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.