annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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Twenty five years...
Oh fuck. I was all set to write something jolly about American Idol but thought I'd look at the BBC website to see how the count is going for the London Mayoral elections. It's not over till it's over, so I'm hanging on to a thread of optimism, but it looks like fucking Boris Johnson has got it. This is just too awful to take on board. With Bush out the way soon, he will be the most embarassing person in the world to have elected. God alone knows what will become of London. The man is vile, absolutely only in it for the benefit of people like him, white, rich, public school (in the UK it goes from state school - free, to private school - paid for, to public school - name on waiting list and paid through the nose for). Like Bush, Johnson has a 'lovable fool' persona, but it likewise covers a cold indifference to the plight of ordinary people, in his own country, let alone elsewhere.
So. Pictures.
My life has suddenly expanded to the extent that I've had to write things down to avoid double-bookings. I realise I'm probably getting you all a bit over-excited with this, but don't worry, things will calm back down in a paragraph or two:
I'm pleased with that list - I've said yes to everything, with the proviso that I may back out at any point, but I hope I won't.
Tonight was the private view for our art group's exhibition, which is part of the bleeding festival and makes me gulp with something or other. I went and took pics, but stayed less than five minutes - not sure why. Here's that poxy house that did my head in, the one on the left:
Jane with her house, also on the left:
This last one not only includes the ghastly scooby-doo atrocity (gold headed thing, to the left, about to bite that stripy T-shirt), but also my sunset, that started off kind of pink, but after I'd had at it for a couple of hours, was mainly brown. I like it in a blurred photo, but I just feel embarassed that people will be seeing it. The group has suddenly been named 'Gaia's Gals' which sort of makes me want to punch someone.
Tonorrow my Sara will be 25, which is making me think back to this night back then. Tito had had to go back to Venezuela in the December as his visa ran out and although I'd left Sammie's dad several years before, we hadn't divorced, so Tito and I couldn't marry. I was living in a flat with a landlord who'd recently purchased it with me as a sitting tenant, thinking he could chuck me out. When he found out he couldn't, he started harassing me - shouting at me, threatening letters etc, so I was in a legal battle with him. I'd go there with Sammie (aged 4) during the day, but go round to Mike (Dot and Julia's dad)'s house early evening and sleep there, in the upstairs kitchen. He has a big old house where I'd once rented a room. Now my sister lived there, and Julia, and a gay couple, John and Reg - Sammie used to climb into bed with them at first light and make them read her stories. The Tiger Who Came to Tea.
On May 2nd, 1983, I was full of energy. Sara's original due date was March 22nd - yes, March, not April - they kept saying I must have got my dates wrong, but they hadn't said that at the beginning. By this time I'd almost given up hope of ever having a fucking baby, but on that day I felt good. With Sammie's help I whitewashed the concrete wall that ran the length of my garden, then the shed, and cleaned that flat from top to bottom. Then I went to the supermarket and did a massive shop, came home and made a big vat of stew, before heading off for the evening at Mike's.
In the morning, I had a 'show' - the clot of snot that had been plugging the uterus fell out. I went in to my sister's room to tell her, but before I could speak she said, 'Oh! Right, we're off, are we? I'll tell them I'm not coming to work.' She's never been able to explain how she knew, but she did and she was right. I had a home birth, so we called the midwife and headed off to the flat. Sis was looking after Sammie, Sarah B was my birth partner (hence the name) and Julia was in charge of the booze. As the morning wore on, all my favourite people popped in to see whether or not I'd had the baby and all stayed for the duration. I was based in the bedroom, but wandered around a lot. The living room was a mad place - by 10.30 in the morning they'd seen off a couple of bottles of brandy and were onto the wine.
Tomorrow she's having a party with just a few people, about 20, and lots of games. She's got some fabulous prizes - false moustaches, tattoo sleeves etc and has made party bags. I'm helping a bit in the morning then heading over to Marion's for the night. We're going to the theatre. All good. I made Sara a card - a bit crap, but she always makes fabulous cards and it's the doing of it that counts, I hope.
Fucking Boris Johnson is mayor of London. Shit. Doesn't seem right to do a gratitude list after that, but the sky will indeed fall on my head if I don't, so here goes:
Grateful for:
1. Not living in London
2. Sara
3. A good day - sticking to the plan
4. Nice email from Mexico *waves at Phil, coooeee*
5. Lovely man at the council is going to help me with my housing benefit application.
Sweet dreams xxx
|10:09 p.m. - 02/05/2008
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