Monday night again!

Monday 9:40 p.m.
I swear I've only (so far) had one lemonade bottle of home brew and look at the photies. Doubles, triples ...more drinks coming up.

When I got back from the meditation I was at tonight, I did a session of six threes and then had the drink. Straight into the blood stream. Hurrah!

Folk who don't train and drink never get this. Me and my pal Gerry first experienced this after boxing training down at Meadowbank Stadium when I was just over my mid-twenties. Train for two hours, have two pints, and you're flying. Oh, well, I'll go and get another lemonade bottle then.

I went to the Theosophical Society building in Great King Street tonight for the first time in months ... maybe since last year ... to meditate with the nun.

I've got a lot of respect for the nun. The nun did the four year retreat. I've got a lot of respect for anyone who has done these big retreats. It must be like tempering steel. You won't be the same joe or josephine if you've put yourself through that.

She asked me where I'd been. Had I been in Edinburgh? I told her I'd been counting my pennies. She said to come along even if I was skint.

Due to spending all my money on drink and drugs, sometimes I haven't got much for the last two weeks of the month ... you don't go. You stay in. It's the pride that cometh before the next payday and the chance to get into the drink and drugs again.

But there were no flatheids in the room. Everybody was meditating for an hour. It's great that! It doesn't matter if you don't get the bliss or any of that malarkey yet. It's just being with people doing it. So that was great. I've got fifty quid left of my overdraft limit and I probably get paid in seven days. This is much better than usual. Usually, I've got twenty quid to do me over the last two weeks. Loaded, so I am. I hope to go back next week. It was great.

I'm really quite shy. I don't like talking about myself. This is because when I start telling folk about myself I sound fung amazing even to moi! Can write books, stand on his heid, do ra bliss, etc. Are there no end to the wonderments? Thank God I'm going to drink myself to death! It's the only thing I can do for the flatheids to give themselves a chance to smirk and sneer.

Oh, aye, he could write books, stand on his heid, do fabuloso shadow boxing at nearly sixty, and almost emanate as a deity, but what a stupid basturn ... he drank himself to death!

Actually, drinking yourself to death is too much like hard work. Eighty pints of home brew a month isn't going to do it unless I starve myself to death as well.

I'll be sixty next year. You should be dead by this time alreadys, Hotboy! I know, Jack! It's too late for me to drink myself to death. It's like saying a ninety year old drank himself to death. It's stupid. What age was Brendan Behan when he drank himself to death? I bet he wasn't over 48. You should get liver failure before you're thirty five if you're really going for it.

I'm nearly sixty, Jack! Isn't that wonderful. Took refuge at the age my old man died at. That's eight years in the gravy!! What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

The fresh air photies were taken last night coming home from the park. The rest were at the Theosophical Society where I went to meditate tonight. One was from a leaflet showing the nun and the lama. One is of the copula at the top of the stairs. I came out much better than you'd think because of the wonky colours from the camera. The surrounds were actually light blue. I think the nun missed me. I said hullo, and as soon as the sitting finished, left straight away as usual. I'd like to be sociable, but if you start that, Jack, you end up invading Poland.