Swimming back up river!

Thursday 11:45 p.m.
I meditated till ten o clock and then I started on the home brew. It's quite weak ... compared to what? No beer at all! Or the other way around.

The kiddo is the result of two streams. From her mother's side she has some brains and quite a bit of artistic talent. The Domestic Bliss's family are nice, professional middle class people though not quite firmly established in that, or they wouldn't have ended up in Newmains. From my side she has barely suppressed rage and homicidal tendencies. Any brains from my side of the family, which is non-aspiring working class (and proud of it!) passed her by. So she cannot do maths. Sequential thought might not be a strong point. Of course, she will, and has, become her own person.

My daughter has always been slightly uncomfortable with my side of the family because we are not nice. Nobody from my side gave her sweeties so much and patted her on the head. We get along, but we are not there to be nice to you. Incisive barking basturns. We have views. We are quite hard on each other though we do not ever fall out. They wait for you to shape up. Shape up! Why are you standing like that? What's the matter with you? Stop greetin'!

I hate nice people! They don't talk about anything. They slide along with each other. They chatter about traffic or the weather. You might as well spend your time talking to a bunch of turnips as talk to nice, middle class people for all you're ever going to get out of it.

Nice people are like the folk you sometimes might meet in England. Home counties. Completely superficial. Talking to nice people is sometimes alright in a soporific kind of way, but there's really nothing there. Frivolous conversation. You feel as if you can put your hand right through them. Where is the substance? What are they, when it comes down to it, about?

When you have a kiddo, you can become connected to generations of this crap. The kiddo isn't really yours. You have to look after it, but it is connected to all these other basturns. You don't get a kid from a lucky bag, it's not unattached.

So the kiddo's Newmains granny lives on her own though she has had six children, five surviving. She's over ninety years old and was burgled for the second time last Friday, no doubt partly through being isolated in this working class desert in which they, being bourgeois, never properly assimilated. Though the children were brought up in Newmains, they are not Newmains people.

I am going to do what is necessary and probably start staying in Newmains for whatever it takes so that my daughter does not think that it is acceptable to leave this woman on her own as prey to these ravenous, no doubt, junky basturns!

And even although I have not hit anyone in my adult life, apart from in boxing rings, I will certainly take a limb or an eyeball, or a limb and an eyeball because at the end of the day, despite all this buddhisty stuff, my tao is not to do nothing about this.

And though we may have changed parts and did this dance through lfetime after lifetime, I will take bits and revel in it this time because I am at the end of the day not a nice person!

Is this the way, at last, to get into solitary confinement, Hotboy? I hope so, Jack! Oh God, I hope so. Take a limb! Take a limb! Take a limb!