Vicky Goes On (Again)

Tag: mental-health

  • Bank Holiday

    It’s the last bank holiday of the Summer and the weather is slowly turning autumnal. The leaves are falling off the trees and the air is getting a bit crispy and clear. Also, since it’s August, it means it’s the Notting Hill Carnival.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a curmudgeon about all sorts of things so don’t think that I’m singling Carnival out for any sort of ideological reasons. It’s just that I am from right near there and they always got in my fucking way. AND the shops locally try to rip off the locals thinking we’re carnival-goers. And the tube stations are exit only and the rubbish is strewn all over the bleedin’ shop.

    And another thing, some of us don’t want to stay awake listening to whistles, throbbing bass lines, and vuvuzelas (are they even still a thing actually?).

    I often wonder why I always feel so reluctant to get involved with bank holidays and summer fun. And I have realised that the reason I am reluctant is because everyone else is also there. I much rather have a random day off with a lot fewer people about. For someone born in London I sure don’t like crowds. Sidenote: I have just been having a conversation with the enigmatic flatmate where I just admitted that I find interacting with anyone at all a bit much. Sometimes. God, it’s hard being a human person.

    It’s not a bank holiday in Scotland or Ireland this week and that’s why i have always enjoyed visiting those countries during this weekend but in an effort to save some pennies I have not gone anywhere at all this year. And yet, I am still not a millionaire. I don’t even have Netflix.

    P.S. I want some barbecue chicken and I have been thinking about indoor, smokeless barbecue cookers. Who knew such things existed? What a world.

  • More DIY and a mild breakdown (Through the Keyhole)

    Through the escutcheon

    I was supposed to really sort my bedroom out this weekend.

    Reader, I did not.

    My flatmate sorted his out and bragged to me about it. My flatmate is a tosser.

    I did learn that the metal bit surrounding a keyhole is called an escutcheon so who’s the real winner here? That’s right, me. I also learned that whoever fitted the keyhole, lock, and escutcheon on my flat door was a lunatic since they made the hole far too big for the escutcheon to be screwed into the door. I have therefore spent far too long putting Polyfilla in the hole and using a chopstick to ensure that the key can still go into the keyhole and then doing all of that all over again because I hadn’t allowed the Polyfilla to completely dry.

    What I’m saying is is that although I did not “do my room” I did do things. Because I am a procrastinator. I know, we all are nowadays. With our ADHD and neurodivergence but sometimes this comes in handy. When else am I going to fix a keyhole **escutcheon**? And look at my skills with a chopstick and Polyfilla! Fall on your knees in praise at my resourcefulness. I’m a goddamn Renaissance man. Woman. PERSON.

    Anyway, the keyhole is still not actually fixed but that is by the by. The bedroom is still a right state, but I’ll get to it later. Later. I’m off to do the washing up.

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    P.S. When are the things actually done? Is it not true that there is always fucking something? Look, pardon my actual French but I am suddenly overwhelmed with anger about the fact that everything needs doing all of the time. When can we just be done!? OK, when we’re dead but then other people need to do an awful lot of things then too. I need a lie down.