On keeping Diaries, Blogging and Moving

I haven’t been very active on my blog lately not because of running out of things to say; the world at the moment provides far too many topics worthy of a good rant.  No, my silence is due to the annoying habit of the non cyberspace reality poking its nose in!  Family ponderings have produced the decision to up sticks and move away from Britain.   The forthcoming election and the prospect of UKIP in any kind of coalition with the Tories has reduced my other half to a combination of quivering terror and stirrings of a  desire for violent direct action which since he is a Budhist has caused much internal debate and angst.    So we are plunged yet again into the process of sorting our stuff – for people who practice non-attachment we seem to have a hell of a lot!
Trawling through one of our many boxes of things that come under the heading of ‘too useful to throw away but haven’t been used in thirty years’ I came across an old diary from 1976 – I’m not good with diaries.   I used to want to keep them and I’d start in January with every intention this would be the year I actually was still writing it come November – I never got much beyond March;  entries in April were a rarity!  I eventually recognised my limitations in my mid thirties and gave up the whole enterprise – I can honestly say I never missed it – this diary must have been one of the last I kept.  One of the last entries  was in March and I thought I would share it – just because…

“I got very drunk last night so I went to a Turkish bath and this morning I felt better. Then I found someone had stolen my socks. That’s a mean thing to do. I had to be in Court and had no time to go and get replacement socks. It’s very hard to concentrate on making a good case when you know you have to be careful how you sit and stand so no-one will know you are not wearing any socks.”

The only other entry after that was one line written during June when Britain was in the grip of the heat wave “whole City reeks of dog shit”

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