Okay, it has nothing really to do with the credit crunch. I just don't have any money. Result of taking a £3000 loan out to fix up the house I grew up in; I'm still paying £100 a month back on that on top of £510 a month rent, which has just been raised to £525 thanks to (I reluctantly surmise) the credit crunch and the Labour Government's general mishandling of everything. There are a bunch of other smaller debts that I have to pay off every month too. AND I live nine miles away from work and have to use public transport to get there. AND I've had to move house twice in four years, which isn't the best way for a man to start piling money up in the bank for bourgeois luxuries like holidays. The last time I moved I lost my deposit too. Shame I put the money down on my present property before the new regulations, ostensibly putting tenant's deposits in the hands of an objective third party, came into law.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I have two weeks off work and I can't afford to do anything. I certainly can't go abroad, though that would be impossible anyway, since the Passport people still have my passport (it's a long story). Thankfully, I do have enough money to move about a tiny bit in Old Blighty, but not much. Today I went to Wellingborough, Kettering and THEN Northampton, crazy bastard that I am. I was going to go to Leicester in the morning, but it was really pissing it down with rain. I mean, the skies were pouring vengefully. "That cloud says Noah, build me an Ark," as Kate Bush once said. I certainly didn't fancy walking around in Leicester in the hippie sandals I was wearing with the Heavens micturating all over me like that. In the aforementioned Golden Triangle of Northampton, Kettering and Wellingborough I did some internet work, some journal writing, sat in the park, toured all the charity shops, bought a copy of Francis Bacon's essays, avoided a couple of people from the old days I couldn't handle speaking to, and tried not to think too much about the past. I am haunted by the spectres of the old days--old girlfriends, places I went with my Dad (in that car park I laid in his car with an ear infection while he visited the office of Motor Cycle News)-- but I don't think it's a good thing. What am I going to have to remember from now if all I do now is remember?