Anyway, all in all, I spent most of the day wandering around the hateful end of South London. The guy at the CAB actually seems to know what he's doing, though, and thought I'd said my birth date was in 1963, seeming startled when I said 'No,1947'... I guess he was being nice, because I was in such a state. I'm not gonna go into the details, too grim and boring, but at least I now feel I may get some proper advice and help...
The busses were full of frenzied, sugar-maddened school kids. God, they're so rough, loud and raw. I'm sure we weren't like that. They're fuckin' animals...I suppose the adults thought we were just as barbaric, back in the day, though.
The charming bus driver roared 'Shut up, you stupid fucker!' at a confused elderly blind man, and left him standing stunned at the stop. Nobody ,including me, dared say anything.
O tempore, O mores. (Fap...)
I'm not exactly off to a flying start with my novel...I'm still going to take a pop, though.