I’ve spent the entire week-end trying to come up with something for my Creative Writing class, and failing. Last night I spoke to The Lout, apologising for not submitting anything for Wednesday’s workshop. Did I expect sympathy? Well I didn’t get any. ‘Why did you pay to come on this course?’ he bellowed. ‘If you were going to waste all that loot why not just hand it over to me?’
Thing about The Lout is, he always sugars his insults. ‘You’re a bloody good writer!’ he roared at me. ‘Piss or get off the potty!’
It’s all very well for him. He hasn’t been up all night watching his front garden. (By the way it was with some relief I realised that the forms scuffing about there were attached to the neighbours and were nothing to do with me.) I can’t tell The Lout about it – he’ll think that when I refer to demons I’m being metaphorical. He thinks everything is a metaphor for something else. It isn’t.
I’ve been drinking Sepia Red VDP Vaucluse cheap from Tesco to make up for that splurge the other night. It’s given me a headache. The Lout gives me a headache. I suppose should write something quickly.
Speaking of Tescos I bumped into the ex the other day. She was with ‘im-off-the-telly. I was cordial. Kind of. What do they expect? There are demons and there are demons. I think this blog is just my way of running away from writing. We’ll see.