Wednesday morning.

Sobriety has called and I must answer. By Sunday I realised that I've technically been "on a bender" since arriving in Le Puy-en-Velay on Sunday 7th. It is true to say I've had days off alcohol during the intervening three weeks, but I have pushed back recovery from any long lasting fatigue and by Sunday 28th I knew I'd gone too far. Added to this feeling of overwhelmingly tiredness of body (but not of mind) my diet got a little too meaty all of a sudden. Veganism definitely makes no sense at all, so that's gone from my mind for ever, but vegetarianism for at least five days out of seven has to be brought back onto the agenda. Beans, legumes, lentils, greens, wholegrain, organic, live cultured, sour dough, unpasteurised, etc. Pre and Pro biotics. From Monday, and for at least a month, no alcohol will pass my lips which isn't with food and, ideally, getting to the last weekend of August/September would be a very sensible ideal.

Me and sticking to principles - I'm absolutely inconsistent. The YoYo effect of depression - once my mood lifts booze becomes a shining light again and swiftly cranks up it's demands from a couple of pints to trying everything I've never had before. Although being so adventurous is an ideal personality trait empirically, my liver, spleen, heart and brain see this concept on a purely rational basis and, quite rightly, regard sensory/hedonistic approaches to existence as a direct means of undermining my existence. However, being not a robot, I need direct connection with esotericism and being a rigid conforming automaton doesn't cut the mustard up here on the 11th floor (where the elevator isn't working), and where I am waiting to take delivery of a Simba 100 day trial mattress to ascertain if it could help me with sleep issues surrounding this tower block, which means any ideal may only last a few days at most.

However alcohol isn't the devil for me anymore because the reason for drinking, which was the ghost in the machine, has been truly exorcised - a means of oblivion; a place to hide from reality and be dictated by the lies of the Ego (who should be very very scared).

Another day and another "bot" tries it on in the Ether: my flat is perfectly placed for anyone wanting to attend events at the fd Arena and not too far from the Grand, Playhouse, etc., so it seems sensible to offer my unused space to couple of guests only a couple of times a month? Why didn't I deselect Instant Book at Airbnb? There you go Daniel rushing things, trying to do more than one job at once - didn't you remember men can't multi-task without making a total hash of things? Anyway I called CS at Airbnb who cancelled the blank faced, unverified profile who tired to book me for two whole weeks - I don't want to defenestrate anyone because they will clearly shatter on impact down below - and have blocked this weekend as I'm not likely to be about once the mattress has got here (a mattress which was meant to be delivered yesterday, but never arrived - why don't UPS drivers have a way of communicating with the depot they work out of ... leave that thought hanging). This Simba Hybrid® Mattress must be worth the fuss, but it's up against a W. L. Jackson Regency de Luxe - handmade in Wakefield Yorkshire, by craftsmen at Dreamtime Bedding, old school luxurious and deeply filled phat mattress. My situation in this flat probably doesn't relate to the bed, but the low level hum of Leeds all day and every day, except for Christmas Day, but I will see with this 100 day trial.