The One Hand
Clapping. April 16, 2002
What does that expression mean?
Gypsy John came today and I was still feeling the effects of
alcohol poisoning I contracted somewhere between Billy Boyd’s (a local
musician), party and my belligerent Sunday evening at Roy ’s. To tell the honest truth I was kind of
rampantly horny when John arrived and his tattoos were a bit of a turn on as
were his massive hands, but the fact that he’s ex-SAS and suffers from manic
depression since his wife left him deterred me from making any sexual
suggestions. I think I am going slightly
loopy here with nothing but the clear fell to look at. I was bored today and
slightly depressed but the last two days put the effects of alcohol into stark
relief. I am allergic to the stuff. My breath went, almost suffocating me, I
was in a panic and my mind went more than a little skew-whiff. I will die if I
have more than two glasses of wine or two glasses of beer. I will keep my
in-take to the minimum.
The lady from the Edinburgh National Gallery returned my
enquiry into the Jolly (Sir William Maxwell) painting being perhaps a Sir Henry
Raeburn. It isn’t; it is too early and they have a copy of it which has been
dated by someone, by the costume, at 1760 or thereabout. So, Sir William would
have been in his early forties.
I’m a bit scared about my future. I haven’t been offered
anymore work with immigration; my phone is so crappy, and quite frankly, I’m a
bit tired of waking up in this area. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow. I’ll have
more energy to leave and check out the bookshop in Wigtown. Roll on the money;
I’m desperate.
I would eventually like to start writing another book. I have
the bare bones of the slave story but, like The Cuckoo’s Diary, I’ll have to
set the scene elsewhere. Glencolmcil is a fascinating place, frightening.
Things are scary; the lambs will be taken and slaughtered in
a couple of months. There are things people say and things they don’t say.
Things get around about people. There is also a sexual tension in the air that
could be dangerous. People take their comfort where they find it. I remember
the Gaelic football team in Ireland
and how I fancied number 7, a stocky sexy guy with a cute face and attitude, (I
do love them built like bulls).
My sexuality’s gone through the roof. Anyway, tomorrow I hope
I feel less depressed and more positive. I’ll have a nice wash and cycle.
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