I got up this morning. I went for a wee, had a wash, got dressed, went downstairs for a fag and a cup of coffee which tasted very nice indeed, thank you for asking. I’m telling you what I did this morning because since JUDAS left I haven’t done it, not all of it, only the wee, the fag and the cup of coffee that I took back upstairs to bed with me.
My bedroom is a shithole. It’s a mess. I don’t know why because all I usually do is sleep there but it’s become something of a dumping ground for collections I’ve grown bored with, for books I haven’t read yet, for books I have read but haven’t found a place for yet, for clothes I haven’t put away yet (CLEAN CLOTHES – I’M NOT A DIRTY MINGER, I KNOW WHAT A LAUNDRY BASKET IS FOR – see Losing My Biscuit) and for bits and bobs and things I keep but don’t know why I’ve kept them. But like I said, all I usually do is sleep there so I didn’t notice how bad it had got because I never LOOKED at it until I started to spend my days in bed. Well to be honest with you it was little Emily who MADE me start noticing it, she wouldn’t shut up about it until I brought my head up from under the covers and listened to her- “Dotty, my dearest friend, you must LOOK. This room resembles Branwell’s room when he’s had a little too much laudanum and thinks his enemies from Glass Town have come to disembowel him. SEE IT, my friend. KNOW IT. And decide WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT.” We had a little argument and I shouted at her from under the covers IF IT BOTHERS YOU THAT MUCH GO AND TELL QUEEN VICTORIA AND GET ME BEHEADED, YOU MOANING BITCH but she said she couldn’t hear me properly and I didn’t have the energy to repeat myself or to listen to her yakking on and on and on so I looked and I saw and as the days passed I looked and saw more and more of the mess, and I DO know what I have to do about it but I’m not doing it today, I’m waiting for Granny Euphemia to come again and she’ll help me to clean it.
Little Emily is getting on my nerves lately, sweet as she is. She’d look pretty enough with a bit of eyeliner and mascara to bring out her eyes but I don’t think make-up would stop her looking so fucking DEPRESSED all the time, like someone stole her pens or maimed her bible. I think it’s those sisters of hers, they keep telling her Heathcliff will never be famous if she doesn’t give him a flowery cravat and a blue velvet jacket but she doesn’t want to give him those things and I told her bollocks to Charlotte, bollocks to Anne, tell them to go and fuck themselves, Heathcliff is YOUR character, you can dress him how you want. During my days in bed she’d come and sit on the long bookcase and talk to me while I was writing my new book and film review pages for my little blog and you should have HEARD the things she told me about what one of the sisters got up to with the – no, I can’t tell you, juicy gossip isn’t part of this blog. But even when she was gossiping and slagging off her sisters she still looked as miserable as fuck – I put up with it for days until yesterday morning when I (politely) asked if she could go somewhere else because her face was upsetting me. She went and she hasn’t been back since. I hope she wasn’t offended, but I’d had enough of looking at all that GLOOM.
So back to this morning. After I’d had my fifth cup of coffee I made a batch of Cumberland sausages and they tasted like HEAVEN, thank you for asking, and I don’t ever want to go so long without eating them again. They perked me up so much I thought I should open the curtains to let a bit of sunlight in so I went into the living room and opened the living room curtains, I ran upstairs and opened my bedroom curtains, I went into the spare room that JUDAS slept in and opened the spare room that JUDAS slept in curtains, but I didn’t open the little spare room curtains because it’s not a spare room any more it’s an airing cupboard (see Adventures In The Airing Cupboard). I opened the blind in the bathroom and then I went back downstairs into the kitchen and opened the blind in the kitchen — AND THE OUTSIDE HAD DISAPPEARED. Gone. Vanished. No garden, no catshit, no sky, no clouds, no nothing of the outside at all. I screamed and jumped back and banged my arse on the washing mangle (it fucking well hurt, I bet the bruise is going to be the size of a GOLFBALL) and I thought that’s it, Dotty, you’ve lost it completely, no road back from INSANITYLAND now and I had a SUPER–MEGA PANIC ATTACK and all sorts of things were going through my head about COLLIDING UNIVERSES and BIG BLACK HOLES SWALLOWING UP OUR PLANET and KEANU REEVES HAD CHANGED HIS MIND ABOUT DESTROYING US and GODDYJESUS HAD SMITED US BEFORE KEANU REEVES COULD DO IT and then I noticed the writing on the black blackness where the outside had been, four underlined words – dotty open the door – and I knew then that the outside HADN’T disappeared, it was behind the BIG BLACK PAPER THAT MY FUCKING KNOB-ROT OF AN EX-BROTHER JUDAS HAD STUCK ON MY WINDOW.
And I surprised myself then. I laughed. I kept laughing. I laughed and I laughed so much I had to sit down but I sat on my banged arse and it HURT so much it stopped me laughing. I waited for a few seconds but I didn’t feel any tears coming like they always do after laughter, and I realised a weird thing, that the laugh had lifted my spirits (fuck, I’m talking like little Emily, she’s becoming a bad influence) and given me a feeling I thought I remembered but not a whole feeling, it was more the memory of a long-forgotten feeling, something I knew once upon a time, and all of a sudden it struck me that I was remembering HAPPINESS, pure happiness, pure glee-inspired, carefree, impish CHILDHOOD HAPPINESS and that brought back a whole stream of memories of the summer I was 13 going on 14 when Scotty found a hidden stash of PORNOGRAPHY MAGAZINES in the field next to the woods and every night for weeks afterwards we’d sneak out of the house when it got dark and we’d sellotape a pornographic picture of a lady with HUGE KNOCKERS and LEGS AKIMBO to a neighbour’s window so that when they opened the curtains the next morning they’d get a good eyeful. We did the whole village including our own house so we wouldn’t stand out as the culprits but meine Mami suspected us because she never saw the pornographic picture we stuck on our window, she didn’t even know it had been there. And it turned out she didn’t see it because dear dead Daddy had opened the curtains that morning and KEPT THE PICTURE and we know this because after dear dead Daddy died and we were going through his things we found the now tatty pornographic picture folded up in one of his scientific journals and we realised he must have KNOWN IT WAS US doing the pornographic pictures on windows and HIDDEN the pornographic picture we stuck on our window in case our fingerprints were on it.
Bless my dear dead Daddy for loving us so much but we got caught anyway. Meine Mami sussed it when she needed to use the sellotape and there was only a little bit left on the roll. But get this – I didn’t get in trouble. Scotty took all the blame, he said I had nothing to do with it. He got battered round the house and was sent to bed every night for a week without any supper (the soft punishment of being grounded wasn’t invented in Britain in those days – we only had a few American programmes on telly, I loved Champion the Wonder Horse – so our punishments were the tried and tested good old violence and starvation which they should BRING BACK to stop the brats of today from being such brats. A swift belt round the head never did me any harm).
But Scotty – he took all the blame. He always stuck up for me at school – he threw one bully-boy in the school dinner slop bin when he called me names. And even though I knew full well that this morning he was trying to manipulate me with the black paper on my kitchen window, I also knew that his trick had worked, I didn’t want to continue with this bad feeling between us, I wanted to sort it all out and have my brother back.
So I rang him. He’s coming round soon.
I’ll let you know what happens.