It's been a bit up and down the past few days.
Let me instance the weather. Monday was clear and bright and dry and cold. Tuesday was gloomy, dank, dreary and mild. Wednesday was clear and bright and mild and windy. Work has operated against that. Monday was a dissatisfying day at work, Tuesday was much more profitable, Wednesday was a drag but I got stuff done. And by midweek, I had painful sinusitis and had taken to steam baths. I've also been bleeding the radiators as it's getting to the time of year for the central heating to do its occasional stuff.
Ross has taken possession of the keys to his flat. I found out that it is based in what used to be an old church. I also discovered that the flat had a pillar in the bedroom and a mirror over the bath. All of this I found out by the use of certain interrogation techniques. And I only found out during a quick telephone conversation with Ross's friend, Chris, that he was due to have gone out for a drink with one of his College friends on Monday night but cancelled because he was feeling too tired. As I wearily remarked to Chris, "He doesn't tell me anything". And it really does feel that way sometimes and it really does piss me off.
I've also been getting just little peeved just by his presence here and, sometimes, how
little he puts into the maintenance of the place (OK he's got/had ME but that doesn't
stop him doing what he wants to do) and how much he appears to take my
contributions to his upkeep for granted.
Not that I don't love him
or anything. It's just that he's been here and not here, here and not here throughout
the summer. But he's not been here or not here for long enough for us to establish a
routine and, as soon as I get into a rhythm, it is disestablished again. So, I'll be
glad when he gets moved in to his own place and we can settle down into this new phase
of our lives.
By Friday morning, the strained level of communication between us this week had really gotten to me. The dam broke when I suggested that we go shopping at Tesco's and Ross countered that he wouldn't have any money until the afternoon. When I asked why that was, he explained some of his finances. So, I suggested that he paid by cheque which would take three days to clear. He acknowledged that that was a good idea so I reminded him that I did occasionally have them. I also told him that I was really pissed off that he'd steadfastly cut me out of the process of getting the flat whilst, I may add, tacitly assuming that I'd provide bed and board and other support. I don't suppose my declaration will have any effect but, in true assertive tradition, it did make me feel better for having stated my case for the moment.
Then, in the afternoon, a combination of Ross continually forgetting to lock his side
of the car and Paula, the treasure, continuing to re-organise my house in ways that
I don't want just proved too much for me. I have a very long fuse so I don't often
lose my temper. This time I did. I don't think that either Paula or Ross liked it.
I didn't particularly like it either as I don't do anger well. Too much training as
a small person to encourage me to dampen it down. But I was tired of being dicked
around and I just let it show.
I was certainly ready for a massage later in the afternoon. I asked Anita about Margaret's visualisation at our last healing session. She said she thought that the fires were earth energy and that, since they were sweeping up through the base chakra, it may have something to do with creativity or spirituality. The Buddha child may refer to the Buddha state which is in us all. For me, at present, it is a child, it is young, it is growing. So, there is a spirituality, a creativity in me which is young and growing and happy and healthy and which is being fed by healing fire energies from the earth. Or however you wish to interpret the poetry of that meditation.
I've actually been to see Ross's flat, by the way. On Wednesday night, we took a quick trip into the depths of Poplar to visit there. The church is pretty striking. The development inside less so. My guess is that the flats were conceived during the height of the yuppie boom but the drop in the market rather took the gloss off the gilded idea and it's been heading down market since. Some of the decorative touches in Ross's rooms are very East End Jewish - lots of touches of (cheap) gold fittings, big patterned wallpapers, fitted wardrobes that were badly assembled and are coming apart and have mirrored doors. Still, it will look far better once he is installed and has his things about the place.
I appear to have given up on my idea of a Kulturfest during these few days of holiday. Though I have booked for some things later in the year - like Antony and Cleopatra at the National, an LPO Concert, the silent movie The Thief of Baghdad and the Royal Opera doing Rimsky-Korsakov's The Golden Cockerel at the newly converted Sadler's Wells Theatre. I think Phaedre, Art and Copenhagen will all have to wait.
Otherwise, the weekend has been a matter of quietly sorting the garden out and a few
housebound things. I'm beginning to mulch the beds in the back garden to prepare them
for the winter and to try and get a little life back into the soil. I'm told that the
bits of bark will dissuade slugs from doing their worst though it's a little late in
the season for that. I was certainly hoping that they would discourage
Cyril from his latrine activities. But I fear
not. 
And I'm also told that
I looked as gay as a gay thing in my Cat boots, grey hiking socks, bright apple green
short shorts (think Brazilian footballer) and matching skin tight singlet. If you've
got it (or are even on the way to picking it up second hand, I say flaunt it - but
flaunt it in the privacy of your own back garden.
Incidentally, I was beginning to fear that the couple I see on the train on my way to work had disappeared and become just one more little human drama that had moved out of our orbit. But then on Wednesday morning, there was the elder of the two on his own and all set up to get off at Liverpool Street to go I know not where. So, there's gossip. Well, you know what I mean. More news as and when.
In the meantime, you learn some interesting things from NewsGroups. Try this, for example, from one Rupert Thompson
The best Greek verb of all time is rhaphanidoo which Liddle, Scott and Jones' Greek-English lexicon glosses as I thrust a radish up the fundament of (punishment for adulterers). Catullus makes a reference to having one of his enemies with his feet tied together, bent over, with Catullus wielding a radish carved for withdrawal. It seems the radish was carved to have the same properties as a bearded mullet. And these are Greek radishes, not those wee red things you get nowadays. Think mouli.
And then, the age old debate about Queen Victoria not allowing the inclusion of women into the 19th Century legislation that criminalised acts of gay sex provided this gloss on history. Ian Cooper started it by saying "Wasn't it that she couldn't understand how women could "do it" together, and therefore didn't include them?"
Which was rebutted by Lyn David Thomas
I think this is one of those amusing but totally untrue legends. Victoria did not have a line veto. Male homosexual sex was made illegal by an amendment to a bill in the early hours of the morning. She had nothing to do with this and neither did the government, it being the work of a crusading back bencher. Victoria almost certainly knew all about lesbianism (one of her governess was reputed to have been a lesbian).
Diane Bailey added this further information
And there is no doubt that her banker was lesbian, and that Victoria knew all about it. Angela Burdett-Coutts was the richest woman in Britain, the most intelligent sponsor of charitable works, and the most popular woman in the country at one time. The love of her life, who entered her life as her governess, lived with her until her death. They were to be buried together in the crypt of one of the churches Angela built, but Angela was instead buried in Westminster Abbey, against her wishes. Victoria, in full knowledge of Angela's living arrangements (the couple sent out Christmas cards with their photos side by side, for example), created Angela a Baroness.
Florence Nightingale (who was probably lesbian) was also a friend of Victoria, actually being present when Victoria first met Albert.
Angela and Florence shared some nights, due to an interest in... astronomy.
There were several other prominent and publicly acknowledged lesbians in Victoria's times: the founder of the National Trust who was also a housing campaigner, and the prime Scottish campaigner for women doctors, are just two other examples.
So, there. Who said that this Journal doesn't contain occasional gems of interest?