A rebel without a clue.

On a dark night, possibly during the low of winter, I walked to or from Andrew Broughton's house, with the deep foreboding that something bad would come as a result of the stupid things which sprang from my mouth in regards Dan Wynne and my first visit to a Police Station to be formally interviewed at their convenience. Then it struck me that I had been born alone, and lonely, and was 19 and still alone and bereft of companionship to a deeper level. Things in Wetherby High School would never be the same. The high of lower 6th with 3 A grades became the absolute possiblity of Unclassified on all fronts in the Mocks of 1992... 1990/91 was a really great year at Wetherby High School however 1991/92 was it's polar twin. The prophecy that I'd spend my entire life alone, but desperate (too frantic) to connect with another soul on a different level than purely platonic, seems to be something between 1991 and 2021 I have fulfilled. Thirty barren years. Apart from the Love I've ...

Sunday morning. The stench of puke and piss lingers like the morning mist in pizza box strewn door and alley ways. * How many folks in Bar3 are in Wetherby Masonic Lodge? I bet Dan Jones is! LOL. * Sunday afternoon. To feel surrounded by folks who would only give me cold shoulder of ham or the board to sleep on, even when they have both warmth and comfort to give? This is why I struggle with Wetherby. Probably seeing something which is not there at all? After doing a shorter hour walk with Lola, where I suddenly felt the urgent need to defacate some watery faeces and used the disabled toilet in Wetherby Sports Association (luckily open because there was a game of football being played on the Ings in the grey dull moment), I went to find a copy of A Christmas Carol. To say modern Christmas is under the influence of Victorianism and Dickens is such an understatement? But I've never read that guilty little book... Since reading   the Lady in the Van  by Alan Bennett I've bec...