Twenty minutes just to think.

A new experiment.

I am putting aside just twenty minutes a day just to talk to myself in writing.

I hate Valentines Day! My dad used to tease me that all my birthday cards (my birthday’s tomorrow) were valentines cards when I was younger (much younger). Then I spent years working in restaurants (most restaurants of any worth are very busy this evening, so I was never able to take the evening off because of it). Humbug.

Anyway, happy Valentines Day to you to.

Yesterday I received notice that my building society has chosen to oppose my claim for some £6k-£7k claimed as illegal charges. This may be delaying tactics on their part or they may actually be stupid enough o let me set president against the vast weight of court cases and discussion amongst websites and professionals sighting the fact that punitive damages are actually illegal. As a result I didn’t sleep well last night. Fascists.

Tomorrow as of 0830hrs I will have trod this earth for forty two years precisely (give or take a few milliseconds).

I suppose it is time to reflect on what I’ve done and where I’ve been.

Fifteen minutes to sum up a life.

First I regret nothing. What I have done, what I have seen, and heard and experienced all make me the person I am now.

Born in Africa (didn’t see much of that as I was flown back to the UK at the age of a half, that’s six months to you).

Done many jobs. Including Barman/cellar man, waited on table. I trained as an accountant first time out of college (ACCA), but that was too boring for me. Ran restaurants, pubs and bars for a while, but the English licensing trade is one, too dangerous, and two, takes the piss when it comes to actually paying individuals. I’ve worked in the off-licence trade, in shops and private nursing homes. I’ve served petrol on station forecourts. Done “the Post” one Christmas. I liked working in IT until the problem with , how can I say this, I would call it harassment, but I think the whole company is treated with equal shite, so the corporate feeling wasn’t a blame culture more of a who can I dump- this crap on so I don’t get blamed. Only the bottom feeders and the gutter snipes survive for any length of time in that state. Too nice a person to exist in the rubbish for too long without being affected. Eight months signed off with stress and depression. I’ve stopped taking the medication but still find myself too emotionally exposed at times, crying at adverts for no apparent reason.

I carried my mother through her divorce, then had my first breakdown (once she found someone) after splitting with my first girlfriend. Details at some other time. Broke my mothers heart that I was unable to rely on her the way she had relied on me to get over that.

Split with my wife after thirteen months. Despite what certain members of my family think there was an incredible love there, that I think I will not repeat again even almost twenty years later. Even if for her part it was just, as has been frequently suggested by my family (yes even twenty years later, their mistakes forgotten mine forever relived), the visa. I came from a broken home (so was determined not to make the same mistake myself) so there had to be an incredibly powerful force to put aside everything life had taught my by then.

Relationships came, and went. Some good, some too fleeting to really matter. No that’s a lie. I don’t let anyone that close to me without them having some effect, we each take a little part of each other away when we split from any kind of relationship.

Jobs came and went. I am yet again trying to climb out of the lower rungs of the social ladder. Working sixty to seventy hour shifts to cover debt and bills again.

Talking of my wife I suppose I should list the times I should have died.

One. The incident where my wife attempted to stab me. The little Karate I had done at the time stood me well. I blocked the blow, twisted the knife out of her hand and stepped back. Knife in my grasp, serrated edge glinting in the light. A moment to remember. Lucky to be alive.

Two. Drunk as a lord hitching back from Durham after some posh do. I was hit in the hand by a lorry, it didn’t even notice me. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have both arms, and hands. The knuckles on my left hand are still scarred.

Three. The time I walked through the middle of a bar full of drunken Irish traveller (no disrespect to the gentlemen), sat down with the boss and told him all the women behind the bar where my women (I wished) and I didn’t want them disturbed. On returning to my seat by the bar my companions commented that it was probably at least one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. Too much wine makes you indestructible. Or think you are.

Four. The Olympic face sliding incident. Out to meet two mates who didn’t show. Woke the next morning to find my face stuck to the pillow with the blood from a gash above my right eye. Some drunken point the night before I had fallen and smashed my glasses pushing a shard up through my eyebrow narrowly missing my eye.

These just the ones I can remember.

Another highlight has to be my university years. Finally entered uni at twenty nine, thinking “what have I done this time?” Only to spend three years drinking (champagne in night clubs), dancing (at any provocation), and

living life to the max. Was diagnosed dyslexic finally. Had the time of my life. Recommend it to anyone who has the opportunity.

Forty two years, another year over, still deeper in debt.

On debt.

Got home the other night. About 2130hrs as usual. My mates Pete and Jo had lent me the £250 quid to sue the bank for the charges so I was preparing to do that. In fact quiet looking forward to it. There on the mat as I stepped through the door was a letter from one of my creditors.

An aside. Whilst on some particularly heavy medication during my “insane” period (mental breakdown and all that). I agreed to have all my windows and doors replaced (the gods know how I thought I was going to afford it). Well the long and the short of it was I didn’t afford it so one court appearance later I was £9k in debt and paying them £10 per month for the privilege, with the rejoinder that should I ever default I loose my house because the debt collection company can repossess the thing and sell it to cover the debt.

Well it was that company that was now threatening to take my house and throw me out.

As you can believe I had a particularly bad time last night worrying about the fascists.

I managed to keep my head together and actually process my application to sue my bank rather than run off down the pub and spend the money Pete had lent me.

Turns out, ringing the b*stards this morning, that they are under the impression that I have to pay them by the first of each month. Checking the wording of the court order this is not so. But not having paid them instantly on the first of Feb they raised a letter threatening to take my house. Users, wh*res, scum!

So in answer to your question (“How are you today???? ”), not as stressed as I was this morning, but need more sleep (which I will do this evening), also slightly happier because the sods have agreed to me paying by debit card Friday as I was going to do anyway (F*ck em).

I still remain single. Mostly from the point of view that I want to sort my own situation out rather than get into some relationship, rely on another person to help me sort the crap out. Then split up with them only to descend into the same situation again.

Well slightly more than twenty minutes gone (once the bullshit starts it’s difficult to stop)

Anyway Happy birthday to me for the fifteenth (tomorrow).

Technorati Tag: Happy Birthday, Humour, meekon5, Obsession, Banks, Bank Charges, Paranoia.