Thursday 7th January 2016

Dear Diary,

I decided it was high time I wished you a Happy New Year and opened a page for 2016.

Weather wise, England is not a happy land. It has been covered in a warm, wet grey blanket for what feels like months now. Water just keeps pissing from an incontinent sky and frankly it’s pissing me off! I remind myself that we three are lucky and have not been flooded out multiple times as so many poor people have. I hope colder, drier, brighter weather arrives on the shores of Old Blighty very soon, before we all go ape shit mad and start impersonating waterfowl. We’ll all be communicating via quacks soon.

Christmas has been and gone for another year. I’d like to say I loved every minute, but I didn’t. There were pleasant moments of course, but on the whole it was a difficult and tiring period with too many visitors and too many things to deal with.

Christmas aside, there had been a variety of tensions simmering under the roof of the quasi mansion for some time. I found myself obsessing over certain things and getting depressed about them. Dick also had things on his mind. Discord reigned for a while, until a certain Daddy took charge. Thankfully, he sorted us all out and things are much better. I will, as I often say, get around to writing about it one of these days. I know such words must strike a chill into the hearts of the stalwart readers who visit this small portion of houseboy universe. I can almost hear you cry: fucking hell, Gilli, you haven’t got around to writing up what happened several years ago yet, never mind Christmas just past!!  Keep your hair on, Peeps! I’ll get there. My new Year Resolution is to pull my writing finger out and finish Revs. Miracles can happen!

Thank you to everyone who sent festive greetings. Wishing you all a safe, sane, happy, healthy 2016. 

Ciao for now! 


Thursday 14th January  2016

Well, I was going to drop in with a bit of light chat and chit about that and this, but I just heard the news that actor Alan Rickman has died and I feel a bit depressed now. That’s three greats gone in a matter of weeks. Poor old Lemmy went first and I’d hardly finished wearing my Motorhead t-shirt as a mark of respect when David Bowie blasted off this planet, closely followed by Alan R. If there is a heaven, there’s a pretty wild party going on up there just now. Lem and Dave will be blasting out the hits and Alan will be dropping everyone with acidic one-liners and withering looks. I feel like watching Die Hard and a few Harry Potter films by way of remembrance. It’s as good a way as any to wile away a snowy afternoon. Rest in peace, chaps.


February

 
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