fan, shit

Friday. I didn’t cunting complete when I was supposed to.

This means that if I don’t complete by 12th November I just get 16k, like that, given 16k for doing fuck all outside of shitting coal for the past few months. As for the house, it goes back on the market and we start again. As property prices have increased all this turd could work in my favour but, as illogical as this may seem, I don’t won’t the hassle. I want shot of that fucking place more than I want an extra 16 fucking grand. That’s how bad it is. I can’t face going through all this crap again.

Despite the hell of Friday, I soon slipped the moorings of my anxiety. There was a work-office do which leaked free booze, I cheerlessly imbibed, then a little less cheerlessly as I realised it was Friday after all and the weekend that lay ahead was all rather jolly. I managed to cadge a lift and took a bus to the sodding tube which, horrifically, passed through Tooting on its way to Old Street. I arrived home at 9-ish more than a little merry, showered, ate and went up to meet IC.

Straighter now, part 2 of the evening started with another bus journey to Shoreditch and a club mercifully free of crowds. IC and I spent most of the night outside chatting to friends, it was weirdly clement, we drank at a steady but not irresponsible pace which distorted all known time, no idea when we left but we succeeded in getting home with no trouble at all sometime in the wee hours.

Saturday began shakily, I had some basics to get hold of, paper, milk, that sort of caper. I need to revive with breakfast before I made the fucking silly decision, after weighing up my newly arrived at circumstances, to go ahead and buy that TV anyway, on the credit card, the one I’d intended to buy if everything had worked out. Figuring I’ll be okay anyway type thing… After a bit of bartering I got a bloody good deal, the shop is round the corner from my flat so IC and I were able to see what was on offer, pop back and research the options and come to a sensible conclusion, however irresponsible it was to buy the fucking thing in the first instance. The bloke in the shop even helped me carry it home, a rather terrifying few minutes of my life as we had to walk down a packed high street at dusk bearing a breakable, awkward and, let’s face it, highly nickable bit of technology.

It was a doddle to install, a case of switching it on and there it was, ready to go. I have to say the picture and sound are jaw-dropping, I don’t regret my decision for a second (yet?) though I’m terrified I may if my solicitors are as bent as my buyers. Fuck it all, IC and I spent a short while being amazed before popping off to visit Swineshead and his missus, it was the formers birthday and we were in excellent cheer.

In addition the discussed we were joined by Flannel, Jane, Arnie and a pile of pizzas, the best take-out ones I’ve had which I descended upon like a howling pack of ravenous pigs. Being Halloween SH had set up some classic horror movies which divided our collective attention in bouts of conversation, worked like a charm. At midnight it was back to just us 4, we decided to open the helium balloons to do the whole silly-voice thing which had blissfully hilarious results. It was actually like being 5 again; in fact we were enjoying ourselves so much we didn’t leave until after fucking 2am which, after the previous evening, was the second insensible thing I’d done that day. The ball was rolling now.

On the way home IC and I bumped into a mate returning from a nightshift, he needed beer, I had beer so he nipped back for one leaving IC and I and the behemoth TV which begged to be used. Despite being a little bit bog-eyed at this point we watched Paranormal Activity, not the best time to focus on a movie I’d been dying to see since hearing about it but it was a minor success, a certain aspect of it right freaked me out and I paid the price for my curiosity last night when trying to sleep in my gaff alone.

We went to bed at around 6 and woke on Sunday at 12-ish. I took in the last Grand Prix of the season and did a spot of shopping for supper. I felt rightly awful but it passed quite quickly passed and for the first time in age, I spent most of the afternoon slumped in front of the box feeling 99% at home, the 1% is still tied up with fucking solicitors, I’d love to beat it out of them.

I’m now waiting again. It seems I’ve been waiting for 6 months. It’s enormously upsetting and because we’re in the ‘quite literally any second now’ aspect of completion…

…WAIT

Just heard from my solicitor… my buyers mortgage has been declined. I’ll explain the consequences after I’ve chewed off my arm.