The Book Of Hate #8

Tuesday, 3rd October, 2017.

There is no reason for me to be at the train station this early. I just couldn’t sleep. At least I made coffee and managed to park my car without paying for it. All I can say is, I better get a Fucking seat!

Seated. Fuck-a-doodle-do!

Almost in now. I’m dying for a cigarette. Too much coffee probably. It’s still pretty dark. Winter is coming! Lol.
I don’t have to be in Oxford Street so I have an hour to burn. I’ll tube over and find somewhere to get coffee. More coffee!

The only choices on Cavendish Square are Pretty or Starbucks! I really hate both, but I hate Pret more.


We are the only ones working, on the 5th floor of this office, on Cavendish Square. Typically, I left my Bluetooth speaker at home charging.It’s not the same listening to music through your phone.

We managed to find a sit down cafe. It always helps. Another unsatisfying day, but a satisfying breakfast.

Forty odd minutes of idle thinking time on the train. The usual contemplation. Dreams of you, dreams for me. Hopes for the future, regrets of the past. I’ll never get over the the importance I put on myself.

Wednesday, 4th October, 2017.
Time: unknown(don’t care!).
( The following is a transcript from an audio recording made on a little camera I own. It was face down on the table next to me.)
I’ll be honest with you. Since getting home yesterday, I’ve been on a massive drug/alcohol bender. I’m sat the point where everything is slipping away. It’s light out. Everyone is still sleeping. I know this, because I went downstairs to make coffee. I returned with a hefty bloody mary. The Tabasco is burning my nose. There are 16 empty bottles of Corona on the floor and a fair amount of screwed up, square, sections of paper on the table. Some are pieces of magazines. Some are bits of lotto number choosers. My head is thumping but I just took 2 X 30mg Dihydrocodeine tablets so I expect it’ll stop soon.

I have no work until Saturday. That I do know.
I have a thousand boxes yet to tick but I can’t stop trying to break myself.
(end of audible transcript. Song added because I could hear it in the background.)

I can focus again. I found my watch in the garden. I don’t even remember going out there? It’s not over. I needed something to keep going. It’s been 32 hours since I last slept,…. I think. I feel OK. Upbeat. I tidied up a bit.

The chemical/alcohol sickness, that’s coarsing through my veins, is doing its job correctly for a change.


I feeling the cold. It feels like winter. Memories of being wrapped in my parka, quarter bottle of Gordon’s in one pocket, Embassy no.1 and pro-plus in the other.

Life was more simple then.

Or was it?

Less to fixate on I suppose.

Just girls and being cool.

I can’t remember the last time I ate something. It’s that unhinged feeling I love. You can walk down the street. People pass you, completely unaware that you might kiss them, or set fire to them.
I’ve got to get some solids in my body before I push on……………..
Oooo. Cheese balls!!

Thursday, 5th October, 2017.
“Dad! Can you print my geography work?”….
I must have slept then. I jumped up and printed the worksheets sent by the Spelthorne home education teacher. I still right up there. Mixed a quick “mary” and I’ve taken it back to bed.


I’ve almost emptied my stocks. I’ve done all my email. Opened all my letters. Basically, all the things a well rounded, socially functioning, responsible adult should do.

Another trip to, say we say, “THE SHOP”. it’s time to eat though. Nothing will stop me. My body has eaten all of its reserves. I feel like a skeleton.

I’ve decided to go to the pub, after a quick trip to the Co-Op.

The purchase made me feel like David Bowie. If only I’d bought red peppers as well. There is a classic video about David Bowie. He spent an amount of time travelling around America in a limo. All he consumed was milk, fried red peppers and cocaine.


Friday, 6th October, 2017.
Everything hurts. Everything. I feel sick and broken. My chest is killing me from so many cigarettes.

“you do it yourself, you do. That’s why it really hurts” – Radiohead.

I’ve secured a little job for tomorrow, so I need to get my shit together. I feel I’ve pushed it too far, too long. Gonna eat. Try and sleep again. Turn out the lights.

Saturday, 7th October, 2017.
On the slowest of trains. My organs are sloshing around inside. Dissolving and diseased. I could barely walk over the train bridge.
I gonna shut my eyes for a minute.

Now feeling a thousand times worse. I’m drinking a quad shot coffee and feeling like my end is near.

Now I’m walking back down the Gray’s Inn Road, having completed the job. It took about 10 minutes. This how I’m lucky sometimes. £195 including travel. What a bargain! I’m not feeling any better and my main concern is staying awake on the train. I could just imagine waking up in Reading.



The wash of nature and the feelings of possibility. 








I came home angry. Then, got angrier. Then, I raided my drawer. Anything left, I poured into my mouth. Then I had a bloody mary.

Two hours later, I felt better.

I’m going to watch IT! tonight. Let’s see how good it is.

Sunday, 8th October, 2017.


Just for the pure annoyance of a few people I know, I feel pretty chipper! That’s the way it works, for me, in the end. I’m actually feeling quite productive. I’m going to spend the afternoon messing around with video footage, annoying people on social media, etc. No work for tomorrow but I feel it looming. Anything to keep me out of trouble.


I’ve achieved. I’ve failed.

I’ve laughed and cried.

For what?

Another week, I lived.

The life I want? No.

but it’s getting there.

 Next: This Little Life Of Mine.

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