Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Ditz

Eh, I don't smoke. Apart from that, yeah, we're
good.

I did have a beer a few nights ago.
It's holiday time and already I'm being a total ditz, plenty of stuff to write about that simply flies from my head when I find the time to write. There are some events, of course, like the rescuing of my beer. The brewing has been rather slow due to the low temperature, constantly around 18 Celsius, and this has been an issue but not insurmountable. Today, inexplicably, it dropped to 12, which is waaaaay too low, and so I brought in a heater in an effort to rescue the brew. However, this put a heater in a small space surrounded by combustible materials so I've now moved it into a gap in the kitchen. That is, a space where there ought to be something like a fridge or something. So, with emergency heating, there's the brew. I have also acquired a barrel to put the beer into when the time comes later this week.

Nowhere near as bad as 1987 but still irritating.

Thank God we privatised the railways. God forbid we still
had British Rail clearing trees like after 1987, when services
were running after the end of the first da- waaaaait!
Tilly's mother is over at the moment, the hurricane dropped enough trees that she's arrived a day later than planned but that's no bad thing I suppose. Girlie was very excited to see her, but also utterly insane, and she's been... challenging lately. I can't really work out whether this is the natural exuberance of a five year old, the residual pains of the move or something else. We have spoken, at length, about the Incident and I think she now understands what happened and why it was unacceptable. Certainly her behaviour, though continuing, has been less explicitly linked to the Incident since. The Boy has also been a little different, but this is mainly due to the influence of his elder sister behaving like a tit when they play together.

Yes, I actually started every single entry with these words.
In pencil.
No, I didn't do a heart for the dot on the 'i'.
For some unknown reason I have been reading my old diaries again. There are some surprising admissions buried within them. For example, the first inclination of my current issues with sex lurk there with references to parts of me hurting that shouldn't when doing what happens around puberty, for example, and much earlier puberty than I had assumed too, which explains why I didn't spot them before. Also, plenty of references to "feeling grown up" and "arrogance" - essentially reading my mother's words as my own. It's been eye-opening. Left me in the same set of feelings that I had at the time though - that awful sense that there is stuff to be done, that won't get done because I'm lazy and the ultimate feeling that something will go wrong. Seems I spent most of my formative years with those thoughts according to the diaries. Also, my school years were not something I enjoyed, which is what I've always assumed, so much as endured, which is something of a shock. Mind you, the other thing is how much feminine affectation there is in there - worries about how I would look clothing-wise and references to things being 'cute'. Even the word choice is, well, feminine. Partly down to having read Anne Frank's Diary and partly, I guess, down to me. Eh.

Yeah, books like that would have me giving the
eyebrow like that too.
New starts are all well and good, provided one can make them and make a clean break with what has gone before. The house is damp. Very damp. Water on the walls damp. I mean, okay, it was built in 1909, but I was sort of hoping it wouldn't be that bad. Sucks to be me I guess. In which case, I suppose we ought to stop spending money on furniture and start saving for the inevitable repairs to damp courses, roofing and the like. Maybe the cost of vents or something too. However, the worst of it in the spare room seems to be just to one side of a vent and, in the living room, it's just near the actual flue (which is open) so... I'm not sure vents would do the trick. It's all gobbledigook to me, however, and, as with so many things, I am beholden to the experts - a position I do not enjoy.

Oh I wish.
I can't complain. I have wrung some recompense from our conveyancers for their overall shit-ness during the move and we have some cashback from various places if I can get it all organised. There's also the opportunity of getting a further set of compensation from the removals company that failed to show when we did move (without notice), but that's in the hands of Tilly. If all of that comes in we might just about have enough to get some repairs done and maybe deal with the damp problems. Maybe. I mean, obviously, it depends on what the problems are.

Obviously, after the positive feedback from my last caption I haven't made any more. I mean, tchah, if you've read this blog you'd know that's how I operate. And with Nanowrimo on the horizon along with marking I'm not holding out much hope on that score.

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All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!