A rebel without a clue.

'Pint of John's, please' Alzheimer's Going to the New Inn, but not 'appy with it. 'e usually comes in as I go 'ome. Cast up from the Dead Time of Plenty. 'we're on BT2 tonight as Man You were on BT1 and is postponed due to COVID... See ya tomorrow, see ya Alf ... I ain't got contactless. I don't pay for anything with cash. I've been caller number one for ages. A voice mail saying you have to ring the doctors... Half an hour.' ... A pint and a half please ... Where have you been? You ahright ? ... Are you a doctor? No I am trying to get hold of them... Is COVID killing folks in other banal ways? Or am I more aware now of anally anxious proles? 'e's not 'ere so I'm off to fetch our lass'

A brittle novel given as a gift in 1980, perhaps read once, and destined for Oxfam? My first encounter with Doris Lessing - and I think it's a ghost story (The Memoirs of a Survivor)? Not the kind which sets out to frighten with All My Love, Paddy, XX written in heavy blue Biro. Trying to second guess the narrative structure, which alternates between 'worlds', in a darkened room, where Mistletoe and Wine and tinsel increase my melancholia towards Christmas. Is there anywhere in this vapid civilisation that doesn't cling to the emptiness of elaboration and the drill of a drift-mine dirge. December comes along once per year matching the lament marching in my heart and, as it beats in sorrow to the shallow mournful rhythm, I hope it fucks off soon!

Ending my day out, morning stroll/meander, via Temple Works, the Hol Beck and Water Lane feeling a little like I've caught a cold (not COVID!!!)and my feet bring me to the same Sainsbury's Local on Whitehall Road - where I had gone for Ibuprofen and a liquid after the second corona virus vaccination on the 2nd of August. After I had walked back to town from Elland Road Vaccination Centre but before I  spent the remainder of the day in the grip of hot cold fever and chattery teeth. The new pressed coconut drink made by Vitacoco is a great source of what my body needs to delay the inevitable onset of a winter cold. At the moment it's really easy to overlook the statistics of the prevalence of colds and flu, and other gremlins, during this media driven 'drivel', which instills just enough fear into an already highly strung and anxious populous, during the winter months? Is this Omnicron I see before me? Is it a dagger to plunge into my exposed neck like the...

Yesterday I pushed myself for seventeen plus miles, between Wetherby and Otley - the first visit in a long time - to connect with Glenn, who I had not seen more than twice since the summer. On Friday I worked on the allotment with Andy after walking merry legs (Lola) up around Wetherby Race Course and along Syke House Lane, but had a little too many Belgian "Christmas" beers. Which means very strong in Abv. and possibly unnecessary in all respects to a good night's sleep when they drive you to frikandellen frenzy or, in my case, a huge roast chicken dinner followed by numerous After Eight mints? Why I didn't eat prior to the Belgian 'trap pissed' event at Wetherby Brew Co. is a question I often ponder as I lay awake around 2am with insomnia brought on by simple carbohydrates running through my system. The knock on effect of the binge of drinking and eating is feeling shite to attempt to gather myself for the difficult slog through churned up tracks and sodden ...

Yawn Upon another lie and deception filled morn Moan When the deceivers dodge devilishly Skip Around reality into a trough Deep Where only traitors gobble scraps Disguised; Clothed, but fooling me not. Trotters Fit barely into Number Ten's Sty Slobbering chops grinning Terribly And eyes glimmer and scheme.

To begin again. So many attempts to pick up, step out, move on. But I have to linger a while longer: we're in the grip of Omnicron, boosters, Storm Barra, PCR 48 hour tests and my mother is struggling. All my life she's been a constant buzz of activities, but now, as she approaches 80, things are falling apart. It's inevitable; I know, but I'd hidden it telling myself she'll outlive her mother. Slowly, but surely, all that comes along dissolves; washed away with the persistent rain this Wednesday morning: life fades out like a bleached stain on the fabric of existence and we become little more than the gale blown blankness on a ragged and torn sheet. She stirs above, slowly, and I wonder if she'll moan or celebrate the morning? The sun is yet to pay us any attention as the leaves drift along the street to cling in the difficult places before they too wither into dust: it's 6:40 on the 8th December 2021...

I have been searching for meaning in my life for as long as I could consider what life could possibly be for. The conclusion I perpetually come to is that there isn't any. This makes me very very depressed and disappointed. But I must be wrong and must be missing something because a great many people do appear to have a great deal of meaning in their lives; and leave so many smiles in their passing. As I sit quietly by, early on the Monday morning, it's impossible not to listen to the passing conversations between the various bird species: crows in the tall sycamore trees, pigeons on the rooftops and a variety of songbirds perched around the hedges, shrubs and smaller trees and in the background I hear the rumble of traffic on the A1(M), but what am I listening for? Is it the answer to my search for meaning? It's 5:30am and I'm stood waiting the the same kettle to boil to fill the same cafeteria before I sit at the back patio doors and linger over the same cup of coffee...