Opened a present that came through on Tuesday disguised as a letter. The joys of a paycheque for the first half of Nice Spleen, Bitch! I shall have to remember to pay it in when the banks are open again. Very nice to get paid for my evenings and weekends.
Father dragged me to a pub earlier, but hasn't realised that I've reinforced the tolerance he implanted in me. Caused three splutters so far, but I'm still sat here sober while he and my brother are pished. Fucking lightweights. I much prefer being drunk, because then I don't have to think about dealing with them.
Had far too many ideas altogether. Can't write them at all. No time, and when I do have time, the only places I can write I have to deal with drunk family. Bugger. I need a space where I can work.
: Old friend of dad: "How are your boys, then?" Dad: "You can ask my eldest, he's the dodgy bugger with the beard here." OFOD: "Errrr..." *looks up" "Hi?"