Substack diary. The Alarm. Dementia. Skipping dialogue. Two affogatos.

As I said in a recent note, I’ve decided to change my Substack style to be more like a diary. An old fashioned diary. As in “Today I did this, then I went here, before going there, and I thought about x, y and z”.

My previous posts have been more about one specific thing, e.g. I bought a telly, I watched a telly series, I had a thought about something. And that’s alright and everything, but it puts me under this pressure to be interesting. Like, why do I think this one thing is worth typing? And how do I end it, what’s the last sentence to draw a line under it?

So I’m going to just catalogue my daily thoughts and events, and not worry too much about being interesting, funny or entertaining. And hopefully that makes it more interesting, funny and entertaining. For me and for you.

I woke up and had the idea to watch The Alarm perform Sixty Eight Guns on Top of the Pops, on YouTube. I don’t know if it’s cos I woke up to an alarm.

I saw in the comments that the lead singer (the blonde one there) had died fairly recently, in his 60s, of cancer. And the first thought I had was that I hoped something that like that would kill me before I get dementia.

My dad died a few years ago of dementia, aged 80, and the last few years of his life made me not give a fuck about living to a ripe old age. I don’t mean I want to die tomorrow, but anything before 75 would be nice. That’s when he started showing signs, and there is no fucking way I want to live beyond that. When I hit 75, I’ll be straight off a cliff or putting a rope around my neck, before I lose the ability to care. Do not try and stop me or you’re coming with me.

Anyway, that’s the first thought I had when I read about the singer. I also read that he set up a cancer charity and did all this good stuff to help people. And I thought about how I wouldn’t do that cos I’m a selfish cunt.

Death and dementia is just something I think about pretty often these days. I’m 51, and I half kind of shite myself when I forget something or get mixed up. Dementia terrifies me. It’s like getting a zombie bite, and waiting to turn.

I got up and had porridge, as usual (oats, boiled in water, with salt, then scoop into a bowl and cover with water - a great start to the day), and watched BBC Breakfast or whatever it’s called, in the kitchen.

I watched a bit about some astronaut having to come back to earth cos they weren’t well. The capsule was in the sea at this point, but they hadn’t come out yet.

Then there was a thing about some new comedy starring Dawn French and Mark Heap. He’s another person who died fairly recently, in his 60s. Mark Heap. So I wondered if it was maybe filmed before his death, and this was a kind of Tupac posthumous release. But didn’t he die about five years ago? Would they really keep the series on ice that long? Then I realised I was thinking about the dad from Friday Night Dinner. It was him that died, not Mark Heap. I got confused cos Mark Heap was in Friday Night Dinner as well. I think.

(There’s that dementia thing)

I was watching the writer talk to the presenters about his programme, and I thought about how I’m just not into comedies anymore. I like making comedy things, but I don’t like watching them that much. I’m really sensitive about it. Sensitive like the princess in the Princess and the Pea, her that didn’t get a good night’s sleep after a single pea was placed under her bed of 20 mattresses. The pea in my case being something very minor I don’t like about the comedy I’m watching, and the mattresses being… I don’t know.

It made me think about how many things I’m not into these days, compared to my teens or 20s. I feel like I’ve run out of telly things I like, films, music, all that stuff. When you’re that age, you’ve yet to make your way through all the stuff that was made before you were born. Then once you’ve done that, and there’s not much else left, you have to wait fucking ages for the next decent thing to appear. It’s like the difference between getting to binge on a box set, and having to wait a year for the next series to come out.

Something I did like recently, though, was We’re All Going To The World’s Fair.

I did my stream, which was day 10 of me playing Kingdom Come Deliverance II, which I’m fucking hooked on. It isn’t the story so much, but just exploring, trading, burgling houses, upping my stats, wee things like that. And side missions.

Today was the first day I decided to skip through some dialogue in the main quest, cos I’m not really following who’s who and what’s what anymore. But it doesn’t ruin it for me. The skipping got a few moans from the viewers, like I’m about to bin this game they’ve been enjoying watching, but it’s skipping stuff that keeps me interested in it. As I said on my stream, I just want the game to tell me who to kill and where to find them. Other than that, I’m all about the trading. Fucking love a good haggle.

When I finished the stream, I had scrambled eggs and toast, and a few tangerines. I watched about half of the film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, which is alright so far.

I thought about how John Wayne was a racist. He said in an interview that he’s a white supremacist, and black people shouldn’t really be involved in running things until they’ve proven themselves responsible. I wonder what he’d be like on Twitter.

I was watching him play this tough guy cowboy character, and I had this funny realisation that he’s an actor. This tough guy here is actually an actor. A thespian. I wondered how he got into it. I wondered how all these tough guys get into acting. I can’t picture them doing Shakespeare, and rehearsing, and being vulnerable and insecure.

I got told that a table at a restaurant was booked and we’ll be going out for a dinner, which was a nice wee surprise. When the taxi arrived, I sat in the back and waiting for my family to leave the house. When they did, they wanted me out the back and into the front, cos there wasn’t room. I don’t like going in the front. I can read the mind of the driver thinking “fuck off”.

At the restaurant, I got spaghetti and meatballs, which I don’t normally get. And I treated myself to an affogato. I’ve been off the chocolate and sugary stuff since the new year, but fuck it. When my son didn’t finish his affogato, I had his as well. It didn’t feel like it counted, calorie wise.

I never used to like affogatos, I thought they were stupid. Now I love them.

Somebody came up to me and asked if I was Limmy, and asked for a photie, which was nice. I always like that. So if you see me out and about and you think I look serious and unapproachable and in a mood, that’s just my face.

My family got a taxi, and I decided to walk, for a bit of exercise. A brisk walk. I did a post the other day where I talked about how I walk too slow or not walk properly, and somebody suggested pushing myself forward with my toes rather than with my heel or the ball of my foot. I’ve been trying that, but I think they just said it to make me look daft, cos that’s how I look, bobbing up and down. Thank fuck it was dark, at least.

I got back, and we watched most of the first episode of series 3 of Breaking Bad. I’ve watched it before, twice. But it’s always good to be reminded of how much I like it.

And now here I am typing this.

I don’t think I’ll type quite so much next time. Or maybe I will. I’ll see how it goes. I’ve enjoyed it anyway.