The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

It's new years eve two thousand and seventeen as I begin to write, finally. I've wanted to write for awhile and, even my new story has languished, whilst lassitude has taken over and I've lacked the necessary motivation, to do as I generally find so cathartic.

Yet, New Years Eve has always been a time of reflection and remembering, those important to us. This year is no different. And, come twelve I'll still look for Mum, behind the curtains in the living-room, watching the fireworks being shot off, just after twelve.

Dad went to bed at 9.00, as he did while Mum was alive. The rain ceased awhile back and it's quiet, 'cept for the occasional car speeding down Brookurst Road...

As he had gone to bed he had poked his head round the door, “Goodnight.”

“'nite,” I'd replied a little tersely.

“You sound sad,” he'd observed.

“Just go to bed, alright?” I'd responded.

All I've wanted after all I've known, for the few years, was a safe place to die. And, since he showed me his new will, with the announcement, “Look what I found”, everything has changed, for me.

I had thought the house was to be left to me and Ian got the money, which was fine by me. Then I'd seen that will, that does not say 'House', but does say 'Household contents' and my heart had run cold, as I'd realised the import of what I'd read.

Now I have asked Dad plainly, “Will you write out a new will?”
He had replied simply, “No.”

And, that remark and it's implications has left me inna quandary. I don't want to argue with Dad, but I'm damn annoyed at what's in that will and his refusal to do anything about it.

There was that incident just before Christmas and, the loss of my favourite hat, the black leather flat cap, somewhere in the house. And, it's the 'somewhere in the house' bit that is most annoying, on that one...

And, as it approached twelve I'd made my way through to the kitchen, still in awe of the fact that I can walk through to the lounge to the kitchen better wearing my reading glasses, than without them.

I'd poured myself a glass of Jura, a fine malt whiskey, then stood where little Mum used to, having my drink as twelve passed, we entered another New Year and, the fireworks began, while my mackeral, peppers and barley soup continued to cook.

I'd opened the back door, taking refuse to the recycling bin. In the back I'd looked up, as a bright Full Moon sat midst a clear star-filled sky and I'd stood there awhile as the bangs and explosions of the fireworks went off all around me. Finally I'd re-entered the house and made my through to my room, wearing my gigs, of course.

Then as I'd continued to write, my Father had appeared at the door at 1:45, “Arn't you in bed?”
“Erm, the whole countries still up and you're goin on at me now...” And, so it had continued.

Finally I said, “'ll turn it off [the internet], in about ten minutes.” Then I'd sought my soup, saying fairly loudly, “A New Year begins and, it's still the same.”

In the kitchen I'd added some more garlic and curry, then sat down to eat... Returning to my room I'd found that I'd just acquired another copy of 'Jumanji.Welcome To The Jungle' and still continue to write, pleased that this copy is brighter than the previous two versions I'd got hold of, with much better sound.

Talking of the kitchen – when I make my through to the kitchen from my room, I make my way there better with my reading glasses on, even closing my eyes part of the way through on occasion. But, if I make the same journey with my outdoors glasses on, the one's for normal seeing, I walk into the armchair after the door, then the table to the left and next, my Dad's armchair before the television. Strangely, it doesn't seem to help if I close my eyes, I'm still a tad disorientated.
Yet, if I walk through the living-room without glasses on and, my eyes closed I can get to the kitchen without banging into something, quite as many times.

And, that brings me to the middle of the week, wet pavements, old age, screwed knees and a very, very bad fall. And, although there's about an hour missing, I had made it to an old base for the taxi firm I used to work for, with a button you can still press on the outside of the building.
“Six minutes or so,” the fellow had told me at the other end of the line.

Considering how long and probably dangerous the journey from Wallasey to Birkenhead might have been, particularly over the Dock Bridges, the idea of waiting 'about six minutes' seemed like absolutely nothing to me, at that moment.

As I had opened the door to the taxi and made to sit down the driver had looked to my face and asked, “Hospital?”

Instead I'd said, “Home, please...” And, it was at home as I'd looked in the hall mirror I saw what I'd looked like and why the driver had said as he had – I'd looked a truly bloody mess. The next day the right knee would hardly work, at all. I had also discovered then that my front tooth was missing, the one to the left and one of my two favourites. Well, sitting on the sit-upon had been... fun.

I had been surprised to learn that my trouser knees had survived, considering the state of my grazed and swollen knees, with the

As I write about it now, it's the weekend and I can now walk pretty well and sit-cross legged on my bed, which actually kinda pleases me. But, there's still the dentist to 'face', when my own has finally stopped looking quite so swollen [and generally damaged] so, he can examine my mouth.

Funnily enough, my chest seems to be recovering from a major chest infection, albeit slowly. The best bit is that I'm getting better without an overuse of antibiotics, which is what I generally need, for my emphysema dash copd.

So, excluding the rain and the cold and, the occasional snow, all is good.