Ain't no sunshine

I have spent the past few days grieving the loss of my relationship with Miss Loving. I have spent my days in a fug of misery and my evenings nestled up by my three bar electric heater listening to James Blunt, Leonard Cohen and of course Bill Withers' 'Ain't No Sunshine'. If life could not get any worse I failed to notice the kettle flex had frayed and upon making my third cup of Camomile tea for the evening my left hand was showered with sparks, although I sustained little injury it was a wake up call to snap out of this gloom and get back to what I enjoy.

Deception

Sickened to the core. Picked up some copy statements this morning from my bank, a re-order of those which went AWOL in the post. Just opened them now to discover the payments I made online to Miss Simone Loving went into the account of 'D.Blackhorn'. It seems Miss Loving was a scantily clad front for fraud! I feel shocked, ashamed and a real fool.

Bad eggs

They say bad luck comes in the threes, well I wonder if this saying is true for people?

In the past month Ray has lurched back into my life. Although he is sober recent contact with him suggests he still has the ability to obliterate those that stand in his path. Oh yes he may not be smashing up my flat but he can capsize my good humour with a few choice words and his faux empathy. How else did he hold the position of Portland Radio Station Manager for so many years? Thank heavens for Kazzy and her whacky ways.
My ex was on the phone yesterday, seems Tony McNamara has done a runner leaving her with a pile of unpaid tabs at her local shop and pub. Rather than pursue him she chose to contact me numerous times with a tirade of phone abuse. The third time she called I placed the receiver under a cushion and went to make myself a cup of spice tea and a sandwich. After a leisurely lunch I came back to find her still shouting off on the sofa at which point I hung up and turned on my answer machine.
And finally I returned home from work today to find Duncan Blackhorn tying his shoe laces amongst the bushes outside my flat. When I greeted him in a jovial manner he went the colour of the red palm trees on his fancy shirt and muttered something about 'just passing'. I invited him in for a peppermint tea but he declined. A curious encounter which has left me wondering if something fishy is afoot?

Always the last to know

Sometimes it seems like I am the last one to find out...about everything! Arrived at work punctually this morning to find the office closed due to industrial action. Had I known I would have joined my colleagues on the picket line at HQ, however my bed beckoned after another late night shift at Portland Hospital Radio. Still it was no consolation for rising early when I could have nestled back down under the duvet. Not a sole cared to tell me Ray is returning to Portland Hospital Radio for a thrice weekly teatime slot. Arrived at the station yesterday to be greeted by Ray holding an on air discussion on effective stress relief strategies. I listened in the office without comment as Kazzy nodded in agreement to everything Ray said, little does she know that six months or so ago Ray was a huge ball of drunken anxiety rebounding about my flat. I quietly seethed as he spoke in hushed tones, seducing the listener with his cod-psychology. Suddenly he spotted me lurking by the filing cabinet and beckoned me into the studio, then preceded to tell me I looked tired and suggested I timetable some 'me' time into my hectic schedule. I was livid, so much so I included Alanis Morrisette on that evening's playlist and 'forgot' to thank Ray for his advice. That'll be the last time he comes round to mine for a cup of camomile.

An End to Mockery

Many have mocked my Michael Bolton locks but as of today they shall be no more.

For now my head is free of hair, yes that's right it's barely there.
Nothing to caress, nothing to hold.
Kazzy's clippers have shorn me bald.

Maniac Monday

Absolutely shocking day. Received a formal warning at work for leaving our ever eager volunteer Mandy on reception whilst I popped downstairs to the disabled toilet (the quietest place in the building!) to brush up on my French revision. Had she not been following me around all morning like a lap dog I may have considered otherwise but Mandy's sweet nature won me over and I offered her a half hour stint managing reception. No sooner had I sat on the toilet to revise my French greetings when I heard a blood curdling scream. I bolted up the stairs and back into the office to be greeted by a maniac wielding my poster display staple gun. How on earth he got his hands on it I'll never know, it's not something I lend out easily to colleagues never mind inebriated lunatics. Thankfully my team leader managed to talk some sense into him, he placed the staple gun down and left the office. It was a hairy moment which thankfully passed without physical injury, although Mandy was in tears for twenty minutes afterwards. I was apprehended by Marcus, senior solicitor, who gave me a formal written warning and a sour scowl.

And my day from Hull didn't end there. Arrived home a little earlier than usual to discover the postman side stepping my flat yet again. Its been over a month since I've had anything but leaflets for gold cashing enterprises and fast food emporiums through my door, with some fire in my belly from the day's horrible proceedings I took the issue up with my postie. He muttered something about a mail re-direction and soldiered on with his leaflet drop. This is a line of enquiry I urgently need to pursue as my bank statements and utility bills for August and September have not yet graced my doorstep and I need to look at my financial situation in good time for dad's wedding.
After all the stress of the day I was dying for a herbal tea and a banana sandwich before I set off for another late night shift at Portland Hospital Radio. So I brewed up and I logged online to discover another request for money from Simone Loving. I wouldn't mind but I sent her £25 just a few days ago and in return I received a distorted photo of a manly looking lady dressed in an overtight leotard. Despite this offending photo I forgave her and I guess deep down inside I dread losing contact. Her emails are usually the highlight of my day, so I sent her a tenner and requested a rendez vous in return. Hopefully she can accommodate a man in need of stress relief.

Listening exercise

My French course got off to a spluttering start today as the hulking great oaf that is Shaun introduced himself to the class as my 'partner'. A clinical term at the best of times and highly inappropriate today as all the lovely, young Uni students now think I am shacked up with Monsieur Hairy Hands. I was utterly dismayed at this false revelation and sought to set the record straight but my explanation was cut short by a terse tutor and a listening exercise. I shall endevour to make it clear to everyone next week that Shaun and I are not a couple but simply two men seeking beaucoup d'amour avec les femmes. Although that sentence alone may get me thrown off the course. Not that I care, Miss Loving is talking my language online most evenings. I shall say no more.

Ray part two

After a particular testing day at work Ray stopped by. It was his first visit to my flat since he trashed it in a drunken stupor a few months ago. I could have simply dropped by the hostel later this week to see him but he insisted on carting his increasingly toned physique over to my place, he said it was cathartic. I think it was a ploy to show off all his hard work at his local leisure centre as he insisted on trying on some new clothes in my living room over a cup of fennel tea. Difficult to believe just a short time ago he was leaving a trail of destruction and fortified wine bottles in his wake. Anyway he cut his visit short due to an urgent meeting with his sponser and left in a flurry of religious leaflets and aftershave, leaving me a vanilla candle by way of apology.