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Still turning up at the page
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Kind of sucky day today. YD and SIL have found a place to rent but the agents are making outrageous demands, demands which will be met, somehow, with the help of his family as well, but which had the effect of totally demoralising us all with how fucking HARD it is to just get a place to live in this, one of the richest countries in the world.

So, there's been a lot of crying, behind closed doors because of grandson, though he's not a fool, he must know the rest of us are struggling. Apart from Bloke who went to a Mozart opera at Glyndebourne, which he didn't even mention till last night, fucker, but then again he may have escaped for a bit but he did still have to come home to this vale of fucking tears.

I am trying to follow the lead of Miss RuPaul and highlight my charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent, but it ain't always that easy.

Tomorrow GS and I are going to visit ED then collect GS's mate who will come and spend a few days with us, so we'll all have to buck the fuck up a bit. I'm having my usual pre-visit doldrums, all afeared of how she'll be when we get there, angry that I've lost the visits that I used to have, that she doesn't speak spontaneously, that she's locked in her head and none of us can work out how or even if she's thinking.

You hear of people being stoical and brave in the face of this kind of shit, in fact that's how people are always described. I don't know who they are or where they live, but it's not in this house.


Grateful for: realising I didn't have to take all the crap to the tip in the rain - it was only me telling me I should; acupuncture; shite telly; sleeping pills; a roof over my head

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