January 24

Positivity and proactivity are the words I am throwing into this month to make it a delicious peach with succulent juice dribbling through the days wet with sexuality and natural sweetness, for January is the month of stoicism and refined sugar, processed food are to be avoided.

As is traditional in all secret diaries published on the internet I shall begin this year with the resolutions. A daily thought and a daily sketch, simple enough as I have shown last year. I little more cuddling in the boudoir, as is often seen in resolutions. And to try to cut processed food out of the diet. Altogether.

A good start is to get things done, keep working at it and the things will get done, no faffing about, no fiddle-di-diddling, just good old working at things so they get done, but then sometimes even after a good day of it there is still stuff to be doing. Mess to clear tomorrow. Does tomorrow ever come?

The rain did not stop us, all twenty thousand of us gathered seated thighs pressed against thighs watching our boys play their boys. The sport was a damp squib, to be honest, but nonetheless it was fascinating to see the tactics play out, for that is the difference watching in a stadium: you see little of gtf detail television show, but you do see the bigger picture.

There is no point in trying to work out how much any of us involved were responsible, and with whom lies the greatest fault. We were all involved and through intention, or inconsideration, or misguided ideas we played a part even if the part was just not to foresee or stop the damage. And now all involved must live with the damage with patience and readiness to offer assistance when asked, ready to make right when right us demanded.

It was a story about a person who had spent their life, or at least the twenty years of their life the story covered, doing something good, something they believed in, played by an actor who has been working all his life doing worthy work, and the rest of those folk in the credits, all working to inform me of this thing that had happened, and their fight against it. Worthy. I wonder what it felt like being the nice guy before the worthiness took over.

Those big galleries with those fabulous artworks, well, the ones close to me I have been to quite often and am not as regularly surprised and inspired by the works as I have been in the past. But today I noticed a few things, the one I am putting in this note is about combinations. Putting together different images that form a story, perhaps cause and effect, perhaps before and after, perhaps aspiration and decline. Two images that form part of a narrative but may not relate to each other, except visually through the art techniques of colour and space and shape.

It made me smile, just a little bit of a smile but a smile it was, when the councillor talked to me like she knew who I was, I surreptitiously checked her name online and joined back in the conversation. The councillor didn't use my name, just spoke warmly like she knew my name. But I guess that is what councillors do: they make you feel you matter to them

The illusion of art comes in many forms, but one form I think deserves a little more investigation is concrete. Perhaps concrete was oh so nineties, perhaps it is still a good medium for a sculpture, but I tell you what, Sarah Lucas has done some wonderful things with concrete, the most delightful was the sofa chair with concrete cushions. Even better than the oversized vegetables.

So the story was told, a great budget was spent by numerous people on numerous people and other thing, and eventually after all that work it was broadcast on the finest of media and bang, it was in the culture, absorbed, consumed until it was the very lifeblood of us all, now we all feel the pain and the culprit must be found. And stoned. Yes.

I wasn't the best me today, not a bad me, not a disappointing me but a me that struggled to think the best of someone. A person who may have done something unkind, though it is possible there has been some mistaken identity. A person who may have had a reason to do the thing that I interpreted as unkind. But the point is I struggled to keep myself open to possibilities, I may have been a little closed.

Organisation. So far I seem to be doing quite well on the dietary resolutions but I am still a little all over the place in the organisational resolutions. I want to spend more time balancing out the three read, write and draw, and to do this I need a little less watch. That'll do quite nicely. Of course life must still be good with tasty meals and expensive (tasting) wines.

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Hidden beneath that suede jacket that flowed from the shoulder to the floor was a leather suit unlike one I had seen before. Perhaps it was a material I didn't know that looked like leather, or perhaps it was indeed leather, I was not brave enough to ask if I could thouch it. It requires a certain type of courage to seeks such brazen intimacy, courage I did not have the type of. So I shall never know how they made the leather look like, and behave like a standard woolen suit. But remember it, I shall.

The nicer coffee, perhaps 2 pounds more than the basic. A nice cheese every few weeks. A bottle of wine, not particularly good, less than a tenner a week. Some ink and some paper, but I sell enough art to cover the costs and a little more. And that is about where the list ends. I am generous when paying for dinner at the restaurant, or buying my round but I seldom go out. And I pay for my share of the badminton. Sometimes a book, but not often as I have so many on my reading pile. I wonder if this is a sad thing or a frugal utopia.

This time I have to be present and perform, this time, and then after I will think it was all on me, it was all my decision. Not a compromise, not something that flowed from a conversation we may have had about what might be best. I think it is best, and maybe you don't say anything because you are not sure you will be able to change things. And worried that trying to change things will make it worse. But I don't know. I don't know if this conversation is in my head or real.

As I get older I am more troubled by not getting the sleep I wanted, even though the sleep I want is less than the sleep I hope for when I was you and a little wild. And the most often cause of my not getting the sleep I want is that restlessness of things not going my way. The thought that it will be a struggle, followed by a struggle. Sometimes the struggle is as simple as forcing myself to say a nice word instead of a silence. Perhaps that is what I should do. More nice words.

What are our motivations, doing something together can be so enjoyable simply from the encouragement of having the person next to you doing the same thing. No chit chat needed. But how frustrating is it when the person next to you is not doing what was expected, dragging their misery into your day. Maybe making your day harder, certainly making it seem harder.

In this story we discover what the thing was that was to big for the protagonist to cope with. And it is a journey in which he comes to accept his erratic, destructive behaviour and seeks out ways in which he can limit the effect it has on others. Here the point is limit, there are no solutions for that thing that was too big for the protagonist to cope with.

She was telling me this story about the man who had kept her on the phone all day with promises of this and that, of new sky discounts and rewards and all the time asking her for more details and then a note from her bank pinged on her phone asking if she was trying to change her pin and she said she was tired and hungry and the man said he would call her back and when he did she didn't answer, but I was a bit tired and not concentrating so I missed much of a very interesting story.

I was thinking about B today. He was the kind of guy that crazy stuff happened about. If he was at a party there was bound to be naked folk dancing on the tables. That kind of crazy stuff. I tried many times to encourage that hedonism, nude, lustful, in the moment madness. But I always failed to inspire debauchery, I always imagined the lifestyle, never quite living it.

Starting a story with a character failing at one thing may establish the underdog empathy of the reader with the protagonist but oh, why expose a weakness with the very first cation. It would be ridiculous to expect a good outcome from a job interview which starts with a failure! Not impossible, just rediculous. There are other ways to establish an empathy with the reader, succeeding, for example, we all love success. Or a quirk, they're the best. Or team you, you are fabulous too.

So much of today I was on the edge of falling. On the edge of emotional collapse. An hour long walk in which much of my breathing was to keep my emotions stable. It is what it is. Nothing but what it is. I would like more. I get it seems to be that my asking for more means another gets less. But I don't think that is the case. I just want more understanding.

And so, there was a long conversation in which I learned one thing, I learned that the thing that will end this long and convoluted conversation is as much of a catch 22 as Yossarians troubles with flying. The end will only be able when I show I am not bothered, not annoyed. But I will remain annoyed while I am not allowed to say anything. At all.

I did it for enjoyment only. It was not quite true, mostly it was for enjoyment, but a little bit of it was for people to think I am clever. Thing is, with this one I am clever, the things I did were cleverer than anything the others did. Not that it makes mine notably clever, it was, on this occasion the opposite. Theirs were notably devoid of clever. So where do we go now.

The response to my complaint was an okay. It seemed the complaint was heard. It seems the complaint was understood. It seems the complaint was turned down. It seems the logic in the decision to turn it down was sound. And the demeanour in delivering the result was somber. There is no reason to complain about the result of the complaint but I had such hope that it would be upheld. Hope that was dismissed when the complaint was turned down. And now where will I find some hope.

Now the end of the month is here and I have, I think, mostly kept to the resolutions. Just another eleven months to go, if that is how I want to go. I wonder if there is a realistic expectation that other than myself things will change. I guess it is always realistic to expect nothing will change except what I can change about myself. So I have to think are these resolutions the solutions to a bearable life?

Resolve this
As is traditional in all secret diaries published on the internet I shall begin this year...

Tomorrow Again
A good start is to get things done, keep working at it and the things will get done, no...

The Bigger Picture
The rain did not stop us, all twenty thousand of us gathered seated thighs pressed...

Worst offence
There is no point in trying to work out how much any of us involved were responsible, and...

Worthiness
It was a story about a person who had spent their life, or at least the twenty years of...

Two separations
Those big galleries with those fabulous artworks, well, the ones close to me I have been...

Make me smile
It made me smile, just a little bit of a smile but a smile it was, when the councillor...

Concrete art
The illusion of art comes in many forms, but one form I think deserves a little more...

And stoned
So the story was told, a great budget was spent by numerous people on numerous people and...

A little closed
I wasn't the best me today, not a bad me, not a disappointing me but a me that...

More resolution
Organisation. So far I seem to be doing quite well on the dietary resolutions but I...

Leather suit
Hidden beneath that suede jacket that flowed from the shoulder to the floor was a leather...