Juno in the background, concentrating on a screen.
The days are getting away from me like sanity from Charlie Sheen. Can’t keep track of them, not particularly wanting them around.
The world seems to be collapsing around me as well though as people take to the streets (those streets, eh, where would we be without them? Venice. That’s where. Question answered, problem solved) marching, shouting and standing still against unjust and ill-judged authority. All engaged with from a cold room on a bright screen.
I’ll try tomorrow though. My anger and outrage with Tory plans for NHS reform (entirely undemocratic and universally criticised as risky, unnecessary, too expensive and too vast by any medical association or authority worth a damn in the UK) is usurping most emotions at the moment. Approval goes up, here come the cuts. And the private firms driven by profits rather than any true sense that freedom from sickness and disability is a universal right.
And this flawed ideal that patient choice is the most important thing in healthcare, not making sure every health practice gives the same equally valid, quality care. If I want a nice meal in a restaurant, I’ll let the chef fucking decide how best to cook it thank you.
Anyway, I bought some trousers today, from a charity shop. And again went through that thought process I always do of wondering why anyone would bother getting clothes from anywhere else. Anything affordable is inevitably sweat-shop produce, coming with the associated blood and guilt, and anything more expensive is, well, expensive. And worn by tossers who actually think fashion is somehow important.
I got some trousers that fitted though after the charity shop rigmarole – trying the 4 or 5 shops inevitably places next to each other (from British Heart Foundation to Scope to Cancer Research) – with an opener of the door for an elderly clientele in each location; a polite nod and smile to the assistant; then to the back of the shops where men’s things are. Men have to travel an extra 10ft minimum in each charity shop to find clothes. Is this what you wanted Pankurst? Is it?!?! Fucking bitch.
A flicking through of what’s on offer, approving the style, contemplating the size, holding next to my waist, being disappointed 4 stores in a row. I’ve lost weight in recent months and am down to a 34. You’d think this would be a nice normal size with lots of items available, but no. It seems the larger plus 40 sizes are most common in such stores – I assume because obese gentlemen are more prone to dying, and thus, their leftover belongings are quicker, more abundant turnaround. Come on normal sized people – get dying! I need me some clothes.
I got the trousers eventually. They are nice, and were under £4. I was happy.
That’s the end of my story.