The unpacking doesn't seem to end. The new cleaner is coming tomorrow and I am terrified that she will resign on sight if I don't give everything a one over today. I opened a note book which I have obviously been taking with me everywhere since I left London as two cards fell out which were addressed to me at the apartment my sister and I sold nearly ten years ago. Seems my life doesn't change much. A lot of melodama. A lot of promises I believed which hindsight proves to have been empty. In one of them, its author had called me pulchritudinous. Hand on cock when that was penned, no doubt.

And then there's a letter from me, not posted, dated 1999.

"A

Today, three days after you left, I realized I was bored with crying about you and fixed the video which had remained a mystery to you during the entire three months that you were living here. It was really easy. Are you a cretin?

You don't need to answer that.

No regards

Maccers"

Bitter, but proud. Always.