Yesterday was fierce busy.

Fierce, so it was.

I started work in earnest on the old autobiography and discovered that it is a hell of a lot easier to write than a novel. I don’t have to worry about characters or plots as there is really only one character – me. All the scenes and events are already laid out by history and I have the great advantage of tweaking history to my own advantage! As they say – history is written by the victors. I can finally get my revenge.

It’s a very interesting exercise and at times a little depressing. It forces me to delve into my deepest memories some of which would be better forgotten. It also means a lot of editing as I keep having extra memories and so have to keep going back and inserting paragraphs.

The one major problem is that I don’t know how the story will end. Presumably it will end when I finally get planted [or incinerated] by which time I’ll be in no fit state to write about it. If someone else finishes it it presumably will lose the “auto” bit? Unless I come back as a ghost writer?

I also had to drop down to the village yesterday.

They have finally finished laying their drains or whatever pipes they were putting down, so those fucking traffic lights are gone. Except that they’re not. Another crowd started digging up the road further down on the hill and are using the same infuriating lights. Having run that little gauntlet I got to the village to find the place has gone mad. Builders all over the place causing diversions and of course Disney, building their fucking Princess Castle. No parking anywhere. Shit!

And everywhere I went I was asked the same question –

“Have you had your jab yet?”

When I say I haven’t they all then ask when my appointment is. When I say I haven’t got one and that no one has been in touch they step back in amazement. I don’t know why they are so surprised considering the crowd that are running the fiasco are the greatest bunch of incompetents who couldn’t organise the proverbial piss-up in the proverbial brewery. I swear Graddaughter the Younger and her classmates would make a better fist of it.

They are crowing today that they are lacing through the vaccinations for the sixty year olds. This must mean they are finished with my age group and have forgotten about me.

That suits me just fine.