A rebel without a clue.

Yesterday I was suffering from nervous exhaustion - I cracked my left foot on the same table leg three times and stumbled, almost falling, through an hour and a half of walking Lola over to the East of Wetherby - beyond the A1(M) up Carr Lane and Sandbeck Lane - my feet went everywhere but where I would've liked them to go. Eventually, at 6pm, I retired to upstairs to read a few more harrowing chapters of Alone in Berlin  and turned off the light at 7. Unlike the previous night my sleep was only broken once, but when I finally awoke at 5am I didn't struggle but came downstairs to make a brew. A Budgeting Loan I applied for (£133.53) is in my account this morning so I've sent some to my mum and the remainder to the credit cards I owe. I am trying to be at zero again by the 28th March - prior to flying to Paris and a long walk away from Lola, mother, allotment, Wetherby, Leeds and War! So now I have £348 owing to the DWP which will come off my ESA until June/July - when I wil...

On the X98 at 7:50, passing Bank Top in Bardsey, on the way to the flat. Lola has Phil to walk her this morning as I've got the council over doing a couple of jobs at the flat: fixing the rusty and leaking soil pipe on the toilet and having a water sprinkler system installed. Had a quick once over in the greenhouse and I've definitely killed 5 tomato seedlings... Such as shame: they were looking so happy too. There was a frost last night, but the spinach I transferred to pots and terracotta piping seemed to survive. I sprinkled a little slug/snail pellets to give them a start. It's still too cold on an evening for potatoes? Are earlies more resistant to frost? I am definitely going to risk it over the weekend. I am wondering if I can transfer the tomato seedlings at the flat back to Wetherby after the work has been done this morning? They would do better at my mum's? It's been ages since I caught the peak time X98. It's busier than at any time I've known dur...

How healthy is my heart? After another mammoth day with all things green in the greenhouse and at the allotment, except for a minor poisoning of 5 seedling tomatoes by the addition of manure - only a handful but it must be very toxic as all five have died and it's such a good job I only did it to those five and not the numerous I stepped up into larger pot ... Getting rid of the ones which didn't take. Lola got around 2 hours and a bit of loving this afternoon until I went to do the grass and other jobs in mum's garden - where I noticed the murder. It's brown bin day on Wednesday. Andy's back from Fuerteventura and was at the allotment this morning He took away some of the roots I've/we've dug up since the autumn to start putting in his brown bin - thanks Andy!  And I put another set of onions into the plot as well as liberally sprinkling with Bonemeal - strawberries like it... Nearly at the point were the early potatoes will go into the ground, but, as it l...

So much thinking and thoughts are both empty and ephemeral but they occupy, pointlessly, my sleepless mind. They seem filled with matter but really there is no substance in them. Thinking in that time between sleep and the struggle to return to sleep, before I gave up around 5 and came downstairs to a pot of coffee and a podcast before 6am. Dawn is coming in the east. The birds are singing and it's all good. It's simple. My thoughts are complicated, layered, interlocking and insane. But they do nothing. Over thinking is a real disease. But there is no point crying over split milk. It's gone. It's evaporated in a cloud of memory. For a moment I thought I hadn't fed Ruby when we returned from just one more beer, but I had because her dinner from Thursday is missing in the fridge - it had some fishes in it and they are not on her shelf in the Utility Room fridge ... The guilt I felt reflecting opening the bottle of Bordeaux I saw laid down alongside the many other wine...

Prayer is a means of speaking to oneself in a very direct and, perhaps, meaningful way. The individual isn't speaking to God, actually, but to something deep within which is god. When I am contemplating am I speaking to god? Or am I speaking to the elephant in the room? That's the thing. There are two aspects to my being, and I've understood this for very long, but I am still one. Duality is an internal reality. One voice is speaking to one aspect of me: appealing for witness. Focusing my thoughts on "god" or "ego" is the choice? But how do I know which voice I am speaking to? Is it in the overall feeling this gives me? One of tranquility or one of anxiety? Just one pint yesterday: the music on in the Mews is dire and people comparing Putin to Hitler are just idiots who should be shot, or told they're completely wrong to drawn that comparison - there is no comparison in the systematic extermination of the other with the imperialism of Putin.

Well I did it. Day One, again. Sobriety. This morning the sun is shining and there is a widespread frost: so good for garlic budding... Day two. Mother still in chains at the Duchy Hospital. Lola had her breakfast, did a hasty toilet and then went back under the covers in mum's room. We kept each other warm throughout the night. Two bodies are much better at the conservation of energy. Makes me wonder: like binary star system. From next-door comes the voice of Adrian. It's 7:10am and it's time for my breakfast

Until I awoke this morning the universe didn't exist. Until I saw the crows wheeling above the distant sycamore and beech they didn't exist. Until the sound of the motorcycle was heard it didn't exist. All night a low level humming came into my awareness, and I am not talking of tinnitus, but what is it behind the double glazing? That humming was much more placeable as the perpetual background sound, which assaults constantly all hope of peace, the A1(M) as it pours forth. There are probably areas of Wetherby, say for instance down by Sicklinghall Road, where the sound has refracted and never reaches - as it sits on the west side of Spofforth Hill? Mother is back. She's back in her lair. The last three days of silence with Lola, the allotment and 42 Braine Road have reduced to a zero. There is no present moment which is all encompassing: within the moment, the riddle, there may be something profoundly still and infinite but I think it is beyond a mere animal, humanity, ...