Ghost

Yesterday did not go to plan.

Let me qualify that: it did not go to My Plan.

The ceiling is still not dry, so can't be painted.

This is a real pain because I have three coats and all the walls to do before the carpet cleaner comes on Thursday; and I can move things back into the room.

My house is in chaos.

While twiddling my thumbs, I looked in the diary and realised that I was double booked for lunch- The Priory and an ex-girlfriend.

Not just any-old ex: Alison and I were together fot seven years and she stood by me through a lot of..thick-and-thin.

I stood by her through some stuff too, of course. Supporting her through the painful birthing process of writing the Lesbian Film Guide- for which we both deserve medals for watching 100s of dodgy, boring and annoying films with "lesbian" characters- comes to mind.

But she was there as my illness progressed from the odd glass of wine-> full-on party monster.

Given that I have let her down enough times for one lifetime, I chose to head to North East London to see her; I can always go to The Priory Roehampton's lunch next year.

I've made my amends to her (Step 9) and her girlfriend; some time ago.

So, on the face of it things are OK between us.

But I still find seeing her a bit unsettling.

So much of my past floats to the surface.

Today this process was multiplied times 1000.

Her girlfriend Lorraine works with my ex-Allegra, the woman I was with when I went into rehab in 2001. (the London Lesbian scene is quite cosy like that) and she had found some property of mine; in what was Allegra and my house.

Files and boring things and 100s of photos.

I haven't been able to bring myself to look through them all but the ones that I flicked through contained some really funny and sad pictures.

Funny? Me in 1994 meeting Hugh Grant for the first time. We are shaking hands and he is grinning like mad. Probably because he is thinking, "What on earth is this woman wearing?" I was dressed like a really butch, baby-dyke, lesbian. He is in football gear (very nobbly knees).

The last time I saw Hugh- at the About A Boy wrap party, was even more entertaining. But I shall save that story for my autobiography.

Sad? Pictures of me having a "good time". My eyes look so sad and lost.

It's so weird seeing myself with a glass of booze in my hand..and smoking cigarettes. It's almost like another person- an alter-ego or twin (separated at birth).

It was quite a relief to stop looking, shut the box and bring them all home.

The ceiling still isn't dry.

So Robin and I went over the road to the pub- he's got his eye on the new young, gay, bar manager.

Usually I am fine in this pub- because I'm with H, playing a few games of pool.

But tonight, sat there with lots of ghosts from the past, assualted by the karaoke, fending off being chatted up by a girl with a mohican, and missing H it was all a bit much.

I was drinking my soft sugary drink too quickly and could feel my eyes starting to be drawn towards the optics.

Recovery is One Day At A Time.

It would be arrogant to not heed the warning signs.

So, I made my excuses and went home- to put masking tape on the skirting boards.

Decorating is very therapeutic.

I really hope that the plaster is dry in the morning.