Interactive version of Oliver's Poetry Garret
Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
Sunday, 4 June 2006, Blog 2
Lewes Garret
It has been another lovely day - I believe that, for once, I may develop a tan. Just come back from a circus skills day where my youngest daughter excelled at buskin stilt walking and tightrope walking. She is brilliant!
I finally got an apology from John. He texted me: 'I should apologise. I said some pretty unacceptable things. Wanted to say something the other night, but i (sic) ended up bottling it. See you monday.(sic)'
Better late than never, I suppose. The trouble is it was not the first time he had said these things. I cannot help but feel that on some level he believes them and now he is apologising (but no 'sorry') because, like me, he wants an amicable split. I don't know what to do.
I have to confess I do not feel any differently towards John after this texted, half-hearted apology. If you slanderously call someone a git and a sleazebag and falsely accuse them of feeding off you, you should try harder to put things right.
Love Me Do
Flashback to Wednesday, 31 May 2006
Leamington Garret
7.21pm according to Big Ken. Sunny and cool. Spent today obsessing about what John had said. To be honest, I am still reeling from the extraordinary events of last night. As the day wore on, I could not help feeling I have to get John out of my life.
I had to work late and then sort out my car The Last Word for its long journey tomorrow. I tried to find a telephone number for the landlord or an address or contact details of the letting agent, but to no avail. I need to discern my options in this awkward situation.
When I got into the flat, John was, unexpectedly, there. He had tidied up and pretended nothing had happened, making small talk about my car and his day. I have to confess I feel nervous around him. It is that total unpredictability. He has set about me - verbally - twice. Once in the pub when we got drunk the other day and last night. What will come next?
I really liked him as a friend; yet now all that respect has evaporated and cannot return. I can never fully trust him again.
I am playing the Beatles tape I picked up at the car boot sale on Sunday for 50p. A good and unusual compilation and surprisingly high quality recording. I do not agree with Francesca's instant judgment that it was a pirated tape. Love Me Do has just come on. Superb!
11.29pm. Just returned from the Jug and Jester jam night. Tremendous as always. I rolled up early to get out of the 'John Flat'. I bought a pint of their cheap bitter and wrote some poetry - for the first time in weeks - and read a bit of Alan Clark's Diaries. I felt terrible, really depressed and bad about myself.
When the jam was starting, I moved into that room and sat in the corner, continuing to compose poetry. Eventually, as it filled up, I left at a suitable moment to telephone home.
My Beloved was appalled by my tale, and said I needed to encourage John to give notice as soon as possible. I found her counsel enormously comforting, and it made me think of how precious she is to me.
Back in the Jug & Jester band room, it had become totally packed. A glorious early summer's evening had turned into the perfect night. The finale with the gravel-voiced Dylanesque man of Asian origin doing House of the Rising Sun and Knocking on Heaven's Door was brilliant!
My dinner tonight was a small portion of chips which cost me £1.10 at the local kebab house in the early evening. As I was eating my chips, a group of kids not much older than my youngest daughter walked up to the counter and started screaming racial abuse at the friendly man behind the counter. Of course he told them to leave.
'F*** you, you c***,' screamed a boy whose balls had hardly dropped, before trouncing out with his bling jewellery, leaving three pubescent girls in his wake. One of them continued the abuse: 'You're a f***ing c***. You're dirty.' Disgusting youths.
Obsessing about John today, I thought of Tony Blair's quirky performance on the Michael Parkinson show when he said the 24/7 media was like living with a slightly deranged flatmate.
Talking of politics, John 'Two Shags' Prescott has finally given up his country home. For once, I feel quite proud to have worked for the Mail on Sunday whose story about John Prescott helped to bring this about. But, in my view, if John Prescott had an ounce of integrity in his body he would have quit.
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