It is 4.30am and I have just finished work, so I am somewhat tired.

The event was held at the art school, and from my non-experience I can tell you getting artists to organise events is probably a bad idea. Endless waiting with no results.

From the limited number of people I managed to meet, I ascertained that even at my shyest, I am socially advanced in comparison with many artists, which I guess bodes well for the people facing side of things. If only I could talk myself out of eating, I would be a happier bunny.

On the plus side, my campaign of arm waving whilst on my walks is working well, to the point that I actually managed to scare a more timid passer by this evening without worrying about it.  Good, frankly.

Boris is currently a little fleshier than I would like, but I am sure once I have started on the fine detail, the features will work out well.  Those lips are still not right though, I am fussing a little over them and the skin tone at the moment.

I think I shall concentrate on the paperwork this week, which means we may actually get to do some filming once this week of binge working is complete.

So, objectification.  I realise that most people will assume that I am about to start talking about bottoms.  I am not in the slightest bit interested in bottoms.  At the age when I was supposed to be checking bottoms I was interested in the small of the back, and the elbow.  Now I am more interested in the unwitting information that you get from somebody’s appearance.  I always preferred some evidence of character.  Now I find I am reaching the age where other people are manipulating this source of information, their methods have become more fascinating to me than the end result.

From a personal perspective as Ina, we are dealing with two main protagonists now, so let us have a brief run down, since they are both characters you can easily make yourself familiar with.  I am doing this as a personal exercise in my thought process, as well providing some insight into what constitutes ‘thinking woman’s crumpet.’

As you can see, I appreciate a chap that talks a lot, which probably means that I am a lazy communicator.  I also like a bit of bite, which I have inherited from my mother, who dumped one ex because he said yes too often.  Confidence is something that I associate with a devil-may-care approach, rather than people who are more uptight.  There is nothing worse than crying over a broken nail.  I appear to attract men who do this, probably because of my love of a snappy dresser which oddly sits next to my evident deep respect for not giving a toss what anybody thinks of you.  I am usually extremely scruffy, but now and again I pull out some glamour and shock everybody.  As you can probably tell from this, I am very happy and indeed revel in being a peahen most of the time.

Both of them have had very strong yet difficult father figures.  Fathers seem to be immensely important to me.  My own was secretive, quiet and yet an incredibly strong person who preferred to avoid worthless interaction.  I seem to have adopted many of his characteristics, and so left to my own devices I seem to attract people who missed theirs somewhat.  For this reason I have in the past ended up in all sorts of trouble due to people who did not realise that they were extremely angry with theirs.  I am a kind of stress doll for daddy issues in the real world, so there are pointers that I am seeking out with both characters here.

Fame – I used to despise the love of it, and was never into poster boys.  The reason this has become an issue is because I surprised myself by identifying quite so strongly with Wolfe.  (for those readers who wonder why I always refer to him by his surname, it is in reference to my real name, not an indication of contempt)  It took a lot of thinking through it before I accepted it as being anything other than an aberration, and when I did I took it as an indication of a personal defect rather than embracing it.  I cannot tell you how much thought it has taken to simply roll with it.  I used to be an extremely private and cynical person who plotted ways of progressing without anyone knowing about it.  Wolfe has inadvertently taught me that this is futile, uninspiring and rather dull.  Whilst my progress is kind of patchy, it is consistent, so I am rather pleased that I did not do the most obvious and reject it out of hand, which would have led to more self-hatred and destructive behaviour long term.

I have noticed from the work that I have done so far, that I am a lot gentler with Boris than I am with Wolfe.  I am not sure if this is a purely sexual difference, or whether I am responding to perceived need.  I am quite reactive, so it is possible that I am picking up on very tiny cues here. I’m also very used to male emotion, so there could be minuscule and subtle reasons for this. I could not bring myself to even consider things from a sexual perspective for several years, I was so terrified of Wolfe emotionally, so I wonder if passion makes one more aggressive without being aware of it. Even looking at a picture of him was impossible for several years, until I made the icon from memory and wanted to make sure I had got it right.  Looking in the mirror was also a problem, since I do not really need to see Wolfe to see Wolfe.

It could also be that I do not find Conservative politics as challenging as I do the philosophical task ahead for Wolfe, so I see the work for Boris as being comparatively lightweight.  I do realise that if you do not see things as I do, this will sound astonishing, but I will demonstrate this in the fullness of time as the project progresses. Running the UK is actually a significantly smaller job than the breadth of coverage required for the epic tasklist that is involved in dealing with Wolfe’s points to the extent that they achieve the stature I am shooting for.

Finally, I think in both cases they are vastly improved versions of the generation before, which is unusual.  Whether either of them are aware of it or not, they continue to achieve on a massive scale.  As a lady who has always taken relationships, real or virtual as a challenge, this is a worthy rocket to stick up my ass, thereby getting the best out of me.  Surely that is a worthwhile way of wasting your time?

First public appearance as Ina tomorrow.

Bit concerned, and it will be a very short networking event here in Glasgow, but I am sure it will be very interesting.

First flags have been assembled, 7 more ordered and the second costume is underway.

Boris looking pretty good, but still not finished.

I now need to get my permissions underway.  Managed to get phone numbers for some of the musical artists, and record companies for some of the others.

Now I need to storyboard several videos so that Twisty has sufficient detail to work from before I start working to pay for all this, but having now started rehearsing the actual act, it seems to be looking pretty good.

Still have the static banners to order, and possibly a PA system, although I still haven’t taken police or local authority advice.

And yes, Boris, I got the message.  Time is indeed a-wasting.  I’m on it, as fast as  I can without outside funding.

It isn’t restricted at this end in terms of timeframe, so if we aren’t totally coordinated, it won’t be the end of the world.

Smooches,

Ina

In the last two weeks, I have been offered several jobs, and am still fielding offers at the moment.

I am a fairly resourceful creature when I need to be.

I decided that I did not want to give up Ina Disguise and become a journalist, as I thought it was a bit silly given that even Ina is better known than the publication that wanted me to give her up.

I decided that I did not particularly want to sell medical insurance, as I do not really approve of it as becoming a necessity.  Why not just educate the public and the healthcare system we already have?

I did, however, decide to go back into banking consultancy, and am awaiting some interesting research and louche career related stuff in addition to continuing my very important plumbing, medical and lift rescue during the night.

So, now I have to reinvent myself as a member of the rat race. I have spent pretty much the last twenty years in paint, glue and resin covered rags.

So far, I have come up with

Evil pixie banker – I am not sure if a pointed hood is welcome in a corporate office, especially if used to cover your face.

Kinky Victorian banker – I am sure this would be very entertaining, but everyone will assume that I am a concubine of Jacob Rees-Mogg.  It is also rather expensive and I positively hate ironing.

Steampunk banker – the watches are almost certain to get in the way of the keyboard.

Lagenlook banker – Germanic may be appropriate, but would be considered a rather eccentric choice.

The last time I did this kind of consultancy, I think I was probably tired hobbit banker, given that I was restoring this house and doing another two jobs at the same time.  Perhaps I should just stick to that with a suitably punishing corset to remind me to behave.

All I can say is thank goodness for ebay.

On Friday, I will be completing the testing on some research work, which will bring me to a total of two full-time and one part-time job.  That should shut me up for a bit.

In the meantime, I am going to run through my first batch of Boris related reading, start work on the performance rehearsals, and work on a second costume whilst finishing up Boris’s gorgeous lips and eyes.  The car needs attention, and the cats are also needing some TLC.

And no, nothing else is likely to change, sorry world.

Much affection

Ina

Being realistic was killing me because to accept that I was nothing, would never be anything but nothing was so depressing that I no longer wanted to be alive.  It meant that I no longer had to consider my appearance, since nobody cared what I looked like, I had no interest in it and didn’t look in the mirror anyway.  It meant that I no longer had to consider doing any work, since I was too depressed to do it and there was nobody to do it for.

Being realistic killed my mother because a bunch of terminally stupid people, including her own children and three hospital consultants thought that every piece of bullshit they had been told by an imaginary authority was correct and I was wrong.  From having the healthiest immune system she had ever had, drug and pain free, she went to dead of pneumonia within two months, drugged up to the eyeballs with poisonous drugs that she only needed because they insisted on feeding her a crap diet.

Is being realistic killing you?

Take a look at your life.  What relationship does it have with your dreams or self-perception?  My self-perception has changed quite radically of late,although  I cannot say it has changed significantly over the long-term. I always carried the whiff of scandal everywhere I went.  When I finally discovered just how big the impending scandal was, I was shocked into wondering why I had the information, questioning the source of the information, questioning my emotional motives for embracing the information and wondering whether I was the right person to handle the information.

All this created years of delays.  I cannot honestly say it is Wolfe’s fault.  He has relentlessly run with his particular ball despite horrific setback, errors and many events which would have seen lesser people run a million miles rather than carry on.

Is he an angel?  No, but neither was anyone of note throughout history.  Is he original?  Not particularly, however he has taken a bunch of elements and almost accidentally created a rather messy foundation for something far more interesting.

Is he perfect?  Hell no.

So, all in all I think out of the nine years, it has taken probably seven years of full time thought, and I am a pretty intense worker, to even to get to the point where I felt safe to proceed with the work.  My emotional state complicated this further, since the inevitable self-doubt was seriously amplified by that horrible feeling that one isn’t going to be able to think one’s way out of it this time, and wondering what implications this has for the overall project.

The project itself was always bigger than us, so it was more of a question of what form it would take and how to go about making it work properly.  I think we are on the right track now.  In terms of timing, we will be lucky if I can make this happen by the time we are sixty, but I am fairly happy with the strategy now that my personal distraction tactics have taken a more useful turn.

In terms of the No Glass Walls project, I had a very interesting conversation with a friend last night, when she tried to gently remind me to ‘be realistic.’  Her idea of ‘being realistic’ is forgetting about Wolfe, mainly because we choose not to directly communicate (we both have good reasons for that)  and presumably ‘moving on’ in some weak and spineless way –  to something significantly more boring and tiresome.

Being realistic involves being dead to the core.

Fuck being realistic.  I am not nothing.  My mother wasn’t nothing, and the world is FULL of terminally stupid people who don’t deserve to have the slightest bit of consideration for their appalling ignorance.

True love has no shame.  Reality kills.