I've no idea what I look like. Sitting in a pub trying to type on my phone. Like some old bloke who can't use it right probably.
Haven't been to the pub in ages. And almost never on my own, but it's not the sort of night to go and sit by the river, which is my other default destination when I don't know what to do with myself.
Sorry, John. I'm not remotely angry with you, although I suppose it seems that way. Or maybe I am, a bit, and jealous. but I'm aware it's stupid and pointless. Which makes me far more angry at myself. I know you're completely capable of taking care of yourself. I am more than aware that right now I couldn't be any help even if you did want it. Which you won't. So that leaves me with a bad mood and the only person who deserves to deal with it is myself. Which I'm probably doing a monumentally bad job of.
I keep forgetting I have to put down my phone to pick up my drink though. In Sherlock's words, 'Stupid hand'. My bike's fixed though. So might have to persuade John into picking that up for me, if he's still talking to me once I roll home.
Just having one of those days where nothing specific goes wrong, but nothing goes remotely right either. My team are virtually mutinying. Them and the rest of the force. Service, I mean. Not a force anymore, and isn't that the truth. More of a whimper than a bang these days, even with some of the genuinely good ideas and ops we do.
So I've got a team of officers who are being asked too much and can't do enough. And now we've been told that all our plans for retirement, the one light at the end of the tunnel, is being switched off.
Overheard some of them today making wild assumptions about my life, my future. I am, apparently, minted. And this won't effect me. Well, maybe they're right. Obviously I'm much better off now than I ever have been. But if there's one thing life's taught me it's not to sit back and expect everything to work out how you think. I've got a plan B now. Hell, I've got plans for most of the alphabet these days.
And now I'm going to hit post and every single paragraph I've put in this sodding update will disappear like always. Sorry. I'll go and put them back in once I'm at home. And I had a drag on a cigarette earlier, before deciding the amount of self hate that would bring later wasn't worth the very temporary pleasure. Now feeling like I may as well have hung myself for a sheep as a lamb. Can hear my mum now 'I don't know why you do these things to yourself, Greg.' Neither do I, mum. Neither do I.
Edited to add paragrahs back again.
And to say I'm happy that although it's taken far too long, the families of the Hillsborough victims have finally been apologised to, and I hope they can take some comfort in the truth coming out, although obviously it will never be enough. What a shameful episode for the police.