Today poor Theresa May had to make another fairly empty speech, although I am encouraged to note that the Tories seem to have survived their philosophical spat and are at least making a show of heading in the right direction. Unlike the Twitterites, I am looking for different pointers than they seem to be seeking. The general consensus seems to be “Boo! We wanna be in Europe. We want more austerity and corpses littering the roadsides. Where are our Muller yoghurts and Citroens! Booooo!”
Not a thought in their heads of course, about the lower tier who have been continuously punished for years to support this continuous deficit crap. Even my friend Leon missed this, complaining instead about the quality of job. When you are being starved to death, any job is better than none, simply for the saving in electricity and reduced misery. I should know, I’ve taken such jobs in the dim and distant past.
So, I am very sorry if your holiday is a few tenners more. You aren’t starving to death. Other people are.
Anyway, enough of the lengthy soap opera that is the Tories, I have other things to do, which brings me to my second topic of today.
I have covered the bizarre series of phases you go through when unexpectedly in love in Best Love Letter Ever. I am not sure that I was aware of being quite such a tomboy prior to the Wolfe era, as I have come to think of it. Although I never liked being female all that much, I wasn’t always incredibly bad tempered, and I was at one point quite confident with my anti-social tendencies. I also spent much of my youth surrounded by boys, since I did not like girls very much.
Many of the changes that have happened over the last nine years have been extremely conscious, not in the sense of reaching a goal as much as repairing my perceived lackings so that I could stop being so damned irrational. It was the last thing I expected ever to happen to me, but nature is a funny thing, and I guess the idea of your genes taking over is not that far fetched when you spend most of your time trapped in a house with your relatives sniping at you. I used to do a lot of staring at the floor, hence the carpet fixation.
So, the lion is uncaged, and now that I am finally forced to accept that I am 1)mortal 2)female 3)just as tedious as everybody else I have to direct it in an endless variety of ways. Beyond the repressive creativity, which is now pretty much unleashed, I am finally at a point where I am calm enough about it to start seriously writing again – on the original piece of work. I was initially thrown such a curveball by the whole Wolfe entity that I had no self-confidence or arrogance left to work with for all that time.
Happily this is no longer the case. I have been led by the entire debacle to finally accept that I am very unusual, in a fairly good way, in that I actually listen to people, for one thing. I am aware that Wolfe has at times found this hilarious, but sometimes that is a good thing. I am having a lot more fun in my seriousness than I used to, although to be fair it was never too po-faced. It may have looked that way, but I never did understand why people have to look constipated because they read a book.
Finally, it is most interesting finding new ways of presenting information so that stupid people actually pay attention to it instead of assuming the roles of ‘us and them’. It is a very interesting discipline, and one which I am having great fun with.
So, even wasted love is not useless. It is extremely creative. My poor wasted and late blooming genes may be about to die out, but at least I will have done something constructive in the meantime.