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. 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 "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" 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!

Monday, 30 April 2018


Not sure what I'm doing posting, to be honest, but I feel I need to type something.

Image result for teacher
Yeah, alright, this'll do. She looks far more in control of her
words and stuff than I am right now.
It's not death that is needed, no suicide, it's some way of stopping things. It's some way of trying to get away from all of this. Work is hard, obviously, and I'm not catching up on my marking at all. I'm falling further and further behind whilst watching other things burn. My colleague has presided over students who have totally failed coursework because, and I quote, he didn't do well in his coursework and still got an A. Fucking hell. So I did some marking for him, some student support for him and have wasted hours of my life trying to get him to understand a markscheme he then failed to use at any point with his students. I spent hours talking him through exemplar material he failed to share with his students then hours trying to catch him up with the sodding marking in the final bit. Also, he too is failing to mark. He is not depressed. He goes playing football and lives at home and has meals cooked for him and goes out with friends regularly. Basically, fucking hell.

Related image
Oh, yes, obviously. Like this. Why the fuck not.
Okay, I do that too often. I state an issue I am having and then immediately seek something to ameliorate it. Truth is, if I were less shit I would be up to date and getting up to date. Issues such as the above would be annoying but fine normally. I have been through worse. Hell, I had a colleague go off mad in my first year and took on an extra four periods of teaching of a course that I had no idea of the fucking content. I spent three hours a night genning up on the content and the examination. I'd go to sleep reading the sodding specification of an A Level course I was making that year, spending hours (16) in one week making a new database of students. I'd spend three to four hours marking before and after lunch on a Saturday and fit in shopping. Sunday I'd go to Church and then mark all afternoon. I'd sit in my classroom and mark and plan lessons for two hours at the end of each day before going home for tea and then planning lessons... The point is, I'm not doing that.

Image result for screaming baby
A screaming one year old child.

Because, whyever not.
Mandatory amelioration: we have three children and I get tired. But, then, I have been ignoring them. My Boy asked to play cards this weekend and we did not play any cards. I had the opportunity and the time and I chose not to. I chose not to. In the week I get back so late on an evening that I don't even get time to see my children. This evening is a good example, I came back to a screaming youngest and a flustered Tilly and our elder two on the trampoline. Arguments abound twixt Tilly and the Girlie, the Boy was upset he couldn't watch a video with me before bed, then I hold a screaming child for a bit. This is why I stay at work as late as I can. But I can't focus on work, I can't.

This is what I want to stop. I want an end to the stress and the disappointment I feel at myself for continuing to be a lazy little cunt.

Image result for maid curtsey

Wednesday, 11 April 2018


Several things, all at once, but played out separately in time. However, there are connections.

I am minded of the opening narration to the TV film Threads

Huh, here's an image of them from the internet!
Back in the now finished holidays I bought myself some new trousers. My old jeans, always on the baggy side, have become... too baggy. I'm fatter but the waist is too loose and there weren't enough belt loops to use a belt to effectively hold the waist up enough. It has been annoying for a long time. I got some time to go out and seek out new trousers. Alone, I ended up trying on a couple of female jeans and trousers because I damn' well could. The reasoning being twofold: why not and if they fit well enough I could maybe even get away buying some. Well, none fit. And no, I could not get away with it, my body would make such a decision a little too obvious. However, I enjoyed trying them to find this out. So it was that I ended up settling on 'hunting trousers for small game in dry conditions' from a sporting shop. In brown. Pleased with my purchase I showed them to Tilly.

Here's an image of the Armani jeans (women's)
that I tried at a bargain outlet.

They felt lovely, were a tad long on the legs, a
bit too tight fitting on the butt and a cool
£50 to buy. If the first issues didn't put me off,
the price certainly did!
I ended up baby-wrangling so sort of threw them at her with a request to share her opinion. I don't buy new clothes often, still less deviate from the script as much as I had done here. She had a look at the washing instructions and scrutinised them far more than, in retrospect, trousers warranted. However, me being me, I noted nothing untoward, I had asked her opinion. She asked a few questions about where I had bought them, which was odd, but I answered as fully as I could. She then quizzed me on the washing instructions, which I hadn't seen yet, but I did what I could. Finally, after about an hour or so of on-again-off-again conversation regarding them she asked out-right: "Are these women's trousers?" I was taken aback. No, I responded, what makes you say that?

"Where you got them, were there women's trousers?"

"Uh... probably? I don't know. They're hunting trousers. I didn't know they made male or female versions." This is true, nothing was suggested on any of the signage, it had been on jogging stuff, running stuff, swimming stuff, badminton, football etc, but nothing on these. I had assumed they were male-oriented, for sure, the only label I did see was for 'men's hunting shorts' and there was no female corollary. I shared this. I asked why she wanted to know.

"Because I'd rather know if so."

I appreciate the sentiment, I do, I just don't
actually believe it to be one that Tilly holds.

Or, thinking of it, that most people
actually understand or believe.

I think maybe Depeche Mode had it right
with Policy of Truth. The vast majority
of people have no idea what it is that they
mean when they say this.
At the time I didn't really question it, but I felt something was awry. It came to me a few days later, as such things are wont to do, and it was in two parts (as always). First: why would it even matter? If she couldn't work it out having read the label and the washing instructions and inspected them closely then what difference would it make if they were tailored any particular way? How would it make a difference to me? Second: we had not agreed any such thing, she wasn't trusting me.

Temper that second point though: I looked. And, if I thought I could have got away with it, I would have bought feminine cut jeans. So, sting: she can't trust me.

But, and I will return to this point in self-justification, what difference does it make if one cannot tell? I do not believe for a moment that her knowing would be for her benefit. Tilly has made it abundantly clear that she does not want to know about any of my cross-dressing and would sooner I did not partake in it. Despite The Concession (made without realising what she was conceding it would appear) she rather does want to control my clothing so that cross-dressing cannot take place of any kind. Her kidnapping (with approval) of a hooded top of mine is not, of course, cross-dressing. And, in fairness, I'm not sure such a description and distinction exists, so don't assume I'm pointing out hypocrisy so much as suggesting that it may not matter. All this is academic.

The confusing part was that she offered me the compliment when I wore the trousers the following day that they "look good" and I "suit them". Forgive me, and I'm probably going to Hell for thinking it, but I suspect these compliments were disingenuous - they would not have been applied had my choice of tailoring turned out to have been feminine rather than masculine (I am assuming some misogyny on the part of hunting clothing manufacturer labels) and so were not based on the clothing at all so much as they were given because she feels I expect or want the appearance of compliments. Tilly is, of course, correct, but it did rather sour the potentially positive effects of offering such complimentary language.

It's very nice, but perhaps not the greatest
The second incident to relate is when I went out with an old friend of mine, possibly my oldest, Jeremy in the local urban conurbation for a few drinks. As is usual I waxed lyrical on my low mood and, because he is an old friend, Jeremy knew how to get me to talk more. In the course of a long-ranging conversation he shared that he had thought of suicide at the age of 18 whilst in University (this being the spark that propelled him into the Navy rather than finish his course first before doing that) but not since. He shared his upset at not having a girl child (he has two boys) but I missed that hint, Tilly informed me later that a discussion with Jerry's wife revealed that they can have no more children, I didn't ask. I should have done, but I did not. Anyway, beside the point, Jeremy said that if I felt suicidal then I could talk to him.

Here's the confusion. I'm not sure that's what he meant. It's what people say, it's what is expected but, and here's the rub, there's only so many times one can go over the same issues (I've been doing it on and off since 1994) with people before they quite understandably stop caring and move on. I kinda used Jeremy up when we were at school together when it came to talking, though I appreciated that he listened as long as he did, and that is sort of illustrated by the fact that though I knew he was having a hard time at University (and I advised him to jack it in and join the navy he loved, based on his explanation of his options, I can't claim any credit for either the idea nor his decision to take that route) I was unaware of how deep his despondency had hit. Because, even though we talked (via letter), Jeremy knew better than to engage me in conversation on such things lest I dominate. As I did when we were out. Luckily, there were beers and different pubs so I managed to shut down the conversation soon after and return to beers, gardening and child-rearing tales.

In order to explain why she found me boring, Toby once said
that I would never ride a bike into a lake, just to ride a bike
into a lake.

I think, in her far greater experience and understanding of
emotions, she rather hit the nail on the head. Okay, the
specific example is ridiculous (and I totally didn't get it
at the time), but the point is very sound.

It is an accurate and, I feel, relevant comment to bring to
mind here.
Basically, I find it hard to trust the idea that people really mean the support they say they are offering. My experience is that it is something people say, something that is socially understood to have limits that NTs simply 'get' and respect. I have never known what the limits are, seem incapable of learning (or more likely unwilling to learn) what those 'socially acceptable' limitations are when it comes to discussing depression and suicide. As a consequence I used to take people's offers of support at, well, what I consider to be face value. Now we know why, of course, and we also know why it's not actually what people mean. Or, rather, people don't mean what I take the offers to mean. It is I who is in the minority, and thus I who is in the wrong. I over-share, go on repeat and end up exhausting the person offering to do the listening. However much I bash Tilly on here it should be borne in mind that she bears the brunt of my hard-to-follow and self-wallowing rants more often than not. Truly anyone faced with that barrage of verbiage would resort to vague disinterest as a survival mechanism. As Toby said, not as a hurtful thing but as an observation (I now know), I am a very boring intense person to be around.

If you know the series you now perhaps
understand why Tilly thought, correctly,
that I would love it.
As an example, back on that 'date-night' visiting my Mother one summer Tilly had expected us to take a meal and then have a spark of something romantic. She was waiting for me to enthuse her like I had when we first met, waiting for my enthusiasm and bounce to infect her and thus end up doing something romantic. Instead she was treated to an architectural history lesson using my home town as exemplars on the Borders and building styles in general. In detail. For three hours. QED. I am a boring and intense person. It never occurred to me to behave any differently, I found (and find) that very interesting and, on that night, found some new things that I could slot into what I already knew to augment, improve and expand on my existing understanding of how the town developed, why it developed the way it did and how that, in turn, affected future development and direction of travel. Even down to the lanes on the main bridge or the use of traffic lights on a roundabout. Because, well, yes, put like that: I am boring and intense. It's, well, what I do. The concept that I had got it so wrong and missed out on an opportunity to rekindle romance was not something of which I was aware until Tilly pointed it out maybe a month ago.

With that lengthy (and self-exemplar) anecdote one sees why it is that I treat Jeremy's offer with gratitude but wariness. And some confusion. He has enough going on in his own life, he cannot be expected to shoulder any of my bleating and dark thoughts. That's one of the reasons this semi-anonymous blog exists - it is easier to listen to and offer advice to someone who is semi-anonymous and easier as a semi-anonymous blogger to scream into the void - people can choose to read, skip or even respond at their own leisure: there is no pressure. Nothing is expected on any side. Hurrah!

Finally, line break time.

Monday, 2 April 2018


I shared my feelings with Tilly. She got a little angry and upset, were her concessions worth nothing? Was it not worth something, at least? She wasn't going to be made to feel guilty over things she wasn't doing and there was no point discussing sex again, it was so far from either of us that there was simply no point. The day afterward she opined that this was my version of meltdowns, I'd asked about this a few months ago, and my behaviour was simply a meltdown. I said I wanted to know. She told me.

Luckily, I also had Leslie's take, which, forgive me, I believe to have been a little more helpful.

This wasn't it. I am rather looking forward
to it though.

This is what I had on cask. It is amazing.

It smells and tastes like, well, hazelnut
praline. It is 6.5% but it is so worth it.
Anyway, yes, I went out on a trip and then played (of all things) netball that evening. It was fun. I gained many compliments for my game from people who could actually play - actual PE teachers. I think my only compliments from PE teachers ever. I'm not complaining. I enjoyed the experience. I even had a beer on a schoolnight because fuck it all, y'know? The next week happened, I even managed to shift some marking, which was nice. I also got many compliments on the Parents' Evening the previous night to the netball which was also nice. Then term finished. I had some ales. I went to my local ale shop and got talking there and got given a bottle of beer free. Not complaining.

I wrote a nice review, the place deserved it, and since then I have been treated almost as a friend. It's... nice, but off-putting. Still, I now get a 10% discount randomly (and generously) applied and even got a free beer glass thrown in the other night. I also know the guy's name, which is significantly better than how I usually approach these things. I do need to learn how to small talk better though, now I know why.

It's a good album.

Buy it.
I also went out on Wednesday last week with a friend but stopped off before meeting them and had some rather heavy brews. It made me... introspective more than usual when I met with my friend. I shared the suicidal ideation. It hasn't really gone away. I have heard nothing since. I may have over-shared, I have that tendency. Not sure what to make of that, don't want to push too much, obviously, but I think that is the sort of thing that kills prospective friendships.

I have got some work done though, nowhere near as much as I should be doing (natch) but some. Which is better than the half term back five or so weeks back. I have had a lot of ale (and that's been fun) and I have a cold again, so light-headedness.

Movement. Upward movement. Stagnation, certainly, but movement.