4th July. Sex on my CV
House clearance continues. It’s clear that accumulation of too much
stuff plus burying one’s head in the sand leads to a lack of savings, i.e.
zilch. My stuff includes a lot of
clothes, books, DVDs and art materials.
I still have a lot of this detritus despite the Amazon and eBay induced
one-hundred-and-three trips to the Welford Road Post Office over the last six
weeks. At a conservative guess, at
retail price paid, I’ve probably got, or did have, about £15,000 of material
possessions. Some of this is in
earrings. I used to buy myself a new pair whenever I went on a date. This was so that when me and the lucky guy
celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with our three hundred closest
friends, six children and eighteen grandchildren, I’d be able to wear them and
mention the treasured earrings in my impromptu speech. T S Elliot’s Prufrock measured out his life in
teaspoons, I measure mine in earrings and after ninety-four new pairs I know I’m a fuckwit.
Another item, my bicycle, which I’d bought specially for a date, sells
today. A nice couple drive over from
Whitwick near Coalville and buy it for £35.
I give them a helmet too and they seem very happy with their
bargain. I’d bought the silver Raleigh
about twelve years ago when a psychiatric nurse that I’d started seeing (as a
date, not a patient), asked me if I had a bike. I hadn’t, but I told him I had,
so I went to Halfords in Loughborough and bought one. I spent the next day practicing riding
it. “It looks very new,” the date said
when he picked me up the next day.
“Yes, I look after it.” Indeed,
I’d looked after it very well over the previous 24 hours. We spent the day cycling around Rutland Water
at the end of which he announced that I was the world’s worst cyclist. Later, he commented that my blow-job skills
compensated. Note to self, must add that
skill to my CV, it might widen my career opportunities.
It’s just three days until living in a proper house ends. Four days
until I become the fuckwit in the van.
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