|Da-Vid-Cam-Er-On, Fuck Off Back To Eton!|
Spent Sunday shouting at wrongness and mean and despicable tory cunts in Manchester - in travelling companionship and solidarity with the very welcoming Doncaster People's Assembly. I proudly waved a red flag the whole afternoon and even more proudly and passionately chanted my most favourite and succinct political slogan: Da-Vid-Cam-Er-On, Fuck Off Back To Eton!
I enjoyed all the obvious and not so obvious placards and pig references, although I often feel that some of them are pig-ist. I like pigs.
Overall, though, it's been a rather tough week - tougher for dad than for me, but tough enough for me, too! Dementia is a cunt of a thing, it's so awful but then it's life, too, somehow. Live. Die. Suffer. Die. Live. Cum. Existenz. Poor old thing that he is, night terrors visiting, Black Shades of Horror and Hopelessness and me just helpless in the face of it. And he remembers nothing next day and just naps to catch up, which I don't. So, it's fucking tiring, like really really tiring. Anyway, sufficent of a moan for the now - and we ended up somewhere positive by week's end with a new drug to try, which allows us at least hope once more!
In the middle of all of this, what felt like a strange trip to Brum, where I felt like doing nothing very much - although the supervision was invigorating and enjoyable. I most enjoyed the train journey back, where I felt more like myself again, probably after a night's sleep, I guess. So, I had a mildly drunk afternoon's travelling and also met Song from China on the train, coming to Grimsby to work in a takeaway.
And we signed up for our 'incorporation', which means that our social enterprise moves a step closer to a living, breathing thing...