Not a very good day

DISCLAIMER- I’ve had ‘a bit’ of wine. I’m quite good at thinking straight-ish when I’ve had ‘a bit’ of wine, but I don’t know if this is too soon in my blogging career to post a tipsy blog post? Is it taking advantage slightly? Anyway, I’m going to stop being over-apologetic, I’m not forcing you to read this... I’m not!
Today I woke up in a horrible mood... and I promise I’m not going to go all emo on you, I solemnly swear that will never occur here. The black background to this blog in no way reflects my mood, only my lack of skills in blog editing. Currently I’m listening to a song called ‘You Said Something’ by PJ Harvey, it always reminds me of my friend Rachel, for she said she would use it on a film when she’s a screenwriter/director. Anyway, back to the point, today has been a bad day. I decided that I would stop smoking today, after reading the INCREDIBLY ANNOYING Allen Carr’s Easyway book. And, as previously mentioned, I adore my family, but I’m too old to be living with them. So I got all tetchy. Like a gruesome teen. Not a proud achievement. Then resumed smoking this evening following the ‘bit’ of wine. I’m hopeless.
Also, and I’m not looking for pity here, I’m going to my first funeral tomorrow (this time in July I was at a wedding... there’s a film in that somewhere). My lovely auntie died on the 23rd of July, and she told us that we can’t wear black to her funeral. So, I’m sure, as funerals go, it’ll be more of a celebration of her colourful character rather than a day of mourning. However, I’m a little bit prone to crying like a prat rather easily, although I know that’s kind of what you do at funerals, I want to keep the mood relatively jolly... it’s just not going to happen. I think, despite everything, it’s just going to be bloody sad. Also my dad has to read a poem (Remember by Christina Rosetti) and he’ll probably cry and he never cries, so then I won’t be far behind him in blubbering. Argh. I’m a bit scared. Scared is a funny way to describe it, but I just am. I guess I’m from a family of relatively stoical working class men, seeing them all cry is going to be so much worse than seeing over-emotional people weep. Every tear will be genuine.
Moving very swiftly on, the strangest thing I heard today was ‘everyone remembers their first newt, just like the first time they have sex’. I also had a discussion about moths and how they would be less repellent if they weren’t creatures of the night and had colourful wings like butterflies. Also, Ingrid, who I am moving to London with soon, sent me a wonderful quote from a book called Sarajevo Blues;

"Efendi Spahic (the Imam of Bey's Mosque), had three children and a grandchild that were killed by the shells that fell on Dairam. Before that, his wife too; as if God had taken her to Him, to protect her. So she would not see. Here's what I think: there are neither minor nor major tragedies. Tragedies exist. Some can be described. There are others for which every heart is too small. Those kind cannot fit in the heart."

And that, I think is a good place to say, cheerio.