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10 Mar 2008

Post number24: Passing my driving test (again)

So, today is a Monday and I promised myself and anyone who reads this that I wouldn’t write anything on a Monday for all our sakes. This blog isn’t full of the most positive stuff in the world and there seems little sense dragging it down further but I’ve got a couple of things to share. Both (I think) interesting enough but I could be wrong. Firstly, I passed my driving test (of sorts) today. Not quite as exciting as the real one 13 years ago but it means I can now roam the RHN grounds without an escort. This means I’m going to get out of the TLU (where I feel I have been virtually incarcerated for 12 months) whenever I can (although not when it’s raining, get caught in the open in a wheelchair when there’s a cloudburst and you’re screwed!). The other thing is that on Saturday morning I went to check out my future residence which I should be moving into at the end of march. It has come on a hell of a long way from when I last saw it for which I have my brother and father to thank. When I last saw it in January sometime (I think). Back then, the inside was a building site and was rather hard to imagine living in! Now, it’s just a different kind of building site (a much tidier one) and maybe I’m having a lack of imagination at present but I still can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to live there. I blame Brixton because Oxshott is about as far removed from Brixton as you can imagine. For a start, I think it’s because Oxshott is nice! This lack of imagination has manifested itself in two ways, Terror and excitement. Terror, because we haven’t established flatmates and furniture yet or how any care package might work, let alone get paid for. Excitement because, it represents a change, I am desperate for a change, so desperate that I’ve done something stupid to my hair, I swore I’d never do that again after an incident involving a bottle of peroxide at university which some people reading this may remember, well the lesson learned back then was either ‘ always get it done by professionals’ or‘never again’. Until now, I had always assumed that the latter had stuck. Obviously not.These are not normal times though, so I’m going to have to wait for the next time I have a stroke (heaven forbid) to see what I do to my mop next time.
.I guess I’m hoping that castle Pardey Mk 2 will be a rather more chilled out place than Mk1 (it better bloody be!) It might not be as convenient to drop in on, but the intention is to have a proper guest bedroom so that people are encouraged to stay. All I can do now is wait.You would have thought that after two years of waiting for everything that a mere three odd weeks should be a piece of piss. Not so, every second seems like torture. I think the person who described the hospitalised as ‘patients’ was having a laugh because in the last 2 years I’ve yet to meet a patient patient and that includes yours truly. I have never been particularly good at waiting for stuff, my friends and family, my former girlfriends and in particular the people who used to work for me will testify to that. I’m not particularly bothered about it because it’s true of so many people including those who can jolly well wait! That’s what grinds my gears (shameless family Guy reference) People who for some reason think they shouldn’t have to wait because for some reason they’re [insert expletive] special. I’m trying so hard not to swear here. I’m not sure what to say here because despite decrying people who aren’t patient and pointing out the evils of impatience we still do it . Its that consummately british thing isn’t it? See a queue so why not join it. And hate ourselves for wanting to jump it. I’m pretty sure this will be the only time I’ll ever think this, for the last two years I’d wish I’d been a Frenchman, I’d have felt so much better about myself.

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