Sunday, January 2, 2022

Big post of unpublished gibberish


So TODAY I told the world about my condition. I went viral. I am a virus. But in a good way, I hope.

Let the gossip mongers of Wells weave their shit. But I hope Mum and Dad don’t have to deal with too much stupidity from the usual suspects, and Nerys is going to shield Ben from it.

It was nice to see the kind comments of old friends and acquaintances on Facebook. I thanked them all, hopefully without recourse to misguided attempts at humour. Jxxxxxx couldn’t help but plug his Yoga - I guess we all promote to our friends what we benefit from ourselves.

Amongst all this was a personal crisis where I couldn’t find my recently imported Gold on black ABBA t-shirt (as worn by Mr Grohl of popular beat combo The Foo Fighters) because I’d placed it in the wrong drawer. Silly me! Short-term memory loss is becoming a thing now. Less compartments/pigeon-holes in the brain so more and more work to find various stuff absent-mindedly misplaced.

I just changed the font to Calibri for legibility’s sake, but not before changing it to the lovely Charlemagne ST, which had the unfortunate effect of making me read everything in the voice of Steven Berkoff. Calibri it is.

My day - Watching ABBA videos on YouTube and staying by Facebook to respond to all the kind and concerned messages. Made me feel loved. 


So much for consistency. 6 days is not really conducive to decent full-on blogging is it?

I thought of calling this Apprentice Human, as I feel I’ve never really got the hang of this lark. My behaviour, lack of social mores, legendary faux pas - my life has been a series of these things, hopefully countered by acts of kindness and decency. Saying the wrong thing, taking things too far once people were laughing with me, copying people who were being funny to the disdain of everyone around; that was me, that was me , that was me…

That’s why things never worked out at XXXXXXXX Productions, and why it still haunts me to this day. Almost every day. I made myself so vulnerable in a sea of sharks. Media people tend towards the coke-fuelled arsehole stereotype, with huge fragile egos that require constant attending-to, that work best when there’s someone to pick on. The bullying in that industry is vile. I guess it says a lot about the types of schools they went to where that kind of behaviour is legitimised or even encouraged, and I was such the wrong type of person to go into it. 

‘You’re not a TV person.’ - she was absolutely right the one who said that. I took it as an insult at the time. She was trying to help me.

‘You only need half a brain to work in TV.’ That was certainly true as most people I met had half a brain. The most openly Machiavellian industry in the world, where ability is second to ruthlessness and bare-naked aggressive ambition.


Did I tell you how much I enjoy silence at breakfast? Reading the paper over coffee - probably my favourite part of the day. 

Then R comes down to join us. It’s just the volume. I often have to leave the room and come into the dining room for peace and quiet. It’s nothing personal - just can’t bear it.

I’m tired. I’m middle-aged and a physical week (which I’m less accustomed to) takes ages to sleep off. It’s a shock to the system.

I’m drinking less. I had some boxes of beers so I took 8 cans to a friend’s house last night so we could share them. At least I’m losing weight. I look like a bloated version of myself at Linda’s wedding. Probably because I was. Disgusting. One good thing about social media is the constant ability to see oneself and see if you’re going downhill or letting things slide.

And now I’m going to the pub to meet the other goblins (what Jacqui calls the other gamers).


I’m tired and my eyes are playing tricks on me. It started on Friday when suddenly I was 10 foot nearer Fyfe than I was an instant before. I’ve noticed small things -  movements - in my peripheral vision for a while now. This was different. I told Jacqui over breakfast.

Yesterday we met up with Nikki and Boyd in Bloomsbury and saw the Nero exhibition at the British Museum. It was good, but uncharacteristically - by current standards - crowded. I guess the curators have said ‘fuck COVID.’

I had my noise-cancelling headphones on on the train and read Dungeon of the Mad Mage. I could still hear people, and that was enough to put me off the tube,  so we took taxis to and from Waterloo. 

It was really nice to see Nikki and Boyd. Nikki’s hurt her ankle falling off a horse. We had an amazing Chinese meal at a restaurant which we recommended to Gabriel.

It’s Sunday 12pm. We walked the dogs in Esher Common (the wooded part) and I did a Waitrose shop. Got Traveller (or ‘Goblins in Space’ as Jacqui calls it). Looking forward to a few pints and some fun at the Willoughby.

X from xxxxxx hasn’t paid yet. He said he would after I sent him an email at xxxx’s behest on Friday. Nothing. These people are scum. They enjoy making people like me squirm. I never make much on bay windows and we did an excellent job for him and this is how you get treated. This world rewards bad behaviour.


I’m so fucking exhausted. Despite a lovely weekend. X from xxxxxx still hasn’t paid neither.

I spent the a.m. pointing up the steps, which was nice and easy and the crappy stuff provided by the cast-stone fuckers which usually leaves a hideous residue all over the joint in this case hasn’t as the wet-cast ‘stone’ has a shiny impervious epidermis, so I could work quickly.

Went and saw a client who couldn’t visualise anything, and I couldn’t really explain anything. That went a bit falteringly. 

The last week has really hit me more than ever. I am so tired and I don’t know why. It bodes rather badly as to how quickly I’m deteriorating I would say. 

Jacqui is kind; she said I don’t have to work for the rest of the year and shouldn’t fear retirement. Support is very nice to have.


Wow. It feels like I’m just coming round. Had more energy than I have had in a long time. I guess helping Larry at the Willoughby sort out the games cupboard, then drinking lots of beer on Wednesday was the precursor of today. At least I got off my arse and did something other than watching Abba videos on Youtube.

I haven’t even done this blog in 10 days. How time slips by so easily.

So today I went and saw a client, cleaned large parts of the house (hoovered, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom), did some laundry, ironed and am now going to go to the supermarket to buy some beer for Rob and me  - Rob is coming round this evening. 

I don’t want to drink masses but I thought I’d better have something in to welcome him with.

Walking the dogs with Jacqui is a really good way to start the day. Today 2 dogs belonging to a zombie toff came to play with Wilbur and Stanley. The zombie didn’t engage with us at all. J said she (the toff) kept gobbing. Maybe she had something wrong with her. She didn’t call her dogs once. And when we got to the edge of the park they stopped, like in one of those 1970s kids dramas where you later find out they’re all ghosts and there was an old boundary wall where there’s now a road.

Yes, that’s it.


Amazing how the days fly by. I accomplish far less these days: a few chores, the shopping, some vacuuming. My time is spent mainly browsing the internet.

I get distracted. I forget things. This could be dangerous in time to come.

I’ve been analysing my ‘self’. Why I  so badly lack such confidence. For most of my life (some minor glitches of confidence aside - late teens, early 20s, early 40s) I’ve had to latch on to people who seemed to find life very comfortable indeed: charismatic people. 

Most of the time I’m fine, but in social situations if I thought I’d said something funny and no one laughed, I would repeat it so therefore people hadn’t heard me the first time would get the benefit. Rarely, this would work beautifully.

If they had heard the first time and did laugh I would say it again anyway with the intention of it getting even more laughs. Surprisingly to me, this never worked, but it also never deterred me from doing it anyway.

At school I would copy people. Well, one person in particular. I thought if I looked like him acted like him, I would be as cool as him. I’m amazed he put up with me for so long.

I think maybe I’m more comfortable with who I am now, but like Peter Sellers in that last film he made, maybe I don’t know who I am.

So who am I? 

I am (too) compliant*

I am a people-pleaser.

I am kind.

I am generous.

I am timid/scared*

I avoid confrontation*

I am quick to take offence.

I am insensitive at times*

I am opinionated*

I am funny

I have a unique take on the world

I am frequently puzzled by the world.

I am the little boy pointing at the naked Emperor*

  • why I was never v good at working for companies/why I became self-employed

A lot of those can seem contradictory, but hey, that’s what makes us human right?

I suspect strongly that I have always had an underlying neurological condition, possibly on the autistic spectrum. I’ve never really ‘got’ the game of life.


Lots of bizarre dreams. Last night I dreamt I was a different person. I looked in the mirror and a different person looked back at me. I know it’s only a dream but this is the reality of dementia - ‘you’ leave and the person who remains is no longer you.

Jacqui’s just left for a long drive to work. I hope she slept well. I cleaned the car inside and out yesterday and was rather pleased with my efforts. 

I found that putting work clothes on makes me work (duhh!) If I put lounging clothes on, I lounge. Who knew? I must put workwear on, in the same way Arthur English put on his brown overalls on in ‘Are you being served?’.

I never had kids of my own. I was never happy enough for most of my life to really establish a relationship with someone. You have to love yourself in order to love someone else. That’s what they say.

One of the reasons I didn’t want kids is I believe I have bad genetics. Physically, poor balance, poor at sport, can’t dance, can’t throw, always last to be picked for a team. Emotionally, as I’ve said previously, thinner-skinned than anyone, and so lacking in self-confidence. Would these be traits you would want to pass on to your children?

People say I’m a perfectionist. I’m too lazy to be a perfectionist - my low-attention span sees to that. That at least, is a blessing.

And as I verge on self pity, Paul (Jacqui’s Mum’s husband) is on his deathbed (we think) and little Stanley is at the Supervet’s with meningitis! 


Well, Paul being a cross between Lazarus and Zebedee has risen again. He’s like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable. Bottle it and you’d become a millionaire. 

I’m having trouble these days making new memories. Jacqui and I were talking at the table - it was really nice -  and she told me all the things I’d done yesterday and it was quite a lot: walking the dogs, shopping at the supermarket, meeting Larry at The Willoughby and going through the games cupboard (penultimate time) then making dinner for everyone (all-singing all-dancing curry, with chicken something, dhal, brown rice, naans and greens) then going back to the pub to play Shadowrun. 

Then today we walked the dogs, washed them, fed them, cleaned the kitchen and am now doing laundry. Yet it’s all stuff people who hold a job down do anyway and it takes me all day and wipes me out. Well, yesterday’s beer didn’t help - 5 pints in one day all of which were between 3.8 and 4.3%.

My new obsession is the movies of David Lynch. What a trip they are. From Abba to Erazerhead. Natural progression.

Last night Sean played a new character which pissed me off as his flaw was ‘I’ll always abandon the group to save myself.’ Sean thought this was hilarious and jumped out of the way leaving my character sandwiched in a firefight. I pointed out at the end what he found hilarious others didn’t and you have to ask yourself as a player what group would put up with a character who did that. Mark S then said “I’m just playing my character!” in a sarcastic way, then Trevor said words to the same effect. Sean just doesn’t get it. Autistic spectrum.


Tossed and turned all night. Slept with 2 duvets for warmth then they were all over the place. Like I’d had a fight with them.

Dreamt about Axxx. I was carving his gravestone - 2 parts about 4’ high and 8” wide, 2” thick, and inexplicably in 2 parts, both precariously balanced one on top of the other on an easel. I was doing his face on the front and had put in a row of horizontal dots.

The second part of the dream Axxx gave me a Xmas card back. It was part Xmas card part notebook, with different people addressed on each page, each never fully finished. I guess that comes from the time he critiqued one of the photos I’d taken at his wedding as the focus was soft. I charged them mates’ rates (mates!! 😂) for £300 and after the post production and the shoot it had worked out at £100/day. Who needs mates like that?

Jacqui is sorting out her Mum on the phone. She was nice to the social services person, which he was really taken aback at as - I guess- most people are horrible to him, making demands and ordering him to do their bidding, as people are wont to do these days.

Jacqui says I’m regressing like Benjamin Button, and I’m a teenager again. This is why my family don’t see anything different as they knew me as a teenager but Jacqui didn’t so it’s all new to her. 

My take on all this is maybe I never got passed the threshold of adulthood, and I was doing an impression the whole time, and I was lost in the world of that impression, and now I can’t do it so I’m the true me again?

I was never very convincing as an adult.


I have a horrible cold (not COVID) and yesterday I also had diarrhoea and a migraine. I know. WTAF? as the kids say. 

Bloody Wilbur got me up before 6.30 and we headed downstairs, then headed back upstairs to bed, and of course I couldn’t get back to sleep and Wilbur wanted to come back downstairs again. Hence ‘Bloody’ Wilbur.

I joined the new FTD Zoom group with Alison and Chris. That was nice, chewing the cud on dementia and stuff. Alison is amazing: speaks 4 dialects presumably of  Cantonese, English (of course) and Mandarin. 

I mentioned this blog. They said if it was written like my Facebook announcement then it could well be beneficial for people to understand the illness.

I watched arts documentaries with Waldemar Januzsak but am now watching old episodes of The Time Team. Love it. Gentle programme with great people who all happen to be brilliant at what they do. The communication to the viewer is also first rate. It was a great programme.


Cold subsiding. I feel really good - on top of things. Yesterday I went to have a look at a job - sill replacement on a bay the other side of Kingston for nice Jim and Jules.  Would be a nice little job to do.

Skip arrived today, walked the dogs, bought a Xmas tree and some wine for Jacqui, and watched back-to-back Time Teams, and delivered a scathing review of a Channel 5 doc last night on Stonehenge, as the Times reviewer thought it was good. It wasn’t, and I had to put him straight on that.

Yes, I’m in a good place. D&G tonight: DMed by Tim, then I’m DMing on Sunday here, touch wood.


Was in Wells Wednesday and Thursday - came back on Friday morning. Saw Mum, Dad, Nerys, Ben (briefly as he’s 13 and has much more interesting stuff to do) and also met up with Stuart and Clare Haskins (nee Adlington). 

It was good to see everyone. It was a bit awkward with Clare as we were friends in sixth form but didn’t keep in touch. It was funny to meet up and talk about people. We have become middle-aged in the blink of an eye. 

I’m barely eating at the moment. My stomach feels tender and I’m off my food. Hope it’s nothing sinister.


Got my appetite back yesterday.

Struggling today though. Drank a little too much last night. Last night was D&G (that’s D&D for dyslexics - I’m not kidding) and I had a rant about AS. It’s not fair or right on the others. These days I tend to wind myself about certain things - infanticide which has been in the news a lot of late, certain people I find disagreeable, being called names by R, and various other crap. The poison from the internet is a big one. I know I go on about it but it is Pandora’s box. We opened it and it in many ways it is our downfall.

Got into a spat with ‘friends’ on Facebook. Some people get their information from, others from spurious websites; pseudoscientific bollocks. Anti-vaxers are a bugbear. Can’t seem to shake the confrontational angst. I daren’t respond how I feel as it will upset and alienate people. But ffs.

Got upset yesterday with a white supremacist who buries his repellant views in his videos on racial origins. His name is Tom Rowsell. Stuff like this disgusts me, and I can’t bring myself to challenge it on his Youtube channel as a. the vitriol I’ll receive, and b. the sleepless nights it will give me. For someone who’s never been good at confrontation I’m significantly worse now.

Maybe the beers I drank are making me feel worse today. I just received 24 cans of Northern Monk Striding Edge - fantastic beer at only 2.8%. Hopefully I’ll keep my head above calm waters with that.

Walked to town this morning with a very tired Jacqui, and took Stanley. We weren’t there very long. I found all the people and visual information very difficult to deal with.

I’ll just go back to watching Time Team reruns. It’s an easier gentler world.


Fuck Xmas.

I queue for 50 minutes to pick up the turkey and stupid-sized ham.

Pick up bread and cheese.

Buy dog food. 

Home with full backpack and bags.

She takes one look at it and I can see the dissatisfaction in her face. 

A dozen questions are about to come out.

I head her off at the pass.

This is the order she placed with the butcher: I picked it up.

I can’t be fucked with this.

Everyone in the queue waited good-naturedly, and I spoke to a very friendly guy. Could have made a friend for life there.

Then back to stress-city.

What is the point? I mean, I just can’t handle this anymore. It was always awful anyway, the post-shop interrogation. Now my frontal lobe goes to full in a second and I have to leave.

I don’t know how long I can hack this. 


The things I enjoy get harder and harder to accomplish. Who wants to be the smiling cabbage slumped in front of a TV watching anodyne crap with a pool of their own dribble beneath them? 

What’s the fucking point, and when do you say enough is enough?

I think more and more about suicide, from elaborate contraptions to drowning, hara kiri, self-injecting a lethal yet painless dose of something. Much easier for everyone.

People are disgusting. Kids are disgusting. Behaviour most of the time is abhorrent. We make cliques to exclude, we criticise people’s looks from the impossible perfection and work our way down. We lambast and ridicule everything. Now we’ve destroyed the very planet that spawned us and we do nothing about it. And I am as much to blame for this as anyone. I am guilty - possible more guilty than you. This wanton drug-addiction to money and endless consumption that knows no end.

I tell everyone it’s my temporal lobe, but it’s my frontal lobe that’s the problem.

Then R finds me in the pub and she’s crying. I didn’t feel like picking the phone up to her and J but I’ve upset them. She gives me a hug and cries on my shoulder, and suddenly life feels better. 


Xmas day was actually really nice. G constructed amazing cocktails and a good time was had by all. 

Chatting with J this morning, she asked if moving house would be bad for me. I realised I had areas of comfort which cause me less anxiousness than others: the front room with J watching good TV, being at my computer at my desk in the dining room. These are my favourite places. These can be re-instated elsewhere but I guess these zones are now essential for me, wherever they may be.

In the evening I DM’d a horror D&D session for Gabriel, Ben, Becks, Jacqui and Raphaella, and Jacqui’s mum joined in too. It was really good. I had done a ton of prep and I role-played 5 different NPCs. I was rather proud of myself - it’s given me confidence. Moreover they really liked it too!


Hey, I’ve got COVID - Omicron variant. I got the results from a lateral flow test yesterday. I’m in bed; bored, but although I’m not really suffering in any way I do feel lousy and achy. Hoarse throat and coughing. My appetite hasn’t been affected.

Yesterday Gabriel and Joan took the wise decision to leave. Really unfortunate as Joan arrived on Boxing day via taxi from Bexhill (paid for by Jacqui) and they were going to stay until NYE. So COVID has stopped Xmas. How rubbish.

I’m being waited on by the girls, but I’m ultimately left on my own. 

Concentrating on reading is difficult, but I have watched the following and provide a rating out of 5 for each one:

The Witcher S2 E6,7 and 8 plus extras 5/5

Don’t Look Up 4/5 - overlong and indulged Ariana Grande’s involvement too much, but funny in places and a good ride. Satire is dead, however.

Squid Game - 4/5. Good start. They should introduce proper elimination on The Masked Singer, then I would watch it.

Quentin Blake - The Drawing of My Life BBC 5/5. We all grew up with him and we love his work. I just hope he hasn’t got some hidden unsavoury past they’ll uncover after he dies.

Other, Like Me: The Oral History of COUM Transmissions and Throbbing Gristle - BBC 4/5. A good documentary on the unsavoury antics of Genesis P Orridge and his cultish band of misfits who after just trying to shock everyone by being disgusting and filthy, decided they should grow up and actually try and make music people want to listen to. 

Bloody art students


Sleeping lots. When I wake up I always wonder what state my brain is in and if I’m on a high or a low, i.e. am I almost back to normal (as though I ever truly will be) or am I going to be struggling?

I think today, although I still feel a bit rough, I am pretty compos mentis.

Writing later on, 2 low-strength beers to the good, I’m reading some D&D books. It’s quite the uphill battle tbh with regards to concentration levels. What is to blame? Omicron, beer or dementia? How much of each? That is always the question.


Good wine = zero hangover.

New Year’s Resolution: So what?

I get a new memory every morning of something I feel embarrassed or shameful about. I’ve got top the stage where I shout “Fuck off!” out loud when I get one. However, my NY resolution is whenever a negative memory comes up, to say “So what?” instead of beating myself up to a pulp over it. 

So what that people thought I was out of order. 

So what that I was embarrassed.

So what that people laughed at me.

So what that I offended certain people.

It’s done. It’s gone. I have people who love me. I have an increasingly limited time left on the planet. Let’s just get on with being the best version of me I can be in this moment.

It seems to be working… so far. 

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