broke 17 August 2009
Am sitting in London’s Town thinking about the money I squandered over the weekend. I could, of course, blame the bookies and say they MADE ME DO IT but they did not. I walked cheerfully into one establishment in Dublin and put money on 2 golfers to whom I will BRING THE PAIN if I ever meet them and then pretty much scattered euros randomly around the dog track in Galway as if I had plenty more at home (I did/do not – I am the woman providing shelter to numerous builders practically out of the goodness of my heart now). Actually, as we were paying in to the dog meet (yes, more money) I did suggest to all involved that we cast our money to the wind and street outside the stadium that others, perhaps the actually needy, might grab it and therefore it could ‘do some good’ in the world. I was scoffed at, mocked, and my plan came to nothing. And as Saturday was also my one nominated day last week for a few jars I had a sore head all day yesterday as well = insult/injury, you know the routine. All of this has shored me up somewhat against feeling too much sorrow as I read of poverty in 19th century London (that was some of tonight’s research for novel 8). And there was some saucy stuff about prostitution in there too, including a man’s contemporary description of a lewd woman showing her wares, among them her ‘cunt-fringe’…nice…I may have to use that phrase in the buke…
