Day Eleven :: You can run…

Saturday 11th June. 19:50

Slept late and worked in the kitchen today. Was just washing the floor around 7pm when Alex came round to see if I fancied going to some party in some village somewhere. I didn’t really. When I put my phone on to charge this afternoon there was another message from my sister saying that the Inland Revenue want another £1,700 now, and Nationwide want some money for my credit card bill, as well as all of their overdraft back. As I was washing the floor I was cursing myself. I am a gargantuan fuck-up, I really am. I probably shouldn’t even mention it here as it doesn’t paint me in a positive light and no good can come of it. But I feel compelled. This is a diary of my experience here in France and the consequences of my life in England are a part of that. I am a fuck-up, there is no denying it.

So there it is.

The next logical step would be to decide what to do about it.

Anyway, when Alex asked me if I fancied going out tonight, I said that I honestly didn’t know. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know how I felt, outside of generally pissed off with myself. Alex’s advice under these circumstances was similar to what his advice is in other circumstances. Identical in fact. Alex advised that I ‘get amongst it’. So I allowed myself to be persuaded ad he’s coming back in half an hour.

If I were good at money, I swear, I’d be wholly content.

Maybe I should have a little skip. Maybe that’d cheer me up.

Oh, in other news, Peter Mayle is really starting to get on my nerves. I really wish he’d stop going on about his swimming pool.

Right. Goodnight to you.


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I am Karl Webster. I wrote these words. If you liked them, you’ll be overjoyed to know that there are plenty more where they came from. So you should definitely sign up to my newsletter if you haven’t already.

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