and when I have eaten it, I can draw the other customers.

I thought a therapist might be able to help me be more creative and less ‘precious’ about keeping rubbish objects. However, it didn’t work out as planned because I wasn’t keen on her and decided to keep my mouth shut and not let her know anything about me. Every time she asked me a question I said ‘I don’t know’. e.g. ‘what are you here for?’ – ‘I don’t know’. ‘What did you hope to achieve by coming here?’ – ‘I don’t know’. ‘Is there anything about your life you would like to change?’ – ‘I don’t know’. Basically, I didn’t like her and every time I told her something I wanted help for, like How to get to sleep at night and wake up at a helpful hour in the morning, she said ‘It’s a matter of choice’. Very irritating. Never mind. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am just Mad on Purpose.

The Bin Man, having dumped me, is trying to help me sort out my budget. What a mess! I had let him be in charge of everything and now I don’t know where anything is or from whence my utilities come. Everything is now ‘in arrears’. Well, it’s about time I took charge of everything again, including myself. The world better be ready for me because I am back in it!

I have signed up for the local college to use their facilities and materials. I haven’t attempted to throw a pot since I was at school, and that never worked out. Yesterday I managed to produce a wobbly pot that most people would throw away. I am proud of it and will get it fired. I hope it doesn’t blow up! It is higher on one side than the other. Someone said it looked like a dog basket.

I would like to share with you some of the contents of my sketchbook. I am trying to add one little picture every day. They are autobiographical so you can see how things are going in a pictorial way.

Here is the first of the series: ‘Back at College’.

Back at College

At 9.00 a.m. there was another knock on the door. For some reason workmen in Yorkshire do not ring doorbells. This man was dressed in blue overalls marked ‘BT’ and clutched a tool box. ‘Come in’ , I said. ‘Have you come to fix up the BT Homehub?’ He put down his toolbox. ‘No’, he said. ‘I know nowt about phones or computers’ and donned a white hard hat. ‘I’ve just come to drill a hole’. He then plugged in an electric drill and said ‘Where shall I put it?’ He meant the hole. I told him I had no idea. ‘I’ll put it here then’, he said and connected a two foot long drill bit.

Bert the cat managed not to run away when the loud drilling began. He stuck his ground but was obviously concerned as his tongue went in and out a lot.

A few minutes later the BT man said ‘I’ll be mostly outside now. Wit’ ladders and that’ and left the building. I am waiting inside. I have no idea what the ladders are for. It’s out of my control. I’m a woman.

My new boyfriend rang. He is a Binman. I told him the progress so far. ‘Oh that’s good’, he said. ‘Have you made him a brew?’ I admitted that this had not occurred to me. ‘Well you’ve got to! He’s a workman! He needs a brew!’. I hadn’t realised the importance of this cultural ritual. I went outside and asked the BT man if he would like a cup of tea or coffee (I didn’t have the confidence to say ‘brew’). ‘Ah no thanks’, he said. ‘What I do is… I bring wi’ me a bottle of water. I fill it up from ‘t tap on a morning so it’s not too cold like. Then I’ve got it you see. I’ve been doing it for the last 12 year. It were ‘ard at first. Everyone asks, you see. “Do you want a brew” and it were right ‘ard to say “No”. My mate, he were wi’ me t’other day like, he were sat in’t kitchen eating cake and that, but I said “No. I’ll carry on.” and I did. When the winter came round first time I went back to ‘aving like two or three a day but by ‘t time I were finished I were right dry. So, it’s just a bottle of water now for me and I’m ‘appy wi’ that.’

I shared a little inside information on Binmen. Apparently, they get a brew at certain households on their rounds. My Binman didn’t take his Bait Tin with him today because he was allocated to a round where they can be sure of a bacon sandwich and a pork pie. Who knew this? The other day I woke to the sight of the Bin Wagon parked outside my house and a group of dayglo jacketed Binmen drinking brews out of cups from my kitchen. Served by my own Binman who was ‘on the sick’ that day. It all sounds like a pleasant life until you hear that on the downside they don’t have access to toilets ‘so if they get caught short they have to take a dump in a carrier bag’ at the side of the road.

You were sitting, propped up on the laundry basket, busy sorting something out and giving me a little bit of time to show you what I can create.

I can create a clean dish now. I can’t do this often. This is how you are good for me. I don’t feel worried when you are with me. I don’t think of it as destroying but of creating.

Building up the mess, it was security for me. Now you are giving me that confidence to let go of these things. Gradually I am peeling back the protective layers that I have placed over myself.

As I take each item from the pile I get closer to exposing myself to the world. But I trust you and you allow me to use you as my support. I know it’s OK because I can offer this also to you.

I create as I destroy.

NOTE:  I have been puzzling about whom I was referring to in this piece, which I wrote some time ago. I know however that it refers to my dish-washing phobia perhaps as an allegory. It’s a pity I can’t ask myself. I found it here as an unpublished draft and just hit the button.  p.s. I have now got a beautiful lime green SMEG dishwasher and my whole attitude to dishes is resolved. Why didn’t I just get one before?

p.s.  ahaa! now I get it. It was my laptop sitting on the laundry basket. I think I was talking about my avatar in SecondLife. In other words, my duplicate Me. Talking about myself as usual.

My mother has always been suspicious of business men. Now aged 82 she has just shared with me the dark truth about businessmen that she has known since the age of five. It is this… business means Poo. She knows this because her parents would say to her ‘have you done your business?’ every morning. Doing one’s business involved going into the bathroom for a while and it needed to be done every day or Granny would do something ultimately worse involving introducing warm water into an unmentionable orifice.  When Pammy Chuckles first found out that some of her friends had fathers that earned a living through ‘business’ she was understandably horrified and rather nervous to be around them, though she knew it wasn’t their fault. Business men wear a uniform so you can spot them in the street. I feel pretty much the same about avoiding business men. Nowadays there is the even more terrifying Business Woman. They are the ones that stare at you and fire questions at you about statistics that you are supposed to know the answer to without consulting your computer. Business Women are why I don’t go to work anymore. Rue and fetishes worn around the neck help but Citalopram works best. My mum is right though, Business definitely means Poo.

NOTE:  A facebook friend made the following comment: “I can remember that same saying when I was young and wondered why anybody would ever stick there nose in somebody else’s business. “