

I was a tourist in London with my family for a week. It’s much cleaner than New York.

Tue 10th September 2019 @ 11:54 Reply to this comment

Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Thank you.

That’s the first time I’ve seen the words ‘clean’ and ‘London’ in the same sentence.

Tue 10th September 2019 @ 12:18 Reply to this comment

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 59 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
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La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
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Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
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Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

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I get jealous

2 comments

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

Rummage in my drawers

The Comfort of Strangers

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

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