So what do you do when the little that does happen is better not reported but passed over and forgotten? My mum says I just go on about the past but here it's more about attempted quality than the details, so what I can drag from a mind that's had a week of assorted assaults from various angles that is worth writing down? Well I got the sound back on the PC, meaning everything works now, though someone somewhere has to fix the ethernet sooner or later to free my usb socket. Meanwhile I've eliminated two more women from my list, only proving to my over critical family I do still meet the odd suitable woman who isn't in another country or time system. The fact that once they are withing meeting distance that's the cue to push me away I'll never know. Christine of course was one mutual from maybe two all my life who sent me packing not because she didn't like me but she already had the sort of person I fully expected her to, not being disgusting or mental. Or in some cases I've met both. Naturally I expect many of the women who blew me out to describe me the same way but Christine didn't and as she's quality only her opinion counts regardless if available or not.
So, what's next? I really prefer not to think. When the highlights of last week were getting a computer back nearly as good as it was before it packed up (except for the new version of Windows which is why I chose the place at all) and sending my Christmas cards, plus some more local photos is really about all I can expect. I would really like to get an eye test, energy permitting, and will see what's available in a couple of days. I would like to read teletext properly and suspect that means stronger lenses. No one else on earth gives a flying fuck about these details but they are the only ones I have. Then if I go there are a bunch of photos in the area I will probably take to make an afternoon of it. If I had anyone else with me I'd then go to Sherrard's for tea, where in the summer I get my food there and eat it in the park next door, photo on Flickr site. I used to live in the next road but now have to commute about 4 miles just to visit my old patch. Not that I now know a soul there bsides my mum and now her friend I would like a relationship with as well. Quality knows no age, it lasts like a Rolls Royce. So far that's about it, and if it gets better it'll be here, though if it gets worse or the same it will be as well. A tragedy is only suffered by the victims, not the readers. But why not a happy ending for a change? Christine's bloke suddenly realising he's gay for instance. That, unfortunately, is the extent of my prospects. Cack.