The 13th of November.
The first morning in weeks that I have woken up not coughing. That’s not to say it’s gone, far from it, but it might be a step in the right direction. The house was freezing all morning because Daddy had to bleed all the radiators to fix some sort of air lock in the system. I have no idea what that means but it’s warm now so I don’t really mind.
I have done a fair bit of crocheting today, working on two different gifts. I really need to get hunting for presents that I can purchase for people. As yet I have nothing. Nor do I have any Christmas cards! Need to put my elf hat on and get shopping.
I watched a couple more episodes of Dexter with the kittens, only got three left. I had to tell them off a lot because they kept going behind the tv and chewing wires. Very naughty. Mid-programme, Daddy got home with Christine, so when it finished, I left the room so she could sit in the armchair and become friends with the kittens.
Tonight I’m going to the Glee (again) to see Joe Lycett. He is getting in late so no time to hang out, but nevermind. I actually bought three tickets but completely forgot so there will be two spare seats as no one on Twitter wanted to buy them.
The 14th of November.
The past 24 hours have consisted of joy and deep, deep sadness. I had a lovely time at Joe’s show, he was wonderful, and I caught up with him afterwards for a hug, a chat and a selfie. He sent his love to my parents because he is that much of a gentleman.
However, upon leaving, there was no way of not knowing what was unfolding in Paris, and seeing the world’s reactions to it on social media. I couldn’t turn off the news and go to sleep until it felt like it was over. What frightens me is the reaction of a lot of people – their response is to close the borders, demonise Muslims and spread their fear. They don’t understand those who plan to do harm are probably already in place, and the only way to defeat them is to continue to live our lives, realise that no one religion is the answer, and compassion is more important than hate.
Today we had a family trip to see The Lady In The Van. For a film to warrant both parents, Christine and myself in attendance is a great rarity. We had an excellent stand-off with a man in the car park who was coming towards us the wrong way and we both refused to back down. Eventually, a woman needed to leave and thankfully her partner was able to extricate the car from the space while she went and yelled at the man trying to stare us down. As she left, he shouted “Fuck off you fat troll” and she apologised to us for the language she’d used before getting into her car and going, no doubt venting as she did so. He stayed a while longer, but it finally seemed to dawn on him that he ought to move, and he reversed. We cheered; a victory for common sense!
We were not disappointed by the film. It was cosy, a safe place out of all the conflict. There is a scene in which Miss Shepherd plays the piano in the day centre, and she glows, as if reliving the life she should’ve known. I know that feeling, remembering a future you never had. I feel very old before my time, in a way that makes me absolutely terrified of getting to any real number of years. If I struggle to cope with my body now, how can I possibly deal with getting a great deal older? It is a fear of the unknown, and it appears to be a theme today.