Good thick porridge.
Cup of tea.
It’s four in the morning.
Don’t worry. If I keep my cool, I’ll get through this. The idea is to slow down to get to a point as close to standstill as is consistent with – living itself.
I mean, generally, at this time, not just over this night.
I have the practicalities – the shopping, the housework – those things you must do to keep on eating – and be able to continue making your way through the mire, to your back doorstep, and your garden – careful does it there – watch your bones.
And – most importantly – so you can make it upstairs to where your computer is – your work station, in effect, where you chip away, chip away, hoping that not too many trains come through. (I have had nightmares about trains.)
There has been plenty of bright sunshine, showing up old cobwebs.
But – do a bit here, a bit there – piece things together – start at one end, but don’t stay there – as it suits you – as you can – as you must –
‘The Dave Clarke Five’ – ‘bits and pieces . . . bits and pieces’ – how did it go?
And I had the ‘pieces’ thing.
And the ‘bit’ thing.
I must have been thirteen when that came out – some age like that – my Maths isn’t so good – I was born in 1951. Maybe I was fourteen.
Mam used to say ‘fourteen’ was a funny age. I don’t know about that, myself, and I knew I was a kid, and yet I loved Dave Clarke.
Having thought of this, and put this together, in my mind, with other ‘bits and pieces’ discourses that I’ve been telling myself – it does matter –
It is another brick in that brick wall my therapist said I’d build.
No, no – I’ve got that wrong. She said I would knock one down.