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Rescue Chickens

The Kindness of Strangers

Does my arse look fat in this soul?

The demon of paranoia re-visits old Sket

On The Road......

contact me older entries newest entry

2006-09-25 - 8:28 p.m.

So, I've discovered I'm well on the way to ending up with a claw for a hand.

....just call me lobster-girl :(

In short, I've had a really painful lump in my hand for a while and finally decided to look it up on the internet. I've discovered I've got (hang on, let me go back and look) Dupuytren's disease. Sounds impressive doesn't it? Basically, in time my hand will go freaky and I'll either have to have surgery or I'll just have a weird hand. Personally I'm waiting for the weird hand thing to happen. Expecting some sympathy from my mother I told her on the phone. After her initial shock we started to laugh about it and she reckoned I should get a metal hook (?) unfortunately, as this is my arse-wiping hand I passed on the ol' hook idea, so we decided I should carry a case around with a selection of differently posed hands in order to be prepared for any eventuality.

.....or I could just have the surgery.

Anyhoo, it's been a while since I last posted a diary entry. It's not been for want of anything to say, it's been due to my old friend 'Procrastination'. In short, I couldn't be arsed to sit and type anything but oh boy did I have some hysterical news.

Shall I tell you? Some of you already know, but I have to diarise (is that even a real word?) it so that my future self finds it and has a good ol' laugh. I'd have forgotten about the fantastic Cary Grant dream if I hadn't diarised it last year and that has given me, oh MINUTES of pleasure! When you've got a mind like a sieve it's best to write things down.

Ok, here it goes. As you know, I work for a local H0using Ass0ciation and one of my jobs is to interview potential tenants taken from the Council list when a property becomes available, in order to ensure we match people with the most need up with the property.

I was given an appointment last week to see some guy. When I arrived he wasn't there so I called his mobile phone and he'd forgotten.


I made another appointment and went to see him a couple of days ago. I won't go into the ins and outs but he had been homeless for 14 years and had slept on benches, in graveyards and had been sofa surfing whenever he could. The address I'd met him at was that of someone who'd befriended him. The guy was an alcoholic who'd practically killed his liver. He thought he had cancer of his liver but he wasn't sure. He also believed he'd had a heart attack last week but couldn't remember. He knew he'd been at the hospital but wasn't entirely certain why. His ex-wife's new boyfriend had beaten him up several years ago and thrown him into the road where he promptly got run over by a judge who had HIM arrested.

I know that my inner thoughts come out in my diary, but in real life (well, at work) I have to admit that I can be a bit of a nice person. I don't particularly give a shit about stuff and I take people as I find them. I didn't judge his life decisions and found him to be really quite a pleasant, unassuming and quiet man who was really apologetic about himself which was sweet. I ensured that the interview was quite light-hearted so that he didn't feel oppressed by all my searching questions and well, on reflection I guess no one had spoken to him like a real, valued person for years.

......he asked me out on a date.

Yup, the first bloke to ask me out for years was a befuddled alcoholic tramp (hobo) who is knocking on death's door. Say's it all really doesn't it? He gave me a kiss as I tried to back out of the apartment door and I almost swooned in a drunken stupor when his breath hit me. Heck, it was 11am, of course he was pissed up!

So, my future husband isn't going to be shouting at imaginary foes in the street any more, and he won't be shadow boxing at the heavens or shouting unintelligibly at passing strangers 'cause, in his words, I'm his angel and I recommended him for the apartment. Heck, I don't give a shit, tomorrow is my last day in this job and if it all goes horribly wrong it'll be for all the other poor saps to clean up!


Someone fancies Sket. Ok, so he needs serious medical attention, but at least I can go to my grave in the safe knowledge that if I'd really WANTED, I could have been his bird.


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