The Corner House

Well, turn up for the books.
Bonnie came home from work yesterday. Her social worker friend, K, coming for dinner and Mick had been planning a special meal all day. In comes Bonnie, very stressed. I wanted my bank card 'cos I'd dropped it in her car and needed to get some money out.
"Have you got my bank card?"
Mick the Kiwi had his own agenda re strawberries. He'd been on all afternoon wondering where he could buy a syringe to inject Cointreau into them.
"Where can I buy a syringe?"
"Have you got my bank card?"
Plus Fizz jumping up and down, pleased she was home.
"I'VE JUST WALKED IN THE DOOR. CAN YOU ALL PLEASE SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE."
I retrieved lost bank card and disappeared with dog.
She was fine when I returned, having a beer with K.
Upshot - Mick the Kiwi handed in his 'notice.' Decided there and then that he'd found another oil-rig job and was off. Don't know if it was connected to Bonnie's mood or what.
Today, Bonnie, who's now decided she'll miss him, is off driving him to the airport. So that's the end of Mick the Kiwi. At least I'll get the computer back. Or I will in theory. Bonnie also fed-up with wires trailing everywhere and threatening to dismantle it until it's back on wireless.
As for pay. Got a breakdown slip today. Hmmm. Not as much as I thought, some of the calls are only 14p a minute.
But what else can I do? Plus I do quite like Tarot reading. I'm really hoping I'll improve and can do private readings for royalty and the like. Well, perhaps not.
Two clients hung-up on me last night but one said she'd really enjoyed my reading and I'd made her laugh.
Best not forget my stand-up career.

Quick post while I've got Internet access.
Mick the Kiwi still here and still hogging the computer. Actually, he's ok, we seem to be getting on a bit better these days. Might be going swimming together later. Discovered the local pool is only across the road.
Not a lot been happening. Seems I'm still gainfully employed. Please God. Haven't been paid yet but by my calculations I'm earning a bit over the minimum wage. Doing something I quite enjoy too. It's stressful. It would be nice to have other readers to talk too, to compare myself with, I suppose. I'm still getting good readings where I pick things up easily and bad ones where I don't. Is this normal? I just don't know. Anyway, I really hope I can keep on doing it.
It could be lonely if I lived by myself but as I seem to have moved into a commune....
I've settled into a bit of a routine. The plan is to do a bit of housework, dog-walking and writing before I start work.
That's the plan.
My life really not too interesting at the moment. Bonnie's more so. Durham phoned her up last night saying he's completely anti her plan to socialize him and teach him body language. He think's he's alright as he is. Plus he doesn't like going to the pictures or dinner parties and does not want to be involved in such activities in the future. He won't stop her doing suchlike but it's not for him.
She's now decided they have no future together because they share no common interests plus she'd prefer a man with a job and Durham, despite his intelligence, is never going to get one.
I'm really a bit on Ian and Gabriella's side here as in, I agree, i.e. he's a weirdo.

Mick the Kiwi hogs the computer most of the time. Dunno where he is this morning so I'm striking while the iron's hot.
The other one's in the sitting room. Silence is Golden.
Bonnie has started a campaign to socialise him. Like, make him a member of the human race. She has her work cut out.
Me, her and him (Durham) went to see La Vie en Rose, yesterday, in Manchester's Printworks. First time I'd been there. Oooh, I thought, I like this, I'm back in a city.
She made Durham pay for us all to get in. She's not a gold-digger but he's a stingy sod.
"We are on a date" she informed the poor man. A date that includes me? I'm not a freeloader but I am broke. Hopefully next week I'll be in funds and I can take them to the pictures.
Not that it's Durham's thing. The last time he went, it was back in the 70's. With the school.
"Did you enjoy it?" we asked when it was over and we'd dried our eyes.
"Interesting," he replied.
It was great. Don't know if the Critics liked it but, as Bonnie and I cried all the way through, it had to be good.
"I didn't know her boxer was married" said Bonnie. Obviously thinking of Guy.
Re married men and other bastards - I'm still employed by the Tarot Lines. I so hope, I keep this job. The Boss is a cynical old witch. I've only spoken to her on the phone. I wondered if Saturday night was busy; she said it depended on if they had a date or not. If they hadn't then they would ring and ask if he was coming back. I couldn't help it, had to say, "Did Mrs Pankhurst chain herself to the railings for this?" and she laughed. The whole scenario really alarms the very feminist Bonnie. 'Couldn't they focus on a career or something instead.". Of course, they could Bonnie, same as you did with Guy. I'm as bad. Chat with Reba yesterday. Apparently, they were joking in the pub saying Ern was getting married again. I could feel my blood going cold.
Get over it girl or you'll find yourself ringing a Tarot Line.
More singers last night. Marianne Faithful on "The South Bank Show". Isn't she marvellous? A great role model for older women, I think.

Hmmmm.
I was sacked from loads of places in my time. I just was never that good at going to work. It picked up a bit when I learnt to type but then, after eleven years at the Press and missing out on learning Microsoft Office, that was the end of that. No, I am not using all my energy on learning Microsoft office either. I've been on courses. It's a full-time thing.
But factories I could always get a job in. Even when I came home from Germany in the early 80's I got a factory job, no problem. I think, nobody ever really wanted to work in a factory so they'd take anyone. I was never that fast, I just plodded on. If you were fast they paid you a bonus. They weren't the worse places. Women would chat, make friends as they worked.
Huh! Those days are gone.
Two of us started at that warehouse yesterday. Packing stuff. She wanted 12 boxes in the next half-hour. We both did eight. Then we went on some other thing. Us two and some permanent workers. She wanted 600 done by the time we went home. We did 330!
So, she sort of said to both of us, thank-you very much but we weren't fast enough.
This, I suppose, is why I never got asked back to the pork or the cakes.
Bonnie picked me up and I told her. Got a lot of her Dad's and her late husband's Marxist stuff. But they were right.
"You're too old for these jobs, anyway. I noticed that most of them were young. Polish?"
"Yes, Polish."
Everything run by agencies, no rights anymore for workers. Minimum wage and no extra for overtime.
"You'll have to do your PGCE. You've no choice."
I haven't, have I?
Capitalism is wrong. I should be the folk-singer's woman. Why should people make such huge profits at the expense of others. Wouldn't a smaller profit do them?
Whaddya I know? But Mrs Thatcher smashing the Unions was bad news for the working class.
Still all is not gloom and doom. in the evening, I did six hours on the Tarot lines and, by my calculations, earned £40, £30 at least.
Which is fine by me.
I'm just frightened the Boss will ring me back and say I didn't keep them on the line long enough. I did my best. It was all women with a 'my man's doing me wrong' story. Ethics? I'm providing a good service, everyone needs a friend at times. You wanna know how much I've spent on Tarot Lines over the years? It's hard enough work. Nerve-wracking. I'm a genuine reader and I'm not that bad but some people are harder to read for than others. But it's not physical and thank bloomin' God I can do it or where would I be.
Fingers crossed it will last.

Agency just called.
I have to be at be there at 7.15 am tomorrow morning to be taken to some obscure location to start work.
He didn't seem like an axe murderer.....
Of course I am pleased. I also hope it lasts longer than a couple of days. Going by my previous record in factories (pork and cake), I haven't excelled myself.
Maybe I have turned a corner. The idea is, I do the warehouse job by day, the tarot lines by night.
And watch the money roll in.

Went to the interview and, naturally, it was just another agency saying, yes, they definitely have a job and I can start tomorrow. They will ring me later.
Oh, yeah?
Situation really desparate.
I will give the Tarot Lines a go. Assuming the Pin Number arrives. I should know after a day or two whether it will pay or not. I mean, it might. 20p a minute. It's possible I could make £5 an hour. The woman said £6 to £7 an hour was possible.....
If it doesn't work, I think I'll take myself off to Lemonie's. I may be able to get a job down there.
I am lucky I have such good friends, that's all I can say.

Had a doctor's appointment this morning.
My ear's been feeling a bit weird. Could have been a brain tumour, you never know, but thankfully it turned out to be only wax.
Durham's here now. At least he's better than Mick the Kiwi. He doesn't say a lot but he seems quite genuine. He wouldn't dream of giving me any advice on how to perform stand-up comedy. Yes, Mick the Kiwi did. Like, what on God's earth does he know about performing stand-up comedy?
Oh, he was a drummer once, in a band. Makes him an expert on everything then, doesn't it.
I'm quite pleased I haven't got a man. I certainly wouldn't want either of those two.
Think I'll tidy up and pooter around a bit before my job interview. Pin Number still not arrived for the Tarot lines. But I'm feeling more optimistic today now the hangover's worn off.
This time next year we could all be millionaires.

Gig went well.
Not that there were many people. It wasn't a comedy club as such just an Open Mic night, me and two singer/guitarists.
Audience mostly made up of Bonnie plus her friends and family so they were a bit captive. Blue Eyes came too. Bonnie very impressed by him.
"What a nice guy. You'll never go for him. He's not an out and out bastard."
I was quite pleased to see him. He's having troubles too. They've reduced his benefit, he has to find a job for two days a week.
At 57? With MS?
Anyway, re stand-up. A bit of a learning curve. I know if I could get the gigs I would improve. I tried to apply all the theory that I've learned - being in the now, commenting on anything that happens in the room and stuff. Yes, quite pleased.
Got some bloke telling me I'm like Pam Ayres. That often happens. Bonnie thinks I'm not.
What else? Lousy hangover if I'm honest from drinking too much red pub poison.
Tarot job not starting tonight as I'm still waiting for my Pin Number to arrive.
Another interview tomorrow for a warehouse job in the daytime. Can only hope.
Plus bliss. Mick the Kiwi temporarily off in Scotland for God knows what purposes of his own.
Be honest, I'm fed-up with him. I think he really resents me being here. Bonnie doesn't trust him. Not one bit. She suspects he might think that she's a Rich Widow and a good catch. Plus -
"I wasn't married for 20 years for nothing" she said, as she snooped through his room.
One find.
A bill for a Manchester hotel room, dated last Friday. Two adults.
He told her he flew back from the Isle of Man on the Saturday and just made his way here from the airport. He didn't need her to pick him up, oh no.
Of course he didn't because he flew in the day before and stayed the night in a hotel.
"Could be a married woman. Could be a hooker." Bonnie was guessing.
She doesn't seem to worried. Durham's arriving tonight.

Spent all afternoon watching above film. Bonnie's idea.
Now the good news. Maybe.
I have a job of sorts. Reading Tarot cards at home for one of the Tarot lines. The lady rang me up this morning and I can start Tuesday evening.
20p per minute.
Which is fine in theory but I know from experience that the practice is different. I used to do it before and was very lucky if I made £15 in four hours.
Still, my tarot card reading has improved since then. The trick is to keep people on line as long as possible.
The ethics?
I'm not a bullshitter. I've worked hard over the years at learning to read Tarot cards. Been to classes, read loads. I'm not the best reader but I'm certainly not the worst.
Plus the money I've spent on Tarot card lines. I was really addicted at one stage. Ern treating me so badly. They helped.
Layla thinks its my destiny to be a professional psychic. Well, I know Layla talks a lot of crap. My destiny, according to her, was also to marry a rich widower.
Could still happen.

Oh dear, very miserable but then again a development....
Still unemployed. Bloody agencies, I've been to loads this week and filling in forms and this, that and the other but no job forthcoming.
Had a row with Mick the Kiwi this morning. He is a bit of a cuckoo in the nest. Keeps making snidy remarks to Bonnie about all the lifts she gives me plus, I suppose, he knows I owe her a couple of weeks rent. This morning he didn't pass a phone call on to me (long story, not his fault) but I hit the roof because it might have been a job offer. Turned out to be a debt collector so no loss.
I think he's going on Monday but not sure. I mean, he's alright, I suppose. Bonnie not entirely delighted with him. Says he's too alpha and is taking over. I think she's visiting Durham tomorrow. Not that she's keen on Durham, either. I said, really, why have a relationship you're not keen on and she was coming round to that idea until I reminded her that she might be living on her own in September.
Said prospect terrifies her. Thinks she will have to move in with Durham or vice-versa. I told her most women end up living alone because they outlive men.
I quite miss living alone. I miss my little student room. It's all consideration of other people when you live with them and having to do housework when you're not in the mood.
Plus never getting time to write. Mind you, any excuse and I'll stop writing.
Still, I'll have to start writing this weekend. Now we come to the plus side of my life. Perhaps. I e-mailed some comedy clubs. Time, I decided, to resurrect my comedy career. Got an open spot, like that, for Monday evening. I'll have to miss my drama class. I thought it would be a 5-min spot but no - 20 MINUTES.
I've never done 20 minutes before. I haven't even done 5 minutes for two years. I haven't written any comedy for centuries.
Will I die on my arse?
Oh, God, just what I need. No job and an audience that hate me.

Things in wheels as far as job applications concerned.
The good news - I have a temp job as a receptionist.
The bad news - it doesn't start until 9th July.
So, I'm still looking. A few new ideas today, we'll see, not commenting on them just yet.
Bonnie drove me out to some retail place yesterday and I filled in three application forms. B&Q/a supermarket/McDonalds.
I thought McDonalds had an age limit but Bonnie thinks they don't.
"Just think," she said, "you could work term weekends in one of these places - and they might even keep you on until you're 65."
She wondered why I threw a wobbly.
Alright, quite possibly my future will be in such a job but, really, I'd rather not know about it. I mean, I still haven't grown too old to dream.
Bonnie can be very down-to-earth on occasions.
For whatever reason, this morning I woke up with a very firm conviction that - degree or no degree - I just simply cannot be a teacher. The thought of it appalls me, it's nearly as bad as McDonalds. It's a vocation, one I haven't got. Bonnie loves it but that's her. She loves kids and teenagers. Ugh!
I will go my own sweet way down whatever primrose path I chose.

Never has my life been so difficult.
Cake factory agency not rung this week. That's the end of that then.
I could always find jobs in the past. Usually rubbish ones that no-one else wanted but still.

Is it my age? A surfeit of Eastern Europeans? Coming from Irish immigrants, I can't say much about them.

Oh dear.

On the positive side. Went to my lovely acting class last night. Inspired by the ex-soap star (who runs it in conjunction with an impoverished RADA-trained jobbing actor).

Soap Star is living the dream. Getting married in November to a young girl as beautiful as he is. Turns out he lives in some posh Derbyshire gaff, owns four buy-to-let properties and a flash car. He seems to think we can all achieve the same lifestyle. Well, I for one, believe it. Yes. I am just temporarily on my uppers.

"Why aren't you up and down the Job Centre?" asks Bonnie this morning. "Because you've been lying in bed all morning doing Cosmic Ordering."

Yes, well, she'll see when it works.

Until it does, the Job Centre calls.

Last night Bonnie, Mick the Kiwi and myself all got a bit boozed on margheritas. Mick made them, using my blender, retrieved from storage.
Oh, dear, do not read on if you're squemish. There were a few gungy bits floating around in the drinks. Luckily, (or not) by the time we noticed them we were too boozed to worry.
"Did you wash that blender before letting Mick use it?" asked Bonnie.
'Er.....
Well, I was never renowned for my housekeeping skills.
We'd been discussing Big Brother. Bonnie quite convinced that I'd never be evicted. They would want me there just to see what catastrophic thing I did next.
"What she lost today?"
"Who's mobile phone has she put in the washing-machine?"
Bonnie was very good about that really. I mean, it wasn't my fault, her mobile had somehow got entangled in a pile of washing....
"Guess what? She's poisoned the whole of the Big Brother house...."
Bonnie not sure how happy Mick the Kiwi is. Possibly not very as he's had a lot of furniture moving duties since he got here plus had to mend the washing machine and, worse of all, I'd say, her and him are still platonic.

Of course, unpacking and sorting means a bit of reading. Found in "Book of Irish Wit and Wisdom" -
'Get down on your knees and thank God you're still on your feet.'

Oh dear, I am so tired.
Two whole days of furniture moving and sorting out my boxes in the cellar. Nearly finished but not quite.
It's kind of Bonnie to let me have my furniture up here. Two settees, I wall unit, TV cabinet and stereo cabinet. They don't look too bad. Key to wall unit is missing and to make it worse you can see three keys locked in behind the glass door but can't get to them.
Anyway, house is almost back to as it was before Ian and Gabriella moved in. It's a big house really which is lucky for me and my furniture.
Mick the Kiwi returned from the Isle of Man. We did wonder if he'd find himself a woman up there but seems he hasn't. Him and Bonnie gone out for a meal.
What will happen there? She says she will rent him the Wean's room until he gets another oil rig job. A business arrangement between him and the Merry Widow.
We'll see.
Tired and very disillusioned. Maybe it's Bonnie's pragmatic approach to marriage. According to her, True Love is rare and when it does happen it makes you incredibly unhappy.
How can I say she's wrong when, in my experience, she so isn't?
"Look on the shelf and you'll find dozens of spinsters all of them labelled 'I was waiting for love.' Alan Bennett again (Habeus Corpus).
On the positive side, I really do love my Monday acting class.

Oh Lord. I did the 12 to 8.30 shift yesterday.
It's not so much it's hard work but I'm not used to standing and I'm not getting any younger. Felt quite ill at one stage and it gave me back-ache. Got home and collapsed. Slept for hours and not too interested in getting up this morning but as I'm on the same shift today, I didn't really have too.
Read an article in the newspaper about all the people setting up escort agencies as businesses. Was telling Bonnie that one agency was inundated with women wanting to work for them. Bonnie marvelled that women would want to be escorts. So got into some discussion about how women are close to prostitution anyway. As in marriage being a kind of form of it. Or can be. Bonnie seems quite keen on marrying Durham just so she won't have to pay a mortgage. Marrying Durham and fantasising about seeing Guy on the side to stop her being bored with Durham. I said, honestly, that is so unfair on Durham and if he's that boring why marry him.
"But it's so hard on my own" says she.
I gave up. Decided that working in a cake factory was a form of prostitution anyway. I'm only doing it for the money. So we made up a nice song, a la Tina Turner.
"I'm your private baker
I bake all for money.
And any old bagel will do
A lot of cakes come in these places
but I don't think of them at all
I cover them in chocolate
keeping my eyes on the wall
I'm your private baker...."
Well, you get the idea.

Wasting time with this but couln't resist.

What do you like the most about France?
The Riviera

Favourite colour?
Green (or pink)

Favourite drink?
Champagne

The weirdest thing you've ever done?
Got lost on a mountain near Benidorm

Have you ever done something useful?
Gave blood in youth

What are you afraid of?
Loneliness

Any dreams?
Lots

What makes you feel proud?
When I do some good acting

A country which begins with the letter U?
Uganda

What does your favorite clothes looks like?
Got lots of sequinned skirts that I like

What do you want just now?
To sleep but not a possibility

And later?
More sleep

What do you do every morning?
Get out of bed

Something you can't stand on your best friend?
She is far too beautiful

A very sad moment of your life?
When my cat died

And the best?
? Still waiting, jury's out on that one

Well, cakes anyway.
Thank God, looks like job search at an end. I've started work at a Cake Factory.
Mind you, how long it will last, I don't know. It's very like that Pork factory I worked in last year. All the permanent staff getting made redundant and replaced by temporary workers. So not right but, anyway, enough of the soap box, for now it's a job.
Bit busy to visit anyones blogs at the minute (all my 'storage' stuff to sort out) but maybe will have more time at the weekend.

Oh, dear, coming down after the weekend. Still on the drugs theme.
Is life worrying.
Rang both of those stupid agencies and just got fobbed off by them. Oh, we're waiting for a suitable booking for you.
Which was not the impression they gave.
I've spent the morning having a bit of a moan to any Job Centre employee who will listen. I'm a shy person but I'm very good at moaning when it suits me.
Asked to be connected to the Benefits people. Blue Eyes knows all the Claiming Benefits rules and reckons there's some Clause saying students can get something. Naturally I was put through to the wrong department. This started me off "And why?" I asked, "Why did your colleague put me through to the wrong department. Because she's incompetent, that's why. And yet she is employed, whereas I, who am supremely compentent not to mention incredibly intelligent, am unemployed. Please explain."
"I repeat, I am sorry that you have been put through to the wrong Department. This is the number you need to ring....."
Pain in the arse.

I'm such a straight-laced girl and have always been scared of drugs.
Although I have mixed in artistic circles where people take stuff.
"Weren't you ever curious?" a dancer, who'd tried everything, once asked me.
"Well, yes. I'd especially like to have tried LSD. But much too scared."
And my old friend, P. Who was very anti-drugs for the simply reason she'd been into them as a teenager at art school and friends of hers had died from taking them.
P would say, "Don't think you don't take drugs. You drink like a fish. You can't function in the mornings without at least three cups of tea."
Even pot frightened me so I never smoked it. (Admittedly, I used to be a bit of a social smoker as in nicotine which has to be far worse than anything or at least as bad),
But I love the smell of pot.
Bonnie's late husband used to smoke it. He liked his drink too.
We had so many lovely evenings with him and his friend sitting round playing their music, smoking, boozing and singing.
Another evening there was just me and Tom. We were good friends. Bonnie would often get fed-up of us talking about books, religion, the meaning of life and shite in general and would just leave us to it. This particular night (morning) she went off to bed. I remember Tom was playing his guitar and singing "The Boxer." And I remember having this great, lucid sort of moment of clarity and understanding.
"Oh", I realised, "that's why we come into to the world and are poor, that's the reaon....."
The minute I understood this great truth I instantly forgot it.
Was telling Maj this.
"You sure you weren't smoking something, Mo?"
Which is when I realised I'd been breathing in Tom's smoke all night.

As told by Farmer's Lad to Bonnie.
"My great-uncle fell out with his sister. It was a huge row. They didn't speak for years and years. She moved and no-one in the family knew where she was.
On his deathbed my great-uncle wanted to make it up. He said to his wife, try and find my sister, bring her to me so I can say I'm sorry. His wife started to make enquiries but it was too late, the man died before his sister could be found.
After the funeral, the wife continued trying to find the sister. She thought she could apologise for her late husband. Eventually the sister was tracked down and the man's wife went to visit her.
The wife informed the sister that her brother had died.
"Before he died, he wanted to tell you he was sorry but there wasn't time."
"But he did tell me" said the sister. "We sorted all that out and made it up. He came here six months ago to apologise. He didn't stay long, he wouldn't even have a cup of tea but he told me how sorry he was."
Six months age?
The brother had called at the sister's house on exactly the time and day that he died."

Should be in bed but I'm not tired.
Sound not functioning on this computer which is a shame because YouTube keeps me amused.
Bonnie's fluctuating between Durham and Nick the Kiwi. Durham's gone up a bit since his latest phone call. She thinks he's the more trustworthy out of the two.
My stuff is still in her front room. Oh, dear. I unpacked one box and found a photo of Steve Sex in an album. Showed it to her.
"Ugh, no, no. You're not serious. He doesn't even look like a man. He looks like a Singapore Ladyboy."
Good job we're not all attracted to the same people.
Oh, dear, I am not tired but I should go to bed because I have serious job-hunting to do tomorrow.
Whatever about Nick the Kiwi, he is far too young. I do not want a man twelve years younger than me, I just don't.
Had an e-mail from Ern on Thurs/Fri and, as usual, I was pleased. I should have more sense.
I let Bonnie read my story. I only usually let other writers read my stuff but Bonnie has read lots of my comedy and we're meant to be writing a play together (!) (?). Anyway, she liked my story, she genuinely seemed to like it. She had a few ideas of things I could improve but it was all constuctive and helpful. I'm pleased she liked it. I must work on it a bit more this week.

Today still pretty eventful. For Bonnie, at least.
She drove Nick the Kiwi to the airport this morning. Came back and her sister-in-law rang. Another niece of hers, a young woman in her thirties, mother of five, had breast cancer a few years ago. Anyway, it's come back this time in her hip. Poor Bonnie very upset but she did remember that the same thing happened to my friend Lemonie and Lemonie got through it. Somewhat reassured the girl's mother by telling her this.
Spent the afternoon in the garden of a country pub in Derbyshire. Turns out Biker, the neighbour's man, plays steel guitar and was playing today. Neighbour not there, 'too hungover' apparently but we had a lovely time listening to this bluegrass music. A bit like the Saturday night folk club (which I so miss). Even won a bottle of wine in the raffle and I never, ever won the raffle in the other place. Bonnie says we're just lucky to be alive. Beer, music, kids, dogs, a bluetit had a nest in the pub wall and was flitting back and forth with food for its young.
Bonnie now considering Nick the Kiwi. No, she's not in love but he's more fun than Durham. But, then again she thinks he's too 'Alpha' for her and a womanizer. Plus, how does she know he hasn't got a wife and three kids back in New Zealand. She thinks he would suit me and I can have him if I want but if I don't want, she may be interested.
I like him but at 42, he's too young for me. And I'm not madly in love. I don't know if that will ever happen again.
Love grows?
I'm not so sure.

It's been impossible to blog for the last few days. Laptop sits in the middle of the sitting-room which has been full of people.
Friday, woken up by raucous laughter. Came down to see what was going on. Nick the Kiwi has arrived.
How Bonnie can prefer Durham is beyond me but each to their own. Nick from New Zealand is a 'great craic. We've had a good weekend with him.
"Do you fancy him? Do you fancy him?" has become Bonnie's bloomin' mantra.
I'm pleading the 5th Amendment or whatever they say. He's not unfanciable. A dark, handsome face. He looks very Maori to me. Quite corpulent but I'm a woman who finds John Prescott attractive. And certainly good fun.
Bonnie likes him but thinks he's too Alpha "he talks so much, so do I, sometimes we compete for the limelight" she reasoned but...
Back to Friday morning when we're all sitting around talking and laughing.
"Someone at the door" says Nick. There's a window that looks out the side; you can see people arriving.
A knock.
Bonnie opens it to find a parcel's been left.
It's a framed photo of her along with a note "This is far too beautiful to stay hidden in the back of a cupboard."
Guy! He's set her recovery process back a hundred years.
"I caught a glimpse of him. He's so beautiful. If I could only see him once more. He could have posted this. Why deliver it?"
You get the idea. All agonized stuff.
Guy is the one she loves. Whereas I would rather stay on my own than compromise, Bonnie really wants a man. She's decided it's because she grew up with brothers.
She's staying faithful to Durham. For now.
Anyway, later, the Wean's man and his friend arrived with a big van to move her up to Edinburgh. Her leaving party must have started at 4 pm and lasted until 4 am. It was great anyway with Nick entertaining us and Bonnie on the 'woo-woos' (her favourite cocktail made from vodka, peach schnapps and cranberry juice.)
She's outrageous when drunk. Doing Liza Minelli impressions and, when the Wean took her man off upstairs, suggesting that the four of us all sleep in her bed.
Transpired the boyfriend's friend believed she was serious. Said, the next morning to the Wean that he thought he was up for a foursome.
"What" said the Wean, "With my auntie in that state? She'd have fallen straight to sleep."