42 years and counting

It is a wet day and after completing everything that I wanted to do I indulged myself in a couple of hours of dipping into my diaries. For the first time in years.

I started writing a diary in 1983 after a painful breakup. Somehow I have never stopped. And the result (so far) is three large book boxes stuffed full with my life.

Physically there is quite a variety of A5 loose leaf files, A4 and A5 notebooks; some hardback, some soft; some hanging together, some falling apart; lined and unlined; all blank but for my writing.

I delved into just one box, and only got as far as a random selection from the upper strata. 

I became absorbed for hours in my journals from March to July 1996 when I was living near Dunblane in Scotland. 

During this period my professional life changed dramatically thanks to Local Government Reorganisation. The Council for which I worked was abolished and I was reallocated to a dreadful 'new' Council. My determination to make the best of it was admirable - but a waste of time as it turned out. Still, I seem to have done my best.

While that was going on in the background, the main event in these diaries was the Dunblane Massacre of 13th March, which occurred when I was on a solo retreat-like holiday in Morvern. 

I was fascinated to read what I had entirely forgotten: the massacre affected me deeply, and featured in my daily writing for months after the event. 

With the benefit of hindsight I can see that the tragedy added to my impatience and disgust with the petty and corrupt behaviour of staff at the 'new' Council within which I found myself. 

No surprise then that I lost patience and was granted voluntary redundancy within 12 months. That led to a round the world trip funded by my redundancy payout, which in turn led to meeting my Pirate in Australia in August 1997.

Life's a funny old thing. 
Pretty bloody at times, 
fantastic at other times. 
Glad I'm here.