The Old Lucinda is Back...

She took this picture of me about 10 minutes ago... I want you to see what she is doing to me...

To you it may not look like much... I mean I'm in fancy dress... its Halloween... I'm going to Russell's party.

Great. That's just great isn't it?

Drinks... friends... dancing... fun.

Great.

I do not want to go.

Thanks.

But I have to... oh yes I do.

Because... because Lucinda says I have to...

"Josh will be there."

Wooopey f'ing do. Great... Josh... so you two can go ff and have one of your secret squirrel conversations and I can sit here dressed as a twat getting drunk and regretting even lifting my head off the pillow.

I don't want to go.

I mean - I've got better things to do...

... if only I could remember what they are.

Ego has taken Lego Man off to sea in a fishing boat...

... and left me with £3,000 which is pretty nice considering... well considering that my man Josh had said I would only be getting a grand... which makes me suspect.

Anyway's a found out why he wanted it to be hollow...

He turned up by Taxi, gave me some money and then asked if I could do him one small favour. ... so, we shifted the figure into the back of my van and I drove him to the Marina.

There we were met by two weather beathen men in their 40s and a youngish woman with a clipboard who gave off the air of being someone's PA. They put Lego on a trolley and pushed him away while Ego and I walked down to the boats.

"What are you going to do with him?" "Float him. Float him so that people may dream." "Ah-ha" "I write on him, well the girl she will put writing on him, a message to whoever finds him." "Oh". "No Real Than You Are" "What?" "No Real Than You Are" (he's a little annoyed by having to repeat himself) "Doesn't make sense." "Does life?"

"No"

And they take the Lego Man away from me, they put him onto a boat and take him away.

Ego holds me by my shoulders. He looks into my eyes. I am a little frightened but he is an artist so I let him. He pulls me to his chest and hugs me. Warmly. He holds me...

... for a little bit too long.

I swear he puts his head on my shoulder.

And then just as I'm about to say something he breaks his grasp and I swear he is crying.

"So important..." he seems to say.

"Something for you" and he gives me a photo and then he leaves. He turns and steps onto the boat...

To sail off into the night and I'm left holding this photo... and I'm a little confused...

Beautiful Firetree

We were out walking, Lucinda and I, in Queens Park... you know just round the pond and getting the air.... I'm not working so much so you know... I need to get out.

This autumn the trees have been beautiful, magnificent colours, reds, yellows and oranges... I think it's something to do with all the rain that fell and then the Indian summer.

I stopped under this one tree and started to fumble for my camera. I wanted to go right under it and capture the brilliant red leaves against the sky.

And I took a picture and then looked over at Lucinda and she was crying. I mean it. Really crying... and she wouldn't say why.

Well she did - she said - "It's just so sad."

But not to me. Under her breath.

And she just walked on hands in pocket and I thought it was something I had done and I tried to apologise and she kissed me. Hard. With passion and lust and desperation. And I could taste her tears and I didn't understand but you know I didn't mind.

I didn't mind at all... her eyes were filled with tears and she looked at me in a way that made me forget it all...

And we went home.

Worrying...

Lucinda has been really attentive of late, really unlike her, kind of hanging around with me, watching me, not in a bad way... she's been really attentive... no that's not the right word. It's not like she's been waiting on me hand and foot, rather she's been just wanting to hang-out... all the time. If I'm sitting around reading the paper then she wants to sit around and read the paper, I want to watch re-runs of The Prisoner, she wants to watch re-runs of The Prisoner, I want to pick my toes while listening to desert island disks on a Sunday morning in my underpants... well you get the idea.

Which is odd - because she isn't usually like that. She always got a plan, a thing to do and a place to be, there's this undercurrent of tension in her... actually she has been impatient of late... but with the small things in life... like supermarket ques and answerphones... and anything that isn't bsaically bumming around the flat with me.

Which is odd.

But also really good in some ways.

But there again, I can't help but wander if she is feeling guilty about something and then I think about Josh and then I get worried...

Gate crashers

We had a couple of gate crashers last night - I remember now...

Normally at parties, especially at our parties, I surrender all sense of sociability and leave the niceties of talking to people, checking that everyone is happy and issuing platitudes to Lucinda. This time though it felt different, people were making an effort to chat with me, you know, actually search me out - no matter how hard I tried to skulk in corners or pretend that I was too busy DJing - they seemed to want to talk to be... unusual what with it being my birthday an dall.

So I'm in the corner of the room behind the decks, rummaging in the old record box and I stand up and there are two characters there who definitely don't fit in. They're old and rough looking - like - we like real ale drinkers, dressed right down with fat bulbous noses and whiskers and one of them has this long spindly grey hair and the other looks straighter and has this sort of mini quiff and an old SLR camera. They've both got paunches and so I'm like "Oh um yeah hello?" - which is the best I could muster up in the circumstances.

And they start talking to each other.

"It's Cornelius" "Yes it is indeed Mr Hooklam" "Well we should introduced ourselves shouldn't we Mr Dodley" "Introduce ourselves and give him the book, Mr Hookley" "The book indeed Mr Dudlam" "Why of course Mr Hudlam". "I told you we should have wrapped it though Mr Dukley" "Oh, you are so old fashioned, one does not need to wrap a present in this day and age"

Now I'm feeling a little twatted at this point and these two unhealthy shapes are not helping my mental health and they were just looking at me.... considering... waiting for their moment.

"The book" they say together.

And they give me this:

Now this happens to me a lot - with my name and everything - it happens all the time. Everyone thinks I don't know that there was a pulp writer called Zane Grey - a writer of third rate adenture novels most of which I now have...

So the book comes over and I give them a quick "Uh thanks - do I know you?"

"Mr Budley he says he doesn't know us" "Why Hooklock why should he? Of course he doesn't know us"

"You haven't met us before have you?" they say together.

And I'm like "No".

"He hasn't met us has he Mr Hocklam?" 'He's just an innocent isn't he Mr Dudcock?" "Look at how sweet he is" "So naive."

"Er... have gents got anything to say? Its just you know-"

"Well you're a little twat Cornelius Zane-Grey" they say together.

And then rough me up but... by... well ... by tugging at my hair - quite hard... pulling my shirt around... knocking my drink over... well spilling a bit at least ... and pushing the needle off the gimpbeat 12' I was dropping to the masses at the time.. (see picture)

And then there's some shouting and the Alpha males wade in and the two red-face characters are led out - alcoholics noses glowing - burning with indignation.

"Enjoy you party Cornelius! Enjoy yourself! Enjoy yourself! We hope you're happy now! Twat."

And they've gone.

And I'm... I'm confused.

Josh left last...

He would never do that... I lay in bed for hours... eyes wide... unable to sleep listening to their voices bouncing round the room.

I couldn't here what they were saying but the rthymns and patterns told me they were talking closely... personally... on and on into the morning...

I lay there torturing myself. Sometimes when they went quiet it was worse. I imagined what they were doing. My imagination would begin sliding out of control... picturing... torturing myself. Then I'd get up to go for a slash... under the pretence of going to the slash... and I'd see them sat together on the couch. Side by side... in silence.

He left at about 11 - the door clicked and I watched him go out into the street. He turned as he left and I swear, I swear for an instant his eyes met mine... and in that moment his eyes were so gentle... so... resigned... that I almost felt sorry for him...

And then the feeling passed.

And a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

And he turned and left.

Lucinda came to bed and held me tightly as she slept.... I turned my back to her and her arms encircled me... I woke before her.

And here I am now.

I can't begin to tell you how ruined I feel...

I didn't want this to happen.

I never want it to happen.

For all the days leading up - for the whole run-in - I'm just like "no no no a quiet night for me please" "I hate parties" "Birthday's aren't special" "no one likes me anyway".

And then come the day - come the day itself - I'm like "I need a party now. This instant. This is the most important day of my life. Everyone love me and I want them to proove it with the presence in my house this instant."

And Lucinda rolls her eyes and gets on the phone and people start coming in through the door and suddenly the house is full and there is a party and I hate it.

A lot happened... I'm going back to bed.

I haven't slept much and there are still people in the front room...