Week One

So it's the end of my first week in Herne Bay: seven times twenty-four hours I've managed so far. Mostly the last few days haven't been too bad and I've perhaps felt less of an out-of-place outsider, even I have still thought lots about running away (to Yorkshire, or Mexico, or Guatemala). Still not sure about being here but I've certain commitments for the next few weeks at least and I might as well give it a shot. Plus decent things are happening writing-wise, with connections and such, which I don't think I'd find elsewhere. So we'll give it a try. Who knows? Maybe the negative will die down and I'll stop being so restless. Only real problem is I've lost all capacity so 'give things time'. Other people manage it though - what is about me that makes me want to leave a place just 'cos of one bad day? Or even a few bad hours?

Good things this week: the meeting with my old creative writing tutor (she still has one of my poems on her filing cabinet, five years later; it's the only one on there); some good connections she gave me; a couple of games of squash; a couple of games of football; some clarity, perhaps, about what I want to do (ie, trying things I thought I wanted to do, and finding out that I don't); some semi-flirty emails with this Canadian girl I sort of fancy (although it's all utterly ridiculous); my car not exploding, and most likely being sold; the dying down of these want-away feelings; a phone call that may mean a free flight to Guatemala or Mexico some time in May; an opening to try and flog my book down at the farmers' market in Canterbury; the prospect of more football and squash.

And bad? The house not really turning out as I'd hoped it would (my lovely friends talk about things that don't interest me and eat lots of meat and smoke a little bit and it sort of puts me on the outside - plus it's a cold and uncomfortable wreck and I don't really have my own room, even though I'm supposed to have); the noise of children and my inability to feel any interest or affection for them whatsoever; the desire to not be around people and be quite reclusive, actually, while not really having the opportunity; the cold and the grey and the wind and the rain; Herne Bay, which is a bit like Elmsall-by-the-Sea, except without the northern charm; lots and lots and lots of want-away feelings, which is at once tiresome but also, in some ways, refreshing - because I'm not trapped here and it means if I do leave I'll know that I don't want to be here, experientially; having to sign on and think about finding a job and the mental stress that causes, 'cos I feel totally unable to do that and the whole thing seems really alien to me, and makes me feel like a weirdo and unqualified and a bit of a failure; as usual, too much computer-time and not enough writing/progress with writing projects.

So, all in all, not a bad week.

Cheers!

Rory

Gender

I did a BBC questionnaire that purported to tell me "what sex my brain is." It was a bit long and boring but was quite chuffed to get the result that my brain was equal-parts male and female and that I generally heavily outscored the average when it came to skills-based parts of the test. The main bit that I remember, though, were two sections that were to do with empathy - one on how you might feel after a certain person tells you something or an event, and another on guessing how someone was feeling just by looking at their eyes. Basically, if you got high scores at those, you were empathetic - but I got high scores in the second one and really low scores in the first one, which drew me to the conclusion that I'm not empathetic at all (I've been told and thought this before) but that I am perceptive and able to pick up on what people are feeling. That, however, doesn't mean I sympathise. Basically, I'm smart, but cold.

Later on I read an interesting article about why sports teams do better at home than away - which was also sort of longwinded and boring - but eventually came to the fascinating conclusion that teams playing at home have some sort of in-built 'territorial mechanism' that boosts testosterone levels by up to 70% and gives them an edge over their opponents in terms of aggression and focus and stamina. I'd often wondered that and I guess that's why I googled it. And now I can pretend I know.

Cheers!

Modern life is rubbish

Well, four days now I've been living in Herne Bay, Kent - living in my friend's newly-purchased decrepit Victorian mansion - and I can't say I don't feel a little bit funny about everything. In fact, if I was a betting man I might have a tenner each-way on me being on the edge of a mini-depression. Lots, I guess. Unsure. Empty. New. I've come back from travelling - but I've come back to nothing. My life's not what it ever was and there's nothing there of the old to support me. I'm an orphan in so many senses of the word. No family, to speak of (at least that's what I believe); no home; no possessions; no occupation or qualifications; no place in this society of ours. I'm living with some of my best friends and even around them I feel strange and out of place. Although all this could just be 'getting used to'. Getting used to Britain, to staying in one place, to this life of worrying about work and money and creativity and what one is to do with one's life when one is a bit of a weirdo and an outsider and getting more and more weird and outside by the year...

Of course, there are good things too - and I'd do well to remind myself of those before I start seriously thinking about ditching all this in for a life back on the road or in Leeds or some other such place: things like the literary connections that I've already started to make, plenty of writers' groups and actual published authors and people with connections who seem keen to help me out; people at the nearby university where I got my degree. So one of my old tutor put me on to a guy who worked in publishing and we're going to have a meet. And she and I are due for a talk in a few weeks too, which will be nice. She's very helpful and seems to believe in me, to a certain extent; she's still got one of my poems on her filing cabinet - from five years ago; the only poem that's on there - and, I tells ya, that fairly made my day. I was up in the air after our chat - it's just such a shame that I forget everything so quickly and get back down to being glum. It seems like if there's nothing amazing in this moment I just think that the entirety of life is shit. I have no concept of living with discomfort.

I went to the jobcentre yesterday to start a spell claiming unemployment and housing benefit; it's been in my head to do this for a while and though I fought it off I've been convinced by others that I should (and then read that Derren Brown was claiming for several years before he made his name, so that sort of made it all right). I dunno, I sort of think it's wrong to be given money like that, and I've avoided it for a long time, even when I haven't been working. But...needs must: I'm totally skint (have, like, twenty pounds) and will be until I sell this car.

I bought a car. I needed to get from Leeds to Kent and had promised a couple of people down Oxford and Bristol way a visit, and though bus or train would've sufficed, I was loaded down with four boxes of my book. So, I did the sensible thing, and spent pretty much all my money on a semi-working Renault Clio, and hit the road, uninsured and still just as terrible driver as ever. Man, I don't know how I didn't hit something the first day or two! And, man, how I really, really don't like driving, and don't want to do it, and hate having this car noosed around my neck with a passion. Bloody thing won't sell. And turns out the problem with it might be more serious than I was led to believe. So all the money that I'd hoped to save by buying it and making a small profit will be lost. Although to that I really ought to say, "oh well." Because losing money's what happens when you buy a car.

It is quite pretty, though, and sort of growing on me...

So, to this house: to my friends' monstrous mansion that needs so much work it's scary. Matt says that normally it's best to buy the least expensive property in the most exclusive location but that they've done the opposite: it was half a million squid! And it's totally knackered. And the previous owner only paid £337,000 for it six years ago (I don't know if they know that). And I don't really have my own room, despite the plethora of them. I feel a bit out of place. I feel reclusive and unable to talk. I feel like they're all so middle-class (there's another guy living here) with their talk about food and wine and fancy meals and I really don't have anything to say to that. And suddenly everyone's decided to start smoking - in the house, even - and it's all just a bit bizarre. I don't want to interact with the kids. I don't really, want to do anything apart from spend time with my computer. That's a bit sad, really isn't it? Although - it is winter, and the season for hibernation, and it's perhaps okay to not want to do too much. Still...a little bit sad.

I went walking through the woods the other day - that made me feel happy and good.

I played squash yesterday: absolutely excellent.

I went to a spiritualist church on Tuesday night - the energy was nice, and the people interesting and nice - though the medium/channeller laughably deluded. She actually came to me - first time that's ever happened - and was a million miles out in 90 percent of what she said. She was rubbish. And the ten percent of what she got right - which, I'll have to admit, did get my mind a-wondering' - was still totally vague and applicable to all. It was cool to see all this, and to see my inner-response to it, now that I've been all Derren Brown-ified. Poor woman.

And what else have I done? Well, I've thought lots about writing, and what I'm supposed to be doing, and done none of it. And I've been down the farmers' market in Canterbury and asked if I could sell my book there on Sunday and they've said, "yes" (yet another of those things that I think will be a good idea, and then put into motion, and then instantly try and toss out and not do). Another one: making contact with Neal Cassady's widow, Carolyn, and asking if we could have a meet-up; she said yes. And I've lined up my old game of football for this Saturday. And that, probably, is about it.

On the face of it, it's not so bad, and I'm sure other people wouldn't mind at all. They go out and have their bacon sandwiches and make daft jokes, watch a bit of telly and everything's groovy. Why can't I be satisfied with something like that? Or maybe I do need to do something more than I'm doing to earn 'satisfaction' - something like 'being productive'. I could write. I could get on with editing Mikey's pilgrimage and preparing that for publication (likewie George W.M. Reynolds' 'The Mysteries of London' - he used to live in this house; outsold Dickens in his day; now no one knows who he is - though that's probably another one of my 'good ideas that's actually a bad idea' ideas).

Productivity - perhaps - yes. But I'm just so bad at it! And so very, very good at avoiding it, at procrastination, at doing every other thing under the sun in order to never get around to the things that I've told myself I want to do. Damn these lists and ideas! lol If only I didn't keep thinking of awesome things to do!

To do:

• Find some sort of work. Or income. Or be happy on the dole, in the meantime writing and stuff.
• Finish off 'Mikey's Pilgrimage'. And do 'The Mysteries of London.' And publish them and at least see where they go; it won't even take that long.
• Play sports! I love love love that.
• Stop moping about so much and at least try and make an attempt at being a normal modern human being - eg, remember to eat and wash; go outside; don't give too much pointless time to a computer.
• Get a bike (if you have money, get a good bike).
• Remember the woods.

Well at least I've blogged; that always make me feel better. Hopefully I can continue to do that and have my private place to moan while pretending to the world that everything's okay. The problem with other people - with the people around me right now - is that they mostly want to make silly jokes. And I'm just not in the mood/not able. Still, if Eddie Izzard can demonstrate 'the importance of being earnest' then maybe I can too. Who says one has to laugh all the time? I know it's 'the English way' but it also masks so many problems. Best to get it out; we all have stuff inside. And honesty's the best policy. A man's not supposed to admit to being bad at driving - but I am shit. And having said it, relief: it is what it is. Acceptance. Likewise, a soul like me...is supposed to have it all together. But I'm not happy. And I want to accept that. It's not, however, defeatist, for life is not without hope - indeed, I feel certain that I will move through this and into something altogether better. In the meantime, though, I need to express, to get myself in order, to work things out. Modern life is mostly beyond me: I don't even own a towel! I really do wonder if I'll ever get that...

• Follow up all the writerly leads you can, even if it sucks. As if it was meant to be easy!
• Sell this goddamn car - and if you lose a hundred quid or so: tough.

Eggs hatching

Well I was a good boy last night and didn't put a move on/let myself be seduced by my good friend/ex-lover. That's the thing - she's a good friend, and just because I don't have feelings around these things - you know, quite happy to say that, hey, this is a fun thing two people can do together, like going bowling or something - doesn't mean that other people don't have. In a nutshell, I thought it would probably mess with her head. And I base that on several times previous when it has indeed messed with her head. And caused her to get angry and upset. And to stop speaking to me for months and months and months. Which, I suppose, messes with my head - and we're right back at the proposed theory (which I haven't proposed here) that everyone acts selfishly and it's all just degrees.

So instead I went 'home', got into bed, and succumbed to a pretty awesome blowjob. Damn, I'm getting a bit explicit here! Enough with the sex talk already. :-)

I think I might put ideas of books aside. I think I might start several blogs on some of my chosen topics and go with that, see how they develop. Sounds good, no? And then we can get the enjoyment and the expression and not have to deal with any of the pressure and disappointment. Let things grow organically, that sort of thing.

Today I thought I might go to Leeds and stand in the street and try and flog people my book; it's one of the ideas I was well into a few months ago but now seems a bit silly. I suppose the truth is I'm scared of standing there appearing foolish. And also of falling foul of street trading laws. Fear! Aha! We all get it from time to time.

I think I'll go make an egg sandwich and think about what to do...

5aside

Friday morning, eh? That girl came down again last night and being the sexual creature that she is she got in my bed and wiggled out of her knickers and we had quite a lot of sex for quite a lot of the night. So much for this PE book idea! That might have gone out the window: can one really claim to be a sufferer when I was in her for an hour at a stretch? (Yes, I suppose I am bragging) Not that it doesn't take plenty of effort, mind. Oh, to be one of those guys that can just hammer away and actually build to something rather than just keeping it at bay and needing to maintain always control!

In other news - I got back with my old 5-a-side team on Wednesday night and had a game, and despite so many months without football or even exercise I've got to say I pretty well rocked, scored a good goal, got lots of challenges in, and had as much energy as anybody. The boys were pleased to see me back and hoped I could come again. The days in Leeds are sunny and blue-skied and the town centre is as beautiful as any I've ever seen. Friends. And it's cheap. I could very easily stay here; it's one of the few places I can stay in and not be overwhelmed to leave. But the I Ching has spoken - despite difficulties with my new home in Kent (broken boiler meaning that there won't be any heat for at least another 9 days) - and I guess it won't be here that I shape my new life. Unless I just go to Kent for a few weeks and decide it's pants. Which I probably won't.

If I did stay here, though, I don't think I'd want to stay in this house, lovely though it is. There's a Polish girl who watches TV endlessly, and thereby hogs the living room; and a Lithuanian guy who smokes in his room, like a total disrespectful twat. He's friendly and affectionate but also gets drunk and bangs on girls' doors in the early hours - and there it is again, that friendliness, that baseness, walking hand in hand. I'm all refined, me! I'm a posh Victorian philosopher looking down his nose at the plebs unable to make his own tea!

And in other other news my lovely friend/editor/number one fan/groupie Leah told me yesterday that she'd had a real nasty car crash, got banged up something rotten. I checked out the pics and I gotta say I was pretty devastated for quite a few hours, until I let myself realise that she was okay and would recover, despite all her smashed bones and cuts and hospitalisation. Holy shit, life can be a short and fragile thing! Well I really don't know what to say - I guess I was in a bit of a preoccupied stupor, whatever feelings I was feeling not forming themselves into thoughts or words in my mind - but it makes ya think, don't it? Anyway, she's chipper and able to smile, looking on the bright side and for that I'm grateful. I'm not sure I'd have the ability, personally, but you never know.

Today I'm going over to see an old ex fling of mine, maybe stay the night. I wonder if she puts a move on me whether I'll be able to resist? Or, even, if I'll put one of my sly subliminal moves on her (I never go direct)? Two girls in twenty-four hours?! Wow. That would be very un-me like - I've never even come close to anything like that - but might be something to give a go once in my life, if I'm able (mentally and emotionally able). Something to tell the grandkids about, you know.

Cheers!

Rory

Today

Having a bit of a teary day today. The snow falls outside the window and earlier it was sunny - but I spent most of it in bed computer procrastinating again. I watched a bit of Billy Elliot, and that moved me and led to me reading about the miners' strike on Wikipedia and, whaddya know, I totally started bawling. There's something in me that really connects to these powerful moments in British history - like whenever I think about the Battle of Britain or Winston Churchill. I wasn't there, but it hits me - and hits me when things like the holocaust and 9/11 don't. Must be something in the collective national unconscious or something. The miners' strike I was there though - living in South Elmsall at the time, where they had running battles and stuff - though I don't remember any of it (it ended about two months before my first real memories kick in). The struggle of the little people. And people banding together. I think that's what does it - community. Later - just now, in fact - I watched the last episode of 'The Royle Family' and, as ever, that had me crying as well. And once more it's the same thing: community - family - people coming together. Little people. Damaged people. People who bawl and shout and mostly talk a loud of shite but then have those moments where suddenly...everything shifts and the connection, the love is right there with them. I watch it on TV and read about it because I don't have those things in my life; in a way I've largely distanced myself from them because I always thought I was above my hometown, my old friends, my family. My dad says he's proud of me (because of writing the book) and I feel what he means, even if I can't feel it myself. He drinks and smokes and swears and thinks all manner of crazy thing, and he's got so much anger and weirdness sometimes - and yet there's a depth in his feeling in some moments that I'm not sure I can really relate to. When he talks about loving someone (my mother) and how he'll never love anyone like that again. And yet they fought and hated each other and lived such base lives, in so many ways. Maybe that's it. I don't really live a base life and I don't understand - but who 'loves' more than the midnight drunk screaming and shouting in the lamplit street after a night of alcohol-fuelled arguments with his lover? Is that love? Or something else? Am I justified in my coolness, my not wanting, my lack of emotional intensity?

And yet I know that I am capable of those things: that though I mostly float above the world of emotion I'm often touched by these moments of expressing something in a word, in a feeling that can instantly bring tears to my eyes, warmth to my heart. I give someone a compliment and I feel the depth of it, feel my heart moved and stir. I watch some documentary, some piece of Hollywood fluff, and tears are pretty much guaranteed. I have love - I know I do - it's just that I have so little opportunity to express it, I suppose - and so much uncertainty about how to do so. I just want to hold people sometimes; words fail me, I don't know what to say. And why say? Why speak? So much of it is pointless. Sometimes...if I could strum my guitar and get away with not saying anything very much I guess I wouldn't mind. But I also want to be liked and to be seen as being 'normal' and so I make talk and chatter that doesn't perhaps always represent me because it's better to do that than to be thought of as weird and not have other people around, I suppose. And none of that I meant to say - it was just a weird digression that is perhaps true, perhaps isn't; is perhaps related to something else. But what I really meant to say was it's this lack of family, this lack of community that does it. I live in a world where I'm always moving from one place to the next, and so are most of the people I know, and I've never really given it a chance in any one place, haven't settled down with someone, grown up and old with a particular bunch of friends, nor had any children: there's so little to tie my emotions to, because really love takes time, takes years of growth and comfort and it's perhaps only the kind of love that comes with family and community and it's little wonder that I'm so attracted to places like Mexico, where those things still exist, and TV shows and films set in little working-class British towns where people struggle and fight and live and die together together together. Together - is that the key word here? Or, as per usual, am I just waffling again?

I couldn't get to sleep last night - I tried about 11 o'clock, thinking myself tired and in need of a good night after the weekend's exertions - but then I kept thinking about this girl and worrying that I might have made her pregnant. Truth is, we didn't use any contraception and though I didn't come in her I definitely leaked a bit - during moments of holding on - and then went back inside her. I don't know why I didn't think not to do that. Anyways, not being able to sleep I flicked back on the computer and read stuff about getting pregnant and how long semen can live outside the body and all that and it didn't make me feel good. And then I read about the morning after pill and thought I should better get in touch with her. And then I did an I Ching reading and got this chapter that was headed by an image of a woman suckling a baby. And that freaked me out even more. Although when I read it there was also some stuff in there about not giving in to the desire for temporary pleasure. But at the same time I realised that I always freak out about getting someone pregnant - it's definitely my biggest fear - and that if it had happened I would just accept it as a 'meant to be' and get on with it, do my best, and probably get a real proper job. In fact, I could quite easily see some advantages.

Except, there was more to it than that: because getting anyone other than my ex pregnant would mean that me and my ex would never have any chance to get back together and make babies of our own, and that's what really bothers me about the whole thing. I suppose, basically, I can't accept that she's not the one. She's the only one I've been with where this issue was never a fear. And if it had happened, I would have welcomed it. She's the only one, too, who I've felt a real major provider instinct for - like, how when we got together I just knew that I would give my life and my time to working for her and our offspring, no matter what it took. It surprised me. I had no idea it was there. And it hasn't come back since. Sometimes I hate what a tit I was with her - even though I know, relatively speaking, I wasn't that bad, and that she was just as not-that-bad. We fell out and broke up over nothing, really. And that was three years ago now, after four years together, and all the girls I've ever met and been with, she's still the one. Except that's how my dad feels about my mum - and I can't imagine a more ill-matched couple. So maybe I'm just being crazy. But, boy oh boy, how I wish I could see her, could get these feelings straight, could find out with my own eyes and heart (and not just with this thinking) whether there was anything real there or not, so I could move on, or otherwise. But she doesn't reply to my emails very often and I guess she doesn't want to see me. It's a pain. I don't really understand it - although I know she was hurt when we didn't get back together when we perhaps had the chance a couple or years back, and probably doesn't want to go there again. Sometimes I think I should just go see her and let the chips fall where they may. Because it seems like such a shame, given that there might be a chance of something, to just live the rest of my/our lives separate and perhaps with the wrong people when we could have been so right, just for the sake of pride, or avoiding some messiness, or fear. But fear is strong. And I didn't realise I was going to type any of that either.

I was thinking of something today. Thinking of how I wrote on my facebook status something about not being able to find a 'celebrity doppelgänger' picture (which seems to be a latest craze; not that anyone invited me to the party) and instantly had in my head the words of imagined others selecting fat and ugly and wildly inappropriate people. And then I wrote something about crying while reading of the miners' strike and wondering what it was all about, and there I immediately anticipated responses such as, 'because you're a big girl.' Likewise, I'm always afraid that Matt and Easterly will change their minds about me coming to live with them, about being their son's godfather, all for some unknown reason, something to do with me being lame or unreliable or them having found someone better. It's weird. I guess I have some self-esteem issues going on inside. I mean, they say that they love me and that they want me around and to all appearances it seems to be true - yet, deep inside my heart, I can't ever really trust and feel it. Nor do I know how to deal with it. Perhaps it's one reason why I move so much. And another reason why I avoid the depths to which friends and family and community take you - the exact depths that I simultaneously feel so moved by and, perhaps, long for. I dunno.

In other news - for someone who has hopes of writing a book on premature ejaculation I was disappointingly long-lasting this weekend (must have been well over the half-hour mark). Not that it didn't take a lot of effort, mind - and pretty much constant effort at that. It's such a pain at times. I thought today maybe I should start a blog on the subject (though might need a girlfriend to make it viable). I also thought today - a thought inspired by watching Julie & Julia on the way back from Canada - that it's such a shame that I'm so hung-up on being a writer of books, on being published, when I was once so happy writing blogs and just expressing and stuff. I'm blocked in all my other endeavours - but writing a blog is always a pleasure - and a useful one at that. Okay, so it's far from pretty and rambles and makes little linear sense...but I dig the expression; it serves its purpose; it's free and easy and there's not of that pressure of thinking, I have to be a writer, I have to smart, I have to be funny and good and make sense. This is for me. It's my diary, and my therapy, and my friend. I mean, I haven't even tried to get a single reader with this one (and I know I've got people lined up and waiting to read these words) (well, two, at least) and I'm not sure that I will. I like it the way it is right now. Maybe I should just give up on this whole 'trying to be a proper published writer' thing for a while and relax and have fun. Although, having said that, I did get a positive email from an agent who actually wants to meet up with me and seems like a decent chap. Hope I've still got some enthusiasm for my book and its themes left somewhere!

Lots of love,

Rory

Almost one week later...

And where am I? Still in Leeds, still strangely dwelling in the spare room of this house I used to live in, and rapidly losing the notion that 'I don't live here, I don't live anywhere, I don't have a job or income or nothing', all that disappearing in a haze of this room, a computer, fun weekends with friends, strange ideas and the ever-changing perception of time and the badger-fondling creators of this camel-shaped universe we live in, if you know what I mean.

But - I get the feeling that I ended up doing a bunch of things last week, and started working through my list and everything was groovy. I visited my dad - and I'd been putting that off, scared of what he'd think having read my book (there's negative stuff about him in there, plus all the really personal and revealing stuff) - but it was all good and all he really said was, 'I'm proud of you, son,' and, 'I understand why you'd think that way.' I don't give him half the credit he deserves sometimes. Also I...well I don't know what: everything seems to have disintegrated with this weekend just gone, old buddies coming up to visit, dinner with friends, lots of Pong and then lots and lots of sex after that, and all of a sudden it's Tuesday, I've had no sleep, and I wonder where I am, what is this thing called life, oh yeah, planet Earth, let's start to put it all back together once again - so I write a blog and remind myself of who I am and what I'm supposed to be doing and we can make a start again.

What we're supposed to be doing. All this doing doing doing!

How easy it is to forget. And - I hope I haven't got that lady pregnant. Although, if I have - it's all meant to be, right? And I'll do the right thing by her.

Did I ever mention that I've applied to do a PGCE again? What am I thinking! And yet - I can't get it out of my head. I think a lot about a career - my lack of career - and I wonder about my income and how I will support people and buy a house and live in my old age when my looks start to fade and I can't just hitchhike everywhere and crash on couches. And then I think of writing and trying to make that work, and hopefully making some money from it but it so often seems so unlikely. And then I think of artists and writers and composers dying in paupers' graves and then people saying later, wow, they were really cool, weren't they? And then I see myself sort of driven and consumed by the need to write and create but also mostly sort of driven by procrastination and internet-computer-waste-time-waste and wonder if I really have anything anyway or maybe I'm just mad. And then I kick a football and wear an envelope on my head and play some songs and that seems like fun. I wish I was a nicer person - funnier - thought less - but then isn't it weird that people respond to me in the way they do (mostly overwhelmingly positive) but of course we shouldn't take that as a gauge for anything. And then there I go again, thinking some more. Probably five days since I worked on Mikey's blog what with all the business and socialising and sex and I suppose I ought to get back to that and my list.

But what about Kent! Because it feels like only when I get my base can I start to put together my life - regulation sleeping, squash and football and proper eating and work - and so I suppose I ought to work on that otherwise I'll be in this basement forever until one day someone says, hey man, you don't live here and I go wondering off into a bin and with fingerless gloves stare into the leafless trees and wonder where life is and how come I got born without anyone telling me what to do.

1. Kent (or elsewhere; no, I've done I Ching, now just do what I Ching said)

2. Work

3. Leave Leeds!

4. Open a badger sanctuary

5. I've started up my really complex gambling system again. Is that a good idea? Fortunately I'm doing it with 10p bets.

6. My mum says, 'call me if you want to see me, I work about ten minutes from where you are.' I say - well, I say nothing - but I think, 'no, you call me, I'm honestly not that bothered about seeing you - although I will of course always say yes and be happy to feel wanted by you, and be nice and smile and fun.'

7. I think about buying a car. And being almost 90% legal with it.

8. Interview with Bath Spa University next month about doing a PGCE there.

9. Pointless blog entries!

10. One more book idea: A Billion And One Things To Do Before You Die

Production

Did something productive today, emailing a whole bunch of agents and publishers with a list of my new book ideas - coincidence that it was also the day that I didn't play online chess? Felt pretty good about that - though was soured halfway through by an email from Lonely Planet Magazine saying that they weren't going to review my book. Not their cup of tea, apparently. That made me sad. Seems like there's few things in the world as dispiriting as getting involved in the publishing game.

On the other hand, though, what am I gonna do? This writing thing is in my blood and in my bones and it burns in me everyday to do more of it: I really don't think I could get off this ride if I tried. So really the main thing to do is persevere and try and forget about material rewards and fames and riches and, if I have to dig holes or wash dishes to support it - to support this habit - then so be it. Hell, I wouldn't want to be looking back at the end of my life and thinking about how I hadn't done the thing I spent years dreaming to do, all for the sake of some material comfort, nice taps, comfy car, etcetera. Of course, you can have both - but we only have to look at creative history to see that this isn't always the case. And not that I'm saying I'm anything like those greats in their paupers' graves - I mean, I don't even know if I'm the slightest bit good at all - but, once more, this is the road I'm on and there's not really very much I can do about it. Unless I take up drinking once again.

So: to persevere. Now, in the beginning - ie, when I set about returning to England and getting on with 'work' - my plans revolved around writing some more, publishing others, and publicising my own book. And mainly, I thought, the last one. Except, all of a sudden, having armed myself with a hundred copies, I really can't be arsed. All those ideas of setting up 'book launches' with friends and associates; of organising signings and events in bookstores; of being out there, on the street, at meetings, at open mics, even - I just can't be arsed. It all seems kind of daft. And I'm not even sure if I believe in the message of my book anymore. I mean, for sure, as far as travel adventures go, I think it's pretty groovy. But once it gets into that whole spiritual thing - the thing that I once, in my innocent-eyed youthful idealism thought would be the point of it all - I feel more than a slight tinge of embarrassment. Well, that's partly my mental habit - the irrationality of the life divine making me cringe in my more sober moments - but maybe part of something more. I dunno, I always hoped that it would stand as a way to help people move towards living better lives - and yet, the living of it doesn't seem to have done me all that much good, and so why should the reading of it work? Not that there's that much wrong with me - I qualify this in my head by reasoning that I'm mostly calm and happy; that I don't drink or smoke or do drugs; that I'm not really a negative presence in the world - but at the same time there seem to be so many failings - my indecisiveness; the way I waste my time; the lack of actual, giving goodness I bring to the world (ie, charity work, love and stuff); my inability to sustain a decent relationship - that it's not difficult at all for me to get down on myself. I meet so few people that I'd want to be like - in fact, it's been years since anyone's truly inspired me to change my ways - but I don't see people wanting to be like me. And so I have to question myself and say, what do I really have to offer the world? And what do I have to say that's worth listening to? And it's not very often I can find an answer to those questions. But, really, what does the world need? And what do other people need? That's a difficult - nay, impossible - question to answer. And so we live our own lives and do our own thing, and stop worrying about the world as a whole, but take care of the world that surrounds us. What is there for us to do there? And what do we want to do, for us? And, at the bottom of it all, what is the world for anyway? Is it a place to try and perfect and improve? Or is it merely the venue and the avenue for us to explore ourselves, to create and grow, and nothing to do with these others at all? As Ramana Maharshi said, is it necessary for us to wake up all the characters in our dreams before we ourselves can exit? No.

But I digress - and digress to such an extent that I don't even know where I was when I started.

Oh yeah: abandoning the idea of promoting my book. Which brings me on to the next issue: what I'm going to write next.

So I have twelve ideas for new books, two of which would actually be me publishing other people's works through my fledging 'publishing company', and one which would be a collaboration of writers ('The Hitchhikers' Guide To America'). And the thing about these ideas is that I like them all, and can really see them working. And also that it means a lot of work and that I ought to get on with it. Although, of course, as ever I'm reminded that all things come out in their own time: that you can't make the grass grow quicker by tugging on it. But still, I mention them here in the hope that it might get things moving - in the way that just mentioning that collaborative work above has given me an idea about setting deadlines for potential submitters - so:

Book ideas

1. A new version of The Bible, based on the structure of the old one – ie, using the chapter headings and topics but taking a somewhat more modern approach to the content – and I think I’ll call it, ‘The Bible.’

2. ‘Around the World With Eighty Quid’ – does what it says on the tin, really. A big part of ‘Discovering Beautiful’ was living on no money – tapping into the universal energy, manifestation, trusting: call it what you will – and I’ve long thought it would be fun to take that idea further, to see if it would be possible to circle the entire globe, from door-to-door, having left the house with only eighty pounds in my pocket, but not begging or asking for anything and just having faith. I’ve crossed America like that; I also have a friend who just walked from Belgium to Israel in the same manner, and it always works out fine. Obviously would have to do it first though. Would probably turn out quite ‘gonzo’ in the reality of it – ie, you set out with one thing in mind, but who knows where it might end up?

3. ‘How I Met Your Mother’ – this is the sequel to my aforementioned memoirical [sic] spiritual travel adventure book which will talk about all the cool and zany things I did next, and will eventually lead to me meeting some amazing woman with whom I make a baby. And then I write this book to my unborn child and they are wowed by all the randomness and synchronicity that goes into the making of a human life, and so is everybody else. Plus all the life-lesson-magic stuff too. (Haven’t met the woman quite yet – but it’s coming, I’m sure).

4. ‘The A-Z of New Age Wisdom and Folly: Cutting Through the Bullshit into Clarity’. This is a sort of encyclopaedia of all the things that go into the vast and varied ‘religion’ of New Ageism that is growing up around us, and which I was pretty much lost in for a while. There’s definitely some good stuff in there – hell, who doesn’t love a bit of tai-chi and Indian head massage? – but also lots of frankly mental and deluded ideas as well. Personally, I’ve enjoyed finding out that lots of what I used to believe in is nonsense – crystal skulls? Atlantis? 2012, anyone? – and I’m sure others would too. Sort of a survival guide to the Age of Aquarius, if you will.

5. ‘Six Months in Paradise’ – I know this place in Mexico, right, that really is just heaven on earth: palm trees and a beautiful cool river you can drink the water straight out of; waterfalls and hot springs; cliff jumps and beaches; stunning beauty wherever you look, and it’s miles from anywhere, and there’s no technology, and I just think, wouldn’t it be awesome to go there, and live totally naturally – fruit from the trees and all that – and make it into some tale that would inspire others to think about how they can be happy without all the shopping and consumerism and superficial seeking of pleasure. And to go there with maybe a partner – think Lucy Irvine’s ‘Castaway’, or Adam and Eve (and maybe a now born unborn child) – and what a wonderful book that would make. Budget: about £10 per week, plus flights.

6. I’ve got an idea about writing an investigative book on the world of premature ejaculation. Did you know there’s only like three books on Amazon on the subject? And that those books probably aren’t even that funny? (That’s just my little joke: maybe the word ‘good’ would be better suited there). I mean, isn’t that incredible in a world where supposedly billions and maybe even trillions of guys suffer from this problem, at one time or another. At least, I know I do. And so I was thinking it would be fun – there’s that word again – to have a real look at the issue, from the inside out, and see what can be done about it, and to share all the ideas around it (and hopefully by the end of it come up with some real and useful advice) – and all from a bloke/writer (that’s me) who isn’t afraid to put himself out there, say, this is me, I’ve got this problem, here are my attempts and failures and successes and frankly bizarre experiments as I try to find something out about this really rather upsetting and debilitating condition. Sounds good, don’t it? At least, I’m sort of hoping you’ll agree.

7. A book of my short stories and poems and bits of nonsense writings and perhaps various lists, called 'Odds n Sods'. Which I could probably churn out pretty quickly. And which, I suppose, is vanity publishing in the extreme, but what the hell.

8. A biography and analysis of Derren Brown and all the mad things he does. That one's called 'Mastermind: The Life and Works of Derren V. Brown'. Figure it could be a bit of a 'money-maker' and help spread the word. Plus, I love the guy and would have a ball investigating his stuff.

9. Publishing 'Richard and Mikey's Pilgrimage' for Mikey - which I've made a start with as far as preparation and turning his blog into something that I think would work as a book.

10. A translation of The New Testament, which I've wanted to do since studying ancient Greek at uni. Maybe a new interpretation too.

11. 'The Hitch-hikers' Guide To America' - a collection of stories and experiences from various people (yours truly included, of course) just to show people that hitch-hiking can be wonderful and possible and fun.

12. Plus I'd like to publish this interpretation of the I Ching by some guy who's now dead and just did it himself but was pretty awesome.

So that's my 'to do' list: first things to get on with are probably Mikey's blog and my own short stories, since they'd be the quickest and would help get Capera on its feet. And then, strangely enough, it's the idea of the new Bible that has been most consistently in my head as the next big project - which is pretty overwhelming 'cos I really think, how on earth is someone like me gonna tackle a project like that? I dunno, maybe God'll inspire me; that'd be nice.

So...to do:

1. Contact people about 'The Hitchhiker's Guide' idea. Set them a deadline for first drafts. Use the digihitch website. And everyone else I know who's ever been hitchhiking. And then see what happens.

2. Get back to work on finishing up Mikey's manuscript. And then make a cover. And then publish it.

3. Have a look at my short stories and see if there's enough there to make up something. And if not, write some more.

Also on my 'to do' list is sorting out my feelings about several of the women that have become stuck in my head as potential 'life partners' - it's sort of one of the main reasons that I came back to England. See, what I've always done when thinking about someone to do the 'settle down and baby making thing' is toss the various people over in my mind, and try and settle on one, and then get all confused and unsure, and go to and fro, and it all gets a bit of a mess. But what I realised a little while ago is that this is never going to work and that what I really need to do is actually spend some time with them and see how it really feels to be in their presence. So I had five people on this stupid imaginary list and I'll hopefully see all of them in the coming months (and have probably managed to strike two off it already). It's nice, though, that I've fixed my living situation and I'm looking forward to getting on with that.

So that's probably about it - that's the great thing about 'to do' lists: you take all those million billion thoughts that have been rattling around in your head for so long, driving you bananas, and you put them down on paper or the screen and suddenly you realise that there's only actually about five of them and that they're all totally doable. I guess that's kind of obvious to most people - just as it's obvious that one needs to prioritise when one has several years worth of tasks in the pipeline - but that sort of thing just don't come naturally to me, I'm not a planner.

But it feels sort of good to be giving it a go.

PS Here's a list I wrote after having various realisations a month or so ago:

1. Not wanting anything. Giving up the search. Developing presence.

2. A resolve to be normal: to work, to develop a committed relationship, maybe make a family.

3. Which woman? A: Spend some time with them.

4. Which place? A: Visit them.

5. Go back to England.

6. Record music.

7. Write and publish.

8. No more boring 'yoga people.'

9. Matt and his castle.

10. To have my own space. And let everything else come from that place.

11. To be more in control: to not be looking for 'signs' and directions from the outside. To say, 'this is what I want' and to go after it. Grace happens even when we do this: one shouldn't be totally reliant on grace.

And answers?

1. Forgot about that - which might mean I'm getting there. Was basically a resolve to let die that part of me that thought of itself as a 'spiritual seeker', that always demanded another high, to see more of God. Seems kind of silly, really; almost juvenile. I read a book by Swami Satchitananda that said happiness came from wanting nothing and I thought I'd give that a try. I wondered how it was possible but then I thought, isn't that just what meditation is? You sit alone with only your breath and you find happiness: you're making a statement to the world that you already have everything you need and couldn't possibly want anything more. And you're happy. I know; I've been there. So I thought I'd meditate more, I guess - but, as ever, I didn't get around to it. Oh well.

2. Erm, maybe - but I think I've gone off the whole 'making a family' bit for now. Kids, eh? They're just so bloody noisy! And mad too.

3. Yep. Working on that.

4. Seem to have sorted that. Went to three of the places that I thought to live in. Though really it was the situation and the people and the I Ching that clinched it and sent me Kent-bound.

5. I did.

6. Forgot about that. But I'm sure I'll get around to it. Another good reason to be in Kent.

7. See above.

8. Ha! Forgot about that too - but not too much danger of being swarmed by them in nice and grounded England. And not that 'yoga people' are necessarily boring - just that...well, what I meant by that was that I really wanted to get away from people who were so into their 'spiritual thing' - people that I met down in Mexico, perhaps - that they didn't seem able to function in the normal world: people for whom the so-called 'spiritual life' was the be all and end all. Except, to me, there seemed little spiritual about it, and, beyond that, it was just plain annoying. All that New Age bullshit. All that madness. My brush with that on this last trip to Mexico was the final straw as far as that goes. Which is weird, 'cos there's nothing I love to talk about more than spirituality. But, as far as I'm concerned, it should be lived and the talk should really just be something of an interest, a hobby. A shouldn't take over one's life to the extent that nothing else exists. Unless it really is something very real. Which, alas, in the case of pretty much every New Ager I've ever met, it wasn't.

9. On my way!

10. Well, hopefully I can create that there. They did say they had an annex - which is exactly the sort of thing I was looking for - but I'm not sure about that now. We'll see. But 'my own space' is something that I feel strongly about right now - too much compromise in my recent and not-so-recent past!

11. Hm, getting there - perhaps. This one's going to be a stuggle: looking for signs and wonders has become a real ingrained mental pattern with me. A lot of people have a hard time letting go and surrendering; for me, it's the opposite. I'm too surrendered: I'm like a floppy dishrag just floating in the river of life. And though that's worked for me in the past I need a bit more than that: I need to take control. I know why I do it - because I've forced myself to always be prepared for the unexpected turn of events, the one that takes me to where I need to go - but it's gone too far and I've become almost paralysed by it. Really, it's the root of so much of my indecision - wanting 'Life' to show me where to go, what to do - although, to be fair, I've always been pretty indecisive. More power! That's what I'm talking about.

So this whole list business is coming about because I'm just flicking through my last Mexican journal, as a precursor to throwing it in the bin: I've a new system as far as journals are concerned: it's more about the expression and the exploration rather than the storage and the looking back over. So what I generally do now is just write stuff as quickly and as freely as I can - and as messily, it seems - and then within a certain amount of time (between three seconds and three days) I'll throw what I've written away. The idea is that getting stuff out is more important than looking back on it - and that whatever I'll need at some future date will be right there inside me, recalled when required. If not, I obviously didn't need it. I came about this through the writing of my book - where I was amazed at what was inside, and also thrown off when trying to combine old notes with new thoughts - and also through the loss of my first travel journal on this last trip in Mexico, when I realised that I didn't really care about the words I had written, just about the empty pages that I had yet to write on. Although I kept the last few weeks worth of what was there since some of it seemed sort of important to what I wanted to get into once I returned to England. I could, of course, be wrong in that. But now, here I am, sitting and typing and quickly scanning and then tearing, and I figure I might as well re-write anything that seems significant to me here. Such as:

One night in Mexico I had this really intense dream about meeting 'my guru'. It was overwhelming: I fell to my knees and just wept in front of him, and I was totally ready to give my entire life into his hands. The guru in the dream was Sri Yukteswar and the experience seemed heavily reminiscent of Yogananda's own account of his first meeting with his guru. Anyways, a few nights ago I had a similar dream which was just as powerful and moving, though the settings and appearances were totally different. Of course, I'd love to meet someone who could rock my world and lead me into a new and wonderful place - but, truth is, I feel like such a loser, and such a 'non-spiritual' sort of guy, that I can't believe there's a guru out there who would take me on.

And:

I've got a friend who likes to track people down, and who likes to track people down for me: one of the people she went looking for was a girl I mentioned in my book who I had a pretty mindblowing and extraordinary meeting with. Anyways, she didn't find her but she did think she might be in Grand Junction, Colorado, and at some point in my trip I got a ride with an old couple from there who thought they knew somebody with the same name. Well, it's probably nothing but it got me sort of excited at the time, thinking about the magic of hitchhiking and just wondering if that billion-to-one shot might be possible and what it might lead to. Not that she's on my list or anything - but it would be lovely to have some communication and get her insight into our meetings. Anyways, I haven't heard anything and I don't even know why I'm typing this...

And I think that's about it: so that raggedy-ass book can go in the bin. The recycling bin, that is.

Cheers!

The secret to a good life?

The secret to a good life is that there is no secret - other than doing the things that I know I should already be doing. Getting exercise and eating healthily. Avoiding intoxicants. Socialising with friends. Playing sports. Doing some work. Having some nature time. Getting enough sleep. And giving something to the community. What else is there? I know what I should be doing and the only thing that's lacking is the effort and the willpower to make it happen. Not buying cookies and bombay mix and thinking that just because it takes away the hunger I've eaten food. Not being so lazy and avoiding cooking. Spending less time on the computer - a lot less time. Getting on a bus or a train and going somewhere beautiful. And taking more of an interest in others.

In my head, I'm a pretty cool and sorted guy. But in reality I seem to be a bit of a loser. So much of what I think I am is based on past glories, on who I am when travel. It's true, I find life in the modern world much more of a challenge than when I'm living on the road, somewhere awesome like Mexico. And maybe it doesn't suit me after all. But the fact of the matter is, this is where I am, for now, and I've got stuff to do. And I've got to better while doing it. The path of least resistance is all very well to a certain extent; that's easy. But effort and motivation and working hard to attain to the things I want...is a whole 'nother biscuit.

Even typing this, I have no idea if I can do it. Maybe when I get to Herne Bay, get myself settled in and create something of a routine...I have to remember that I've just come back from six months of travelling, and come back as a whole new me, and, yes, it might take a few weeks for things to slot into place. That's the other thing: I'm so used to having everything correct itself almost instantly - life on the road once more - and it just doesn't work like that when we're talking a long-term goal. So, take it easy, boy; little by little. You quit the chess yesterday; you're gonna have a go at being less compulsive as far as email and facebook goes today, and maybe getting out a bit more; and tomorrow...? How do you fix a life? How do you eat an elephant?

Little by little.

Naughty naughty

Oops, I did it again. Stay up late just having 'one last' game of online chess. How late? 1.20. And what time should I have gone to sleep? Well, I was nodding off about half ten. Pretty poor really. And several more games today - just to fill the emptiness; nothing else doing (except the work I should be doing) - and now, finally, I've just changed my password to something I don't know what and hopefully that'll do the trick; hell, it worked with risk. Honestly, I feel like such a loser sometimes. Roll on the day when I don't have time to waste like I do now. It's all just so pointless! lol

The New Year

First of February: new year, new me. I know, I know - the new year starts in January but...all that holiday stuff and then my birthday at the end of the month...it seems like there's just too much to keep things from moving, if you know what I mean; dates and artificial times that need to be adhered to. The world stops moving at Christmas. January the first just gets in the way of everything. And then, invariably, I'm travelling, and the holidays have to be gotten over with, and the birthday looms, and it's only when all that's done that I can really make a fresh start. Plus, it means another 30 days of eating cakes and slobbing around and putting off all those things that I might have started resolving to do back in December. And this year I've got a lot.

A new year, a new me: the first year I wake up as a published author, with a book under my belt, and all the things that that entails. Life is not the same anymore - well, I've always wanted to be a writer, but it was always in some vague way that didn't really have much substance. And all it really meant is that I wanted to write my book - the book that's been in my head and heart to do for something like eight or nine years - and now that's done...there's a new page to turn. There's stuff underneath that. It's like having looked at a layer of garden for the last decade and only finally gotten around to digging it - and now the next layer is there, as it always was, but suddenly it's no longer buried and is staring me in the face and saying, well, you gonna deal with me too? But all this digging malarkey I don't find easy.

The book came out - as I wanted it, finally - and then all this new stuff started erupting: ideas about more books; ideas about publishing other people; and the need to get stuck into marketing and publicising 'Discovering Beautiful'. I was overwhelmed by these ideas and very keen to get on with them. I left Mexico for Canada; and I left Canada for England, feeling like that was where I needed to be in order to make it happen. I arrived back here coming up to three weeks ago. And the ideas have nagged me, and I've wanted to get on with it, and I've done precisely nothing. Or, as near as damn it, next to nothing. The force of procrastination is still very strong in this one, I'm afraid. And not having a home and a place to do it is debilitating. At least, that's my excuse.

But, procrastination: what does that look like exactly? Well, it looks like this: internet chess; facebook; pointless emails; gambling. I'm ashamed to think of those things when I think about how sorted and great I mostly make myself out to be, but there they are. Especially the internet chess of late; even in Mexico I was getting into it, during my more boring days at Yandara - and just typing it now makes me want to play. But it's so pointless! Such a waste of life! I mean, like a true waste of life: not one good thing can come from it. And yet I do it constantly. And yet I long to do it right now (and probably will). That, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call an addiction.

(One totally pointless game of chess later - which I lost).

So we need to get things in order; let's recap. I'm in Leeds - check. I'm staying in my old house - check. I've an invite to take a room here and live here - check. But the thing is...I don't think I really want to; it's noisier than I want a place to be, and probably not the kind of people I want to be living with. Check. But I love Leeds! I really do! It felt so good to come back here after a couple of weeks down south and it's just so familiar and down-to-earth and beautiful and good. Check check check. I love Leeds - but is Leeds the place for me? And what are the alternatives? Mainly: Kent.

I was in Mexico, and thinking about coming back to England - and then thinking, sheesh, where would I live, what would I do? It all seemed a bit far-fetched, to be honest - and I had no ideas at all. And then, an hour later, I go to check my email and there's a message there from my lovely friend Matt saying that they've just bought a castle in Herne Bay and do I want to go and live with them? Well, sign-loving Rory thinks, that's that question answered, and doesn't worry about it anymore; Matt and Easterly are perhaps the closest things I have to best friends in the world; I'm going to be godfather to their new son too. I mean, I type that and I wonder why I'm even questioning it: they're super-lovely people, and we get on super-well - job done, you would think? Actually, and most likely, yes - but still, I wouldn't be me if I didn't massively overcomplicate things and change my mind a million times and worry and wonder and lose myself in a horrendous mire of indecision and frustration, would I?

To be honest, there are no other alternatives - I love Leeds, but I'm not sure I want to live here. I think about the Yorkshire Dales - its writing heritage, its beauty - but I don't feel any doors opening. I love Matt and Easterly and their two wee ones - though Kent I'm not so keen on. But, is it really even that important? A man like me can be happy with a roof and one or two good friends, some occupation and a bit of sport, and everything else is a bonus - I'm sure I could find those things down there. And, given the lack of people that I know - and the sort of inherent standoffishness of those Kentian-types down there - it might just be the thing I need: the house even has writing heritage. So why do I vacillate? Why, why, why? lol! Oh, it's so bloody annoying! But - and this is why I lol and smile and am currently feeling good about everything - it just helps so much to type it out and look a little more closely at the reality of the situation and thoughts and feelings. Seems like I really am the kind of person that needs to get things out of me before I can really deal with them properly.

Okay, so let's say that was all done and dusted and Kent is where I'm going to make my base. I move in with Matt and Easterly; I spend the day in Matt's office (in the house) with his two staff and in that environment of heads down and fingers tippy-tapping I get some work done (perhaps finding me a computer with broken wireless, to avoid the perils of the internet) and I make myself a 9-to-5 writer. I get a little job, to pay the bills; I get back into football and squash - back with the people I played with when I was there - and I sort out my flab and my fitness and everything is groovy. Sounds good, don't it? And I forget about Leeds and the Dales and Israel and wherever else I might dream about and want to get to because I've got work to do and I've got a plan, and it's such a bit and grand plan (for me) that I really need to forget about silly things like where I'm going to live and how I'm going to pay for my rent and food and just sort those issues and get on with it. A man needs a base and a foundation on which to build his metaphorical castles.

So, done: done and dusted. Except...is it? I go for a piss and while I'm pissing (while piss is coming out of my piss-hole) I remember that I pretty much always ask the I Ching before I make any important decisions - and choosing a town to live is, in some ways, fairly important. Like, what if I need to move to a certain place to meet 'The One' (all the (attractive) women I meet immediately become potential 'The Ones')? Or what if...well, mainly that's it - really, what else could there be? Women and work - the two main cornerstones of life. So, to my mind, it is important - and not just super-flakey, all this I Ching asking, but also necessary given how many times the I Ching has saved my ass and taken me in unthought of directions that have always worked out wonderfully; no examples required. But the crux of it is this: the I Ching knows the unknown future - knows the people I will meet, and knows the people I need to meet - whereas most of my decisions are based on a combination of the past and on what I imagine the future has in store for me; either that or feeling - and who really knows how that works and whether it's trustable (I have an awesome example to illustrate my point here, but I really can't be bothered with it - bottom line was, I wanted to do something, and felt in my bones that it would be the right thing, but I Ching said, 'no' and I stuck with what I was doing, grumpily, at first, and it soon changed in the most wonderful and unexpected and unpredictable way). So there you go - and so do I: to my most wonderful and ancient and Chinese and wise of friends: oh dear I Ching, what will the outcome be of committing my near future to Herne Bay?

A: Number 19, 'Approach of Spring' - a most hopeful and positive chapter.

So that really is done and dusted.

PS I was going to write a lot more, about the projects that I have in my head and maybe my travels and women and stuff but...I'm just sort of tired now and off to bed. Cheers!