Home Alone Again, Naturally
So, yeah, I'm back home now. Have been for the past three weeks, although the whole charade with the flat is still ongoing. I actually moved out on the 13th of August (although due to certain circumstances, I'd been staying at my mother's since the Sunday beforehand) and it went fairly smoothly, despite pissing down with rain and Clare having a hangover. I was supposed to get checked out on the 29th, although the letting agents claim it was the 28th and they weren't very happy when I wasn't there. They tried to ring me, but because of circumstances I'll get to in a minute, I have a new phone number and obviously they don't have it. So, when she came out again on Wednesday, she was really pissy with me, picking holes in everything (complaining about little spots of blu tac still on the walls for fuck's sake) and trying to blame me for some cigarette burns on the carpet which were there when I moved in. Now, you and I both know that a certain couple lived in that flat before I moved in. However, this cow from the letting agents was claiming that I was the first person to move in there since it had all been done out. I tried explaining it to her about six times but she blatantly wasn't paying any attention and didn't until I refused to pay for a new carpet, at which point she got all huffy and asked me why they hadn't been through the agency, if indeed they did actually exist. She obviously thought I was making it all it up (as if - I could come up with a better story than that if I was trying to wangle out of something). But she phoned the office and Mills House and everything seems to have been cleared up. I'd gone for my break at work by the time she came back in (she'd been showing a couple round the flat - good luck to them) and only mentioned getting the carpets cleaned, which was fair enough really. Florence had warned me about that. Andrea - who'd shown someone round the flat with me the previous Friday - had complained about the carpets as well, and didn't seem too convinced when I told her that it was because when me and Richie were moving the stuff, it was pissing down with rain and all muddy. She probably thinks that i live like a pig.
I'm sick of my life at the moment.
Which brings me to my love life. Or lack thereof. So that woman I was seeing. The older one. The nutter. Yes, she turned out to be even more psychotic than I imagined. A couple of weeks ago, after she'd handed in her notice at work, she started sending me texts claiming that Shaun had told her that I'd forced myself upon someone. Now, I don't know if this means that I've raped someone or attempted it or what, but Shaun denies it. He told her about this lass I was seeing off the internet, he says, but according to Andrea he was horrified that Anne had said what she had. But Anne had told Andrea as well (and asked her not to say anything to Shaun until she had left work). In one text she told me that someone else knew, and then in a further text she claimed that apparently there had been this whole discussion in the shop about it. Then, at half twelve one night after I've moved back home, I get a text from her asking me if the police have been in touch yet.
Naturally, I shit myself. Because, at the end of the day, even though I have done nothing wrong, she could have easily gone to the police and reported some imaginary crime. She's just cracked enough to do it. So I phone the police and report her harrassing texts. This is on the Friday morning. They eventually come to see me on the Tuesday night (they had called on Monday but I had been at work), by which time I've had a further two texts from her, one saying that I know, deep down, why the police are coming to talk to me and another saying that she won't contact the police, but if they come to talk to her, she'll speak to them (she signs off the text with 'whatever you have done, Mark, leave me out of it!!!' which is funny because A) I have not done anything and B) She was the one who started this whole mess in the first place) . Then I get another text, this one in big shouty capital letters asked me if she should dispose of 'what I have belonging to you' so she can make a 'clean break from u'. Which again, is funny, because she doesn't have anything of mine. It's also quite scary though, because she's obviously cracked.
So I change my number. Florence has a spare sim crad upstairs off when she got her last phone, so I take that one. When the police come round, I put the old sim card in just to see if she's still texting me and there's a message telling me how she starts her new job in September and all this bollocks and a voicemail which sounds like she rang when she was drunk, saying that she's probably the last person I want to hear from (damn straight - I'd rather get a phone call from my dad), that she's sorry how everything turned out and that she just wanted me to know what people have been saying about me. I haven't checked it since, and have no real desire to. She's obviously not right in the head, or trying to provoke me into some sort of action, whether that's to try and get back with her or to try and drive a wedge between everyone at work, I don't know. I'm just glad she's out of my life.
And A? Well, we went out again on the following Wednesday from my last post. We went to The Biscuit Factory in Newcastle. It's an art gallery for those of you who aren't cultured. Again, we had a nice time. So we went out to the pub, just me and A, minus the kid, on Sunday night. Just to Houghton. And, once again, we had a nice time. There was a bit of kissing and so forth and when she texted me once she'd got home, it was to say she'd had a lovely time and that she'd see me soon. I texted back saying I'd had a lovely time as well and did she fancy going to the pictures one day/night the following week.
And then, nothing. Not a single text. So I move house on the Wednesday. I text her once I've got my shifts for the next week, telling her what days I'm off if she fancies going out. Again, nothing. So that's a bust then.
But one thing niggles at me. When we first emailed each other, she said that her match.com was up for renewal at the end of the month and that, as she hadn't had much luck, she wasn't going to renew it. But she's still on there, and still active. You see, the site shows you how active members are. It'll say something like "Active within 3 weeks" or something like that, and yesterday, emailing this other lass (so there is still a glimmer of hope after all) A's picture cropped up with an "Active within 24 hours" label beneath it. So what seems to have happened is that she's gone out on a couple of dates with me, decided that I'm not for her, and instead of just telling me like a decent person, she's just ignored me.
And so we come to my unified field theory of relationships:
Men are dicks; women are insane.
I thank you.He Was The Best Of Us!
So, The Dark Knight. I went to see it again yesterday. With moving house and everything, I haven't had a day to myself in what seem like ages. I haven't been to the pictures since the advance screening of Hellboy (and I was only able to go to that because I went with Clare and Richie and they gave me a lift home - the film didn't start until 9pm and there was no way I could have got a bus home). So I went yesterday with the best of intentions. I was going to see The Mummy (still playing despite my worries) Wall-E (open since the middle of July and I still haven't seen it, more to do with the fact that I din't want to sit through it with a bunch of screaming kids) and Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The trouble is, Star Wars didn't start until six. Then I got sidetracked in Sunderland and so missed the 1pm showing of Wall-E. I got there for two and didn't fancy hanging around for an hour, so went to see The Dark Knight again, with the intention of coming out of there at 5, going to get something to eat and then going to see Star Wars. So I goes to see Batman (still the best film of the year, the best superhero movie of all time) and although Heath Ledger is fantastic in it, it's a shame he died because that tragedy overshadows Aaron Eckhart, providing a virtuoso performance as Harvey Dent, embodying the heart and soul of the movie, an emotional core around which the forces of chaos (the Joker) and order (Bats) revolve.
So then I come out, go and grab a bite to eat and because she's up for the weekend, give Gilli a quick ring. Soon, plans are made to go to the pub and have a few drinks while she provides an intelligent and insightful critique of Traumaville, the notes for which I'll definitely put into operation when I get round to rewriting it. So Star Wars, ironically the film I wanted to see most when I planned on going to the pictures, got put on the backburner. But how often do I get to see Gilli?
And it's still on on Sunday, so if there's buses running I'll go out and see it then, cos I'm down London to see Blades, Will and AmyJo on Tuesday/Wednesday, and then the rest of my week off will be devoted to writing (I have three Doctor Who stories to finish) and catching up on my TV. And, with any luck, I'llbe going out for a date with that other lass off match.com that I've been emailing...
Peace out.
