My cack-handed efforts to fix the drivers on my keyboard led to further conkage-out, somehow, ie: my mouse no longer works. So after days of being unable to post or answer emails, I can now now longer even read. If I had the money to get the lot to the repair shop, my back wouldn't stand the effort, so for the forseeable, I am well frelled.
In recent days, I limped to the NPG for the BT Portrait awards. As usual, there was little to excite me. The technical skills on display are pretty awesome, but few of the paintings actually aroused any interest or emotion. My favourite was a crude-looking daub called TIME TO TALK by Lynne Ahrens, simply because it suggested something mysterious, missing in the other entries, for the most part. I also rather liked John Ball's ghostly COMMUTER.
Otherwise, everything continues pretty grim. I keep putting off going to the doctor 'cos I'm scared. (To feel this crippled-up and feeble, I must be either very ill or totally crazy, probably both...) I need some decent psychedelics, I think. I want out of this mindspace.
Curious carryings on in BIG BROTHER... Poor Seany was evicted, just when I was starting to like him. I mean, shoving Charley in her £700 Gucci boots into the pool surely made him a candidate for Hero of the Week. Oh well, at least it meant two oldies were spared. I don't like that Jonathan much, though. He be kinda creepy, and he's RICH, fer Christ's sake. What could his motivation possibly be?
God, this place is rank. In recent days, it's been reduced to sharing space with a shipping services stall, and a sandwich bar (smelly!). You also have to pay a minimum of £2.00. The internet dives on Wandsworth Rd are all shut today. Major suckage.
Oh yeah, for some reason I can't log into AOL, so still can't access emails...