Ok Cathy, I did have an inkling
that this could have been the case,
hence, why I pursued those questions.
Having been in that predicament I
fully understand what the foetal
position and dark room means.
Once, it was Christmas week, I was
in a semi squat at 16 Britannia Rd
in Fulham.
Not far from Chelsea stadium it
links Kings Rd to Fulham Rd
near the Broadway.
I was minding ****, a cross between
an Irish terrier and a Kerry Blue, a dog
familiar with Marijuana.
It was many the time he got high on
it while we, Christopher Beresford and
I were marinating in alcohol.
Chris was the director of projects for
Debrett’s Peerage in Mossop St, I did
a bit of work there myself.
Chris went up to Bury St Edmunds
for Christmas, while I minded ****,
it was the first time I ate dog food.
The house had no heating and outside
toilet, gas and electricity had been cut off
due to non paid bills.
What money I had at the beginning of
that week, I spent it on drink and never
bought one morsel of food.
I drank water and spooned sugar until
it was all gone, I slept and woke and slept
all day, **** toiletted in the house.
No phone, nobody called and even if they did
I would’t answer the door, I had grown a stubble
I was ***** and unkempt.
The curtains were drawn, there was a low gutter
by the bedroom window which is what I used as
a urinel.
I was out of cigarettes, even all the butts had been
used up, it was cold and I got the poor mees,
I was ashamed of myself.
There was an old lady next door, she was well
aware the Chris was an extreme eccentric and
I was some sort of an odd Irishman.
In better times, I cleaned snow away from her
door and once I looked through the window and
discovered her on the floor.
She liked us, and no doubt felt as though we were
two lost cats unable to manage our lives because
of alcohol.
On the 25th, Christmas Day, towards evening, she
brought out a turkey carcass for ****, I knew her
voice, so I opened the door (plate width)
No sooner was she gone, and ****, who I had
given it to in her presence, was immediately
forced to surrender the Turkey.
Covered in his saliva, I was not in any state to
be pulling rank on ****’s social standing, we
were all of a sudden, equals.
**** did eventually get to participate in a
communal meal, as he got the gleaners share
of the boney discards being relayed to him.
There was a second knock, it was the lady again,
I apologised for not doing a better job at washing the
plate, ****’s tongue had no detergent.
She handed me a large bottle of Guinness, a
a packet of rolling tobacco, papers and matches,
I was in recovery, somebody cared about me.
Ryan.