Unsettled
18 August

A gap in the postings of the Journal usually means one of two things.

Either I have been living life to the max and really enjoying myself. Or, conversely, life has been difficult and I have found it impossible to write up until I've achieved some sort of distance between myself and the material.

Well, frankly, it's been a bit of both although probably more of the former that the latter. Like the weather this summer, my life has been unsettled. One minute, as yesterday when it was supposed to be cloudy, we have brilliant sunshine and temperatures that climb into the high 20s and then, as of today when we are supposed to be having high cloud and sunshine with possible showers later, we have dull greyness and constant drizzle.

This is, of course, as naught, in comparison with the deluges that have affected central Europe with Salzburg, Prague and Dresden all innundated to varying degrees. Wealthy Salzburg has already launched an appeal. In Russia, dozens of people have died. There is no appeal.

So here's some far from settled notes of what has been going on the past three weeks.

Ross and I went to an exhibition of Turner's work at the Walker Art Gallery. There were about 80-100 works on display. All bar a couple came from galleries within a 10 mile radius of the exhibition. I think this gives a fair idea as to the rich art heritage of the region. It was about the right size of exhibition for me. Enough to generate variety and interest. Not so much as to daunt me completely. And, as Turner is one of my favourite artists, it was a pleasure to spend an hour in his company.

I struggled through Boo Hoo as much as anything else for the understanding of what happened to James who was at the heart of it all. I think that it's notable that we first meet the main protagonist, Ernst Malmsten, as a student in Paris enjoying a good night out on someone else's money.

I've been enjoying John Steinbeck's The Short Reign of Pipin IV much more.

I've begun work on decorating the back kitchen area. So far this amounts to little more than wiping down woodwork to get rid of excess plaster from the damp course work of two years ago.

I've been listening to music whilst doing it. This is not a surprise. What is different is that I have been listening to Wagner's Ring Cycle and I've been enjoying it. Normally, I'm not these days a big Wagner fan. Partially this is to do with the performance. Solti's recording is big, bold and dramatic in a way that the Goodall school just isn't. The Solti is just as beautiful as the Goodall but much less reverential.

What I think makes all the difference is the format. I'm listening to my old black vinyl records. After nearly two decades now of CDs and the glare of digital sound, the warmth of these analogue recordings is a joy. I also like the fact that each side is less than 25 minutes long. The change of side gives me a chance to pause and make a cup of tea and get myself in order. With a CD you are stuck for 70-80 minutes like it or no.

Mid-month Ross went away to his parents for a few days. I enjoyed the break. Among other delights, I went to the Royal Exchange in Manchester to see a production of Design for Living by Noel Coward. It's a play I've liked for twenty years or more. It's fun, it's painful and it's pertinent. This production only hinted at any of those qualities. It was hamstrung by Marianne Elliott's direction which coped with the problems of producing in the round by constantly moving everyone about rather than allowing characters to settle.

Of the three main characters there was one poor, one moderate and one good performance and this is a piece which needs three bravura players who totally believe in their own intelligence. In this respect, Clarence Smith as Leo was woefully miscast. Victoria Scarborough did grow a little and mature but remained too tinny and brittle. Oliver Milburn, who I last saw at the National Theatre in The Day I Stood Still, at least had the measure of the genre and was at home with his body, the ethos and the campy wit. He also took his kit off to reveal nice buttocks and a quite chunky and meaty cock. I am further reminded of how like James he looks. Ken Bones in the elder role of Ernest was a model of how to project and pace such fayre.

I saw Murder by Numbers while I was in London. It was an average vehicle for Sandra Bullock who was competent (well more so than in Miss Congeniality which I caught on video). Nice to see Ben Chaplin again. Ryan Gosling was good and Michael Pitt (last seen in Bully) added to list of good work I have seen him do.

Y tu mamá también (And Your Mother Too) was a completely different kettle of fish. Directed by Alfonso Cuarón, who will be in charge of the third Harry Potter movie, it is a Mexican road movie about growing up and letting go. I loved it, visually, narratively, emotionally.

Minority Report is for me a real return to form by Steven Spielberg after the lacklustre effort that was A.I.. I liked the vision of the future which did not totally eradicate the present. Just as we have Victorian housing so did they. And Gap was still selling the same retro products. Tom Cruise, Colin Farrell, Max von Sydow and Samantha Morton were all excellent. I was enthralled for over two hours.

We went to The Sum Of All Fears because Ross wanted to and because of Ben Affleck. Well, it was the usual tortuously plotted mayhem. Quite casually Baltimore was destroyed by a thermo nuclear device. I'm not sure that the world did change on 11 September 2001. My ability to sit through such cinematic events and call them entertainment radically altered, however.

West Wing and 24 both reached their season's conclusion. I shall look forward to the West Wing when it returns. 24 has been commissioned for a second season but it will drop the real time format which is the only thing which has given it any real interest.

My favourite comedy continues to be Will and Grace - not for the two leads but for the two secondaries, Jack and Karen. Actually, I model myself on Karen. Best recent line: her to Will "Oh, close your mouth, honey. You look as though you are missing chromosome." Completely politically uncorrect but fabulous.

Ross and I continue not to get on. This uncertainty leeches into all areas of my life. He's been working on another project. I know little about it. I haven't asked. He has told me little.

He knows little of the changes that have been taking place at Connect over the past four months. He hasn't asked and I've given up trying to tell him. I've made applications for two more jobs. Neither will result in interviews before September. Ross and I should be talking abut my job prospects. Just as we should have talked about the implications for the household of Ross working for two weeks solid. But I've given up initiating these conversations and trying to think things through for the both of us.

I've had no contact with Gill and Robert for a while. And I've had very little other contact with friends in general.

I've been preparing for some training work that I'm going to be doing with Phil after the Bank Holiday. And I've been preparing for some training work that I'm going to be doing down at UCL in September. Hopefully that will give me enough money to get the front room decorated.

I've seen a bit of my family. My father will go into hospital in September for a minor operation to remove nodule from his larynx. It's made me more concerned about the gravelly throat that I have had for the past three weeks.

Life at home remains crap.

I still honestly believe that Ross has absolutely no conception of how bad things are between the two of us. Sometime soon I am expecting to be asked to sign for a stair lift to be installed into this house. The terms are quite clear. If the stair lift is removed, the property owner is responsible for making good any damage. Since the apparatus will be screwed into the stairs through the expensive carpet which my parents bought for me, I don't feel like agreeing to the work unless I can be guaranteed that it will be in situ for a number of years. I don't feel that confident at present. I lie in bed at nights and wonder if the only thing keeping us together is habit and the fact that we've bought Philharmonic season tickets together.

There are small things that add up to a total attitude of mind. I've suggested to Ross that, if he wants to know more about me, then this Journal is as good as any place to start. I have still to have any sense that Ross has actually taking the trouble to do anything about it.

Ross has trouble screwing the tops onto bottles. He has trouble standing things up straight. Consequently, twice now, bottles of bleach and cleaning fluid have been left toppled over on their side leaking. We have a big brown stain on the ceiling of the kitchen below to testify to this fact. Nothing has been done. I've bought a plastic container to stand all the bottles in. I've done it. No whisper of any suggestion from anywhere else.

I grumbled at Ross the other day for being clumsy. I guess he should be congratulated. It's taken six years but he has at last turned me into his father.

I feel that a lot of all of this on both sides stems back to family. My lot tend to make suggestions for improvement. This can be a pain as in my relationship with my mother. Ross's lot, if Ross is anything to go by, simply let things happen.

He's feeling less well now than he did a few months back. His wellbeing, in part, depends on having a stable home situation. I am putting less and less effort into maintaining that sense of equilibrium for him. He can't see the link. If he can't see it, why should I bother to try and enlighten him?

If you have no memory, how can you learn?

It is my curse to want to investigate, understand, analyse, improve, communicate. It is Ross's to be none of these things.