Sweet Summer Rain

IT'S STILL "lovely and summery" here in London. I've been writing as much as I can.

Even when depressed and "wading through the honey of life" I am still pressing myself forward.

And, when you think about it, wading through honey is better than wading through shit!

A Writer's Thoughts in the Summertime...

IT'S A CHARMING SUMMER'S DAY here in London. I've heard  London is the place to be now, for the international super-rich. The reason? (Apart from the British government's lame tax regime for non-domiciled residents?...) The mild climate. Yes! The precise thing we Brits profess to hate so much ~ and emigrate to Spain to avoid is now our USP for billionaire aliens!So people from India, China, Arabia etc come here for the far far more tolerable summers (much milder than New York, or Paris even). Having said that, on the hottest days, London can get unbearably muggy and really tense and close and horrible.

I had a silkwood shower this afternoon, so I'm supposedly clean. But I'm sweating like a swine again. I'm dying to reduce my methadone down from the current 30mg dose. I'm also giving up the other stuff (again). Yes that horrible crap called heroin is still in my life, to my eternal shame. I really do feel shamed to be a heroin user, heroin addict, whatever you want to call it. And I do realize just how lame it sounds to say "I don't take drugs any more. Oh ~ except heroin. Oh no! I don't take drugs, only heroin." How thoroughly pathetic.

I've been very busy, not sleeping and writing intellectual novels. Well, I've written 1¾ stories. I like to call them novels. I've got to get my computer fixed to type them up properly, so I can send them off. I was going to self-publish, but now I'm thinking of at least trying a "normal" publisher first, y'know. See if they offer any money for it. Because I'm really really broke. Hey wouldn't it be exciting if a real publisher did take me on as their next big thing.

Oh and for the person, I can't recall exactly who you were, who told me I was delusional and that I couldn't even write anyway ~ you haven't even READ my writing. Judging somebody's prose fiction by what they put in a blog is like trying to assess somebody's singing voice by listening to them speaking. I would say my strong points as a novelist are my characters and their dialogue, also I write a "classic", slightly posh style of prose which I hope would set me apart from the modern "trendy" type of writer. None of this will ever come across here in my blog, because my blog is only ever a first draft dashed off quickly. Often I don't even read through what I've put before clicking "publish". So no, you really CAN'T judge a person's novels by their blogging. Example: Jeffrey Archer is a multi-million selling novelist, but his blogging prose is unremarkable. In fact, the best writers usually do write rather pedestrian prose. I far prefer this to the "aren't I witty/aren't I clever" "literary" type writing, which might be good in short extracts, but is wearying in the extreme when you have to tackle an entire book of it. I only ever read "commercial" fiction, I can't handle modern "literary" novels ~ I find them too pretentious by far! 

Years and years ago I did a course at uni for one semester entitled "writing a novel" ~ for which we all had to submit a long short story. My teacher, who was a Booker-nominated novelist, said to me she particularly liked my work for my memorable characters and striking use of language ~ so there you go. I hope that augurs well for my career as a "famous writer"..!

Anyway I must go. Hope you're all enjoying the good weather... if the weather IS good where you are. Beverly Babe you've gone and put your blog on invited readers only and I haven't got an invite. But I'm sending you Sorbitol-flavour kisses here. Be careful; if you eat too much of it, Sorbitol can give really severe diarrhoea-y runs! (I take sorbitol-based methadone, so I should know!)

LINKS:
PEDESTRIAN PROSE by Bestselling Writers...
Their blogs
Danielle Steel
John Grisham
Jackie Collins
Barbara Taylor Bradford
Stephen King
J K Rowling

Illustrated: various of my favourite Famous Five books in Continental languages...

Zipedee Do-dah!

IT'S a hot and sunny day. I feel as wondrous as the world around me. Which makes a charming change, as I spent most of last week wondering why anybody in this shitty world would want to be alive at all. But, y'know that's what being a manic-depressive junkie does for you...

Righty-ho I've got to dash. Take care everybody... :-)

A hot and sweaty day...

THE WEATHER is weird. Freezing cold last night and yet sweaty. I finally slept yesterday morning but noly for four hours or so (6-10am). Then I went to bed after 6pm and got up at 11. I was up all ngiht feeling horrible. I tried to score but two dealers let me down. They claim to be on 24 hours and yet the night shift are fast asleep. My appetite was so bad I was nauseated by a plate of Lloyd Grossman on stuffed pasta. It took all day to finish. Then at 1am I bought a half-kilo (just over a pound) of humungous green grapes that were so lovely I polished off the lot in one go.

I felt so horrible last night. Sweaty. Skin crawling. Boiling hot then freezing cold. Exhausted and yet could not settle. Eventually I gave in and turned on the fan-heater (In August!) It felt good at first and then uncomfortable. I'd taken a Nytol ("one a night") and felt nothing. Thinking I was "clucking", I'd also boshed back an extra 10mg methadone. It barely seemed to make any difference.

After it had got light and two more Nytold later I did eventually drift off. I was up by 10:20. Trudged down the post office where a skinny drawn old man was the only one queueing.

Wow! It was my friend Dave, who owes me £130. We hadn't spoken for six months after I flipped my lid down the phone because he'd promised me £20 yet blown all his cash on crack. I'd stopped taking my old medication (risperidone) which had the side-effect of making me anxious bordering on panicky. So then I'd ended up angry, depressed and paranoid, sending increasingly irritated messages to Dave and his lovely wife Clara.

The first thing I did was to apologize profusely for being so rude. I kenw he wanted the money for crack and I'd been hassling him for it back when he'd just come out of hospital. Dave is pretty ill with HIV. Sometimes he's so sick he has to pull over the car ad just sit quietly at the roadside.

I told him I thought he'd died ~ and even if he was alive I was convinced I'd never see him again. I'm so happy he's alive. Clara was cool with me even though I'd been very agressive when we last conversed. She said not to worry, that's what happens between friends. I had lent him the £130 over several weeks and never expected to get it back in a hurry. She didn't look good either. Usually she's immaculately put together. But her hair looked almost scruffy and she's very pale and drawn too. They had to pull the car up round the corner to purchase £60 worth of crack (an "Arfur" (supposedly 0.875g) and a "20" (supposedly 0.4g but actually about 0.25g)).

He offered me a pipe but I told him the mere thought of smoking "white" makes me want to vomit. Crack is too intense. It's the opposite of heroin in nearly every way. No way could I indulge in it now. My mood has been "normal" for the past 24 hours, but already I feel myself going a bit "high" yet again. Also my mind is racing. I hear random ideas in the corners of my consciousness. I keep having weird kinds of waking dreams.

I had to fill out a silly form for the DWP (Social Security). If I hadn't been a little bit hypomanic I don't see that I'd have managed it. I kept ticking the wrong boxes and my answers got more and more babbly as the hypomania crept on. I'm so glad to have made my peace with Clara and Dave. I don't care about the money. I'm just so glad he's alive. They're calling me back later or tomorrow.

That mania of mine is ridiculously disruptive. Not having slept for two-and-a-half days has made me feel like we're in Wednesday still when the weekend's here already! Yes, Friday night has arrived!

I don't know where this was going so I'll cut it off now... Wishing a very cheery weekend to you all. Oh that's what I'd forgotten: my family sent me this amazing film called The Inn of the Sixth Happiness (1958) starring Ingrid Bergman as a missionary in Northern China. It's one of the most amazing films I've ever seen.

And here's another excerpt from Northern China: roborovski hammies. Tubby pingpong-sized furballs of entertainment. Best trotterdonkey pets I've ever kept ~ bar none.

PS did you know Bugerlugs has about 20 of more tiny trotting robos? She breeds 'em and even has one named after me. Unfortunately Gledwood turned out to be a girl. Bugerlugs found this out after she gave birth to a litter of "baked beans with paws" ~ as hammy "pups" appear!

★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆ ★

Be Fabulous!!   INN OF THE SIXTH HAPPINESS, ORIGINAL TRAILER   BBC "WILD CHINA" ROBOROVSKIS IN INNER MONGOLIA! Apparently they spend all winter underground with the enormous stores of food they hoard. Apparently the local peasants have learned to dig up the nests of some species, which can contain a bushel of grain or more..!       Illustrated: tiny trotters in a ring ~ a gaggle of roborovski hamsters (notice the "white-faced" variation); a cute robo hiding in its nest; Bugerlugs' baby robbies Bubby and Wamp...     ★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆ ★

Today Illustrated...

TODAY'S WEATHER was a bit like

 a desert...

I still feel a bit

But

rain is forecast.

I went to Pinky's and watched

The Kardashians.

With sisters named Khloe, Kourtney, Kim etc, what happens to mail addressed to "Miss K Kardashian"..?

I'm going to

bed early.

(Unfortunately it's not as exotic as that one.)

Hopefully then I can

get up early.

Because...

yeah I do wanna be

healthy

wealthy

AND WISE!