Friday 8:47 p.m.
My auntie Kathy, who lives with the auld maw, has never been married and always worked in low paid jobs, so she's never had much money. She's eighty two. Gordon Brown sent her £400 to help with fuel bills over the winter and she gave me £40 of it today. There was no possibility of refusing this money. She was spreading her luck around, the kind of thing you do if you win on the horses, or get some lottery money.
Of course, the evil bourgeois never talk about money. It's kind of impolite. They never go on about how much they make. They wouldn't spit on your if you were on fire either. They're mean as sin and going to hell! Hurrah! I'm glad I got that in!
I was sober and straight on Monday and Tuesday, but on the home brew Wednesday and Thursday. I'm hoping to go to bed sober and straight tonight, and I would really like to blow the £40 on Guinness tomorrow night. If Brian Wilson and Ion want to come out to play tomorrow night, we could meet up in Leslie's Bar, a famous pub if I remember right, and half way between here and Porty.
I was getting really quite unusually warm today on the train to Bellshill. I had to take my jumper off and open the window. It was the same thing while sitting at the foot of the auld maw's bed. Kind of slightly beaming.
It was a kind of all over the body warmth, a bit like a porridge oats advert. Warm. Odd. The last time I spoke to the lama was about four or five years ago now. I asked him what I should do if I got really hot. He said: Lots of prostrations. I'm not really hot yet, but I may well become so. This isn't heat going up the central channel from vase breathing, or something really weird like that. It's just being unusually warm.
There's not really much point that I can see in getting hot, but I suppose it's unavoidable, like the bliss. What about the libidinousness, Hotboy? Yes, Jack, I've been reading over the bloggy and recently there has been a slight undercurrent of libidinousness, it seems. A fung tidal wave, Hotboy. A tsunami more like. That's why it's better to have Brian Wilson around, Jack. Women who've never met him instinctively know to stay away from him. Unlike moi, of course. I've now grown a luxurious beard and I've got hair on my head, a total babe magnet in fact!
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6 comments:
I say!
When your aunty freezes, I hope you reflect.
MM III
Mingin'! The socialist in Gordon Brown has sorted all that out for the working class old people these days. They're better off than ever! Hotboy
p.s. Middle class people don't understand the handing around of good luck. It's what you do. It's what makes it bearable. The freely giving and taking.
I say! You're right, those poor bourgeois have a rough deal - all that toilet training and no sense of community or generosity. I've heard their rich rellies hang onto their cash rather than pass it on to their deserving nephews. Dearie me. How fortunate I am to be one of Mannheim's Freischwebende.
Good for you spreading warm porridge all over your body. We'll make a sensualist of you yet.
As a law-abiding citizen apart from the yogurt, do you have to declare the 40 quid to the tax people?
Albert? With your medical background (a year as a medical student and being a hypochondriac), do you think I could get signed off by my doc for inexplicable variations in temprature (I wouldn't tell him/her what I was up to of course!) Hotboy
Surely the battery of tests would upset the blissing somewhat? Some scanners make a racket, even through noise blockers.
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