Not a biscuit, tablet, cake, drink, etc...

Blogger has let me down and it's let itself down. Even with recover post when the site crashed earlier it saved nothing. I didn't write anything interesting, and I won't repeat the little I remember, it has probably done everyone a favour, especially when I started talking about my pubic hair. That's as much as I'll mention.

I was so bored I made myself go to take pictures on Hampstead Heath, I managed to get some good ones as planned though I didn't leave the car, a sort of pretty typical health compromise. So I have a little train of replies I await, the last lot took weeks longer than expected and the trouble is however little effort it takes to do so, these guys would rather do anything else (especially with customers who have already paid) than deal with simple enquiries.
I remember when I worked with lists, and could get through hundreds of calls a day with no trouble at all. Or invoices. I still pissed around, did the crossword, played warehouse cricket (ie normal but indoors) and all the other fun but the work was done and done well. I used to make piles of goods on the shop counter in lunch hours to stop queues, so rather than wait each customer told me what they wanted and I divided the counter for each person until their order was completed and they could go. No one else did anything else except serve customers one at a time, not because they had to but they didn't matter to them. I saw such a simple way through it though didn't bother to try and educate anyone else there to change the whole system. I would nowadays though.

Little else going on now, a one hour break between TV programmes and unlikely to have a walk later, especially when the hottest day was spoiled by a virus. One client was so confused by everything he missed my message saying he could come so lost more money as a result. I could have managed one person but it wasn't to be. Well my original post was a lot longer but went into detail about my skin and hair problems, and you probably wouldn't want to hear about that at any time. Suffice to say all the effort that went into making the best of my body would probably be ignored by any woman who actually liked me. I have food and tablets that really need collecting, but not by me yet. I just read somewhere our lives on earth are the toughest of any. The trouble is that's all we have, so there's no alternative, like the Optical Store's eye examinations while you wait. That's all you can have. But hard as possible is how it is. Community? Bollocks it is. Unless you have a wife when you're ill you rely on the rare charity of others or simply go without as I soon will have to. Any little job is impossible if the germs don't permit you to do them, much as my previous condition made them very hard at times.
All these clever c***s who say how much better it is to live alone should get chicken pox. Let them spend 2 weeks wondering how they're going to pick up a prescription gathering dust at the surgery, or replace their cold drinks that are running out quickly due to 32' (what's that I wonder?) temperatures indoors?


People talk fucking bullshit simply because they haven't 'been there and done that'. They talk such a talk they create the illusion they can cope with anything. That's while they have nothing to cope with. It's the same as offering something cheap and not having it in stock. They can't provide the goods, only pretend to themselves. They can't fool me. Talk about having a full time job. Let them swap their well equipped office with boys and girls paid £5.05 an hour to do their shopping for them for a house half a mile from the nearest shop, no help at all, and a virus to lay them low. Then how would they get their tea when the teabags ran out? My guess is they'd waste their ample savings on a minicab to go to the Co op and get their shopping list, which would cost about an extra £10 minimum, as time costs as much as distance. Forget neighbours. The only one who would do it would then wait till he needed ten times more and expect me to do it as he bought me a pint of milk 3 years ago. No thanks. Anyway, I think that's a clear enough picture of why living alone is second only to prison in lifestyle standard, and the longer I'm ill the less I'll have indoors to use. Tap water (at about 15'C) and baked beans (I stocked up when I had the chance) are going to put me on par with Big Brother's victims of punishment on basic rations. The cake runs out tomorrow and the biscuits appear never to have been bought at all. There is no answer. I discovered when my divorced parents sold their house and I had nowhere to live you're on your own in life, and will know it for the rest of my life. The couple next door are such a total stereotype I am beginning to wonder if I am enlightened, as in a real world I couldn't have both guessed a young Indian couple would move in and have nothing to do with me (though sad to say being Indian virtually guarantees having nothing to do with your English neighbours. It's the law, apparently).

So isolation in London is complete. People see the body in the street and no longer even walk over it, they just walk on it now. They basically don't give a damn. Other people, if not familiar or useful are not seen as fellow humans, just furniture to be moved around when it's in the way. I offered to help the old guy next door many times before he died, but he was too proud for help unless desperate. Whenever I can help anyone around me I do, as my father taught me to. It's not only easy a lot of the time but valuable. Part of what makes us living beings, as many animals also help each other. I wish everyone was forced to go through a bit of what I have if that's the only way they'll learn. Until you see it from the other side you'll never see it at all.