Then enter (stage left) estate agents, solicitors and faceless mortgage companies; a sea of bureaucracy and the inability of anyone to return a phone call.

In the last week I have even had the very limits of language challenged when I was informed by the mortgage company that the fact my parents had made a gift of some money (they  declared this gift as a gift to the mortgage company) did not necessarily mean they did not expect it to be paid back.  Is this true?  Have I been going through life receiving occasional “gifts” and then gone off smugly thinking it was all for free.  Or is it the case, as I suspect, that a gift is “Something that is bestowed voluntarily and without compensation*”.  Christmas would be awful if every present you received came with a thinly veiled threat that the sender expected the exact amount repaid in full by the end of the month or they would be sending the boys around.

obviously this is turning into a rant, but it just illustrates the reality bending world that these vast companies exist in.  What makes it worse is you overcome one hurdle (such as that the person you are buying from has decided she DOESN’T LIKE FILLING IN FORMS) to come crashing down into the next (that your solicitor has become allergic to the telephone and hence it will be several days until the pigeon, she has drafted in to convey all future correspondence, arrives).

So we are sitting amidst packing boxes and waiting.  You never know we might be in by Christmas.

*From: http://www.thefreedictionary.com/GIFT

So far so good. Last night didn’t exactly work out like that. My problem came with the final act. In itself it was not really that controversal: a blokey Australian ranting on showing off a stereotypical (and probably false) machismo. I know they were just jokes; I know I should lighten up; I know I had a bit too much to drink, however… It was the content that worried me: domestic violence; laughing at different races; a tinge of homophobia. I know in careless and thoughtless moments I have probably done worse, and this is not a holier than thou rant.

It is just this: all the people in that room laughed and I think they laugh at things that reflect their shared values. It is just I became aware of the fact that I don’t want to be like them; the drunken, prejudiced mob reinforcing their own preconceptions and poisionous values. The whole scene seemed unspeakably ugly.

So I didn’t really laugh and then had an argument with my friend who was a bit mythed by the fact that I wasn’t having a good time.

My problem as I see it is this: I care about what things mean and I seem to be increasingly horrified by the rest of the world, I feel a need to stand up for what I believe in and object, it seems sitting passive and silent is just wrong or at least as bad as actively participating. Yet, and this is the real problem it runs the risk of alienating those I love as it implies judgement upon them and their actions, and ultimately means becoming a humourless killjoy too obstanate to fit in with other people. So what to do?

I know my own conduct on occasion leaves a lot to be desired and clearly in my glasshouse it would be illadvised to throw stones so I seem somewhat stuck. Needless to say I won’t be going to the comedy club again.

Those who know me know the reasons: my friends have had to put up with my drunken self pity on more than one occasion.  For these kindnesses I am thankful but I see no need to go into the details here.  Apart from anything else it now seems consigned to history.  Did I behave badly?  Were we both to blame? Was she cruel and vindictive? Was it all doomed anyway?  It now seems as if it all happened a lifetime ago to a different person.

So two years ago I left.  And I left with nothing.  I had a house, a relationship, a caravan (don’t ask), pets, bills, obligations, a big T.V.,  a new kitchen, a cooker which was half the size of the kitchen, a study full of books, a Sky set top box, two freezers, a washing machine with more programmes than I owned clothes, built in wardrobes, a wine rack with overpriced and pretentious wine, two foreign holidays a year (always for 10 days for some reason),  a cleaner, and the rest of my life all wrapped up: All gone.

Did I miss it?  Not really, I was too busy trying to come back to life; not so much wondering who I am but, perhaps more accurately, what I was for.

I gave up this stuff and moved into my best friend’s spare room.  I had a bloody uncomfortable camp bed I bought from Argos and some canvas furniture.  He in his kindness took me in, looked after me, let me talk things through, drank too much with me and gave me cigarettes.  I can honestly say that all of this, given with no sense of obligation, was perhaps the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me.  I hope he is aware, despite the fact he is thousands of miles away, how grateful I am.

Now the world is a very different place.  I am not only in another relationship, with the most vibrant and wonderful girl I have ever met, but I am about to get married.  The house I owned has finally sold and Lucy and I are about to buy a new house together and move out of our rented flat.

It has not escaped anyone’s attention that the house will be big enough for a few children in the next few years.

Yes I am reacquiring stuff: the big TV is back, as are the slightly pretentious wines, one of the cats came from the old house and is currently sitting on my right shoulder as I type this.  There has even been speculation that we might get a kitten in the new place.   Life has started again; it didn’t seem possible at the time.  I can say with out fear of contradiction that I have made a few mistakes along the way, but it appears that I have got another life now, a happier, more stable and, most of all, more honest life.  Miraculous really.

Item 1: a gift from “granny” (she’s not my gran, my nan is dead), a Sandringham Estate letter opener (I bet Prince Charlie has one just like it).

Letter opening has always been difficult for me and at last someone has provided me with a solution.

Item 1: a second hand copy of tales of the weirrd. Fascinating but an odd gift.

1. Now just waiting to escape, all done with amsterdamnation.about 21 hours ago from Twitterrific

2. Went for a walk and drank some cola, feeling fighting fit.7:12 AM Jul 30th from Twitterrific

3. Drank far too much etc, but feel pretty good, slight headache etc and anticipate vagueness at the airport. Coming home to my girl.5:21 AM Jul 30th from Twitterrific

4. Now smoking, drinking and missing. Lucy.7:42 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

5. Here I am: http://bit.ly/18jNZx5:14 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

6. The sex museum is possibly the most unerotic experience of my life.4:39 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

7. @fyshcakes will you marry me?4:38 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific in reply to fyshcakes

8. Back on the trail, may have recovered from earlier state. Love you Lucy.4:37 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

9. Had a big morning and a sleep, give it an hour and will start the evening3:21 PM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

10. Unsure if the cheese museum, vodka museum, sex museum, cannabis museum and the porn museum are quite what they claim to be.6:56 AM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

11. Quote (from out side of the window) ” you a real girl? You got balls? You pay me to suck your balls”, delightful.5:32 AM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

12. Here I am: http://bit.ly/cikn44:57 AM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

13. All crashed out, Aaron = hyper active come down, Rob = illness/js, me= js. Will try harder today.4:56 AM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

14. Just woken up by two men, outside the window, arguing over a prostitute. Not a good hotel, but a funny one.4:55 AM Jul 29th from Twitterrific

15. Off to amsterdam today with Aaron and Rob. Will Twitter throughout the three day adventure. BTW love you Lucy.9:13 AM Jul 28th from Twitterrific