This morning, slightly early in the day, I wrote my final entry of the year in my Moleskin diary. To slightly detour from the topic of this article, and also to split infinitives, I’d give myself a C+ for my diary writing this year.
- An entry (full page, fountain pen, A5) on 50% of the days
- I found I was more productive when writing halfway through each day, not just before bedtime
- So pleased that Starbucks Königsallee exists: €1.75 for a large coffee, €0.50 for a top-up
- Free wifi
- Big writing desks
- Ideal for discursive diary entries
- No “Today I had cornflakes for breakfast,” “Eva sagt, ich habe Mundgeruch,” etc
Enough about my diary. I’ll never be a 21st century Samuel Pepys, Anne Frank or Konrad Kujau.
Back to Sunray.
One diary entry from July recorded Sunray telling me somewhat tearfully of his diabetologist’s warning to stop (not just cut down) drinking alcohol “…if you want to see Christmas.” Rather than cut out or even down, since then Sunray had drunk large volumes per day: 75cl, sometimes 1l, per day of Famous Grouse or Asda’s own-brand whisky, drinking ever earlier each day: drunk by 15:00, 13:00, on one Sunday in November, drunk at 09:00. Taking out payday loans. Washing once every three months. A house that stinks (let’s not go into too much detail.) Passive aggression. Borderline personality disorder. Shunned by family members, tolerated and pitied by others. Quite a pitiable, risible image.
During my two weeks working in the UK, I texted and rang Sunray from my UK mobile. Within a couple of days I made sure my mobile was switched off on reaching my “transit accommodation” in the evening. Text messages at 0513, 0603, followed by voicemail:
R U UP YET?
(Maybe, maybe not, but at that time in the morning, I’ve usually more pressing tasks du jour, such as getting washed, dressed, having some “me” time, etc, and not listening to p155head ex-squaddie “when I…” “war stories.”
Not forgetting the text messages at 11:15, 13:12 and other mid-day timeslots:
HELLO R U AT WORK
Yes, that’s why
you are, correction, U R, getting radio silence off me.
Also, not forgetting the text messages from 21:00 onwards,
R U STILL UP
Guess what. Either, no, or I just want peace and quiet and not listen to some slurred monologue ending in the following punchlines:
I should have given him a good punch.
And I laughed.
So I bubbled the f*cker.
But I’ve done nothing wrong.
Two weeks of SMS bombardments on my UK mobile. Sunray’s tariff was obviously unlimited SMS’s to UK mobiles. All peace and quiet once I got back to Germany. Phew…
Fast forward to Christmas Day. Text to Sunray to wish him Merry Christmas. No reply. Probably no credit to text back to Germany. (Or was the diabetologist’s warning accurate?)
Fast forward to Boxing Day. A phone call to Sunray. Yes, he’d proved the diabetologist wrong. He’d had a nice Christmas Day with his girlfriend. No arguments. He must be calming down in his old age. He was even quite cheery. Oh, well, that must be the spirit of Christmas, I guess.
So, what’s the next timeline? Who can tell? One observation: when I was in the UK, he seemed to be drinking less? Perhaps our phone chats were breaking his circle of loneliness-drinking-loneliness? He even went one day to the sports centre to use the steam room, jacuzzi and sauna and mix with his gym buddies, his third trip that year to the sports centre. He’d actually had a wash there, probably the first time in months. Yes, eklig, readers, eklig.
So, he’s made it through Christmas. Will he make it to Easter? Who can tell?
Have a sober day, won’t you!