Misery Loves Company.




I haven’t written in a while; it hasn’t gone unnoticed. I knew I’d taken too much of a break when I started getting emails from randoms to the tune of- Dude… the blog… what gives?

There were two reasons for this break. The first was that as I thrawlled through my cellar of unpublished posts, vintage titles such as –Is it just me or is everything just shit? And Misery Loves company and The Thrill is Gone did’t seem the best material to be offering in ’tis the season to be jolly’. I tasted, sipped and swished through these vintage posts and got aromas of woe with just a hint of sorrow berry and rich tannins of despair, full bodied. No this simply will not do, thought I. They all seem a bit corked.

The second reason was that I had lost my words. I felt like there was an invisible school teacher hitting me round the back of my head telling me to “use your words”. But they’d gone, they all left me like a squadron of deserters. Well, not all of them,  weirdly ‘c@nting fuckers’ was never far from my lips and readily at hand during this drought, ready to grab at when I drove around Pleasantville. But most words vanished and were replace by an untangable misty repertoire.

Misery really does love company, but this company is elusive and hard to come by but I’m not disheartened, I do love a challenge and I’m always on the look-out. I regularly drive around Pleasantville looking for others to join me. I wave hello to Mr –started my Hedge fund in the City and have made so much money I just pop into the office one day a week to make an appearance. He’s often having coffee with – gave up a modelling career to run my own business cutting cat claws, and of course she’s best mates with- runs 5k before breakfast while simultaneously juicing kale and spinach and pushing her triplets in a buggy while on a conference call to Japan on blue tooth. I regularly wave to her but she has no free hands to wave back, which makes me sad.

I once was having our house valued by some estate agents in Chiswick. As I showed them into the main bathroom I was asked- “Does it have underfloor heating?” To which I proudly replied “No”. This was not what they wanted to hear so I said -“what’s wrong with having cold feet?” To which he replied, with no irony – “People in Chiswick really don’t like to have cold feet.” Well, I thought, if they’re uncomfortable with cold feet, they’re really not going to be up for dead husbands. And so you see, with all the warm feet and high levels of happiness around me, where everything is just “swell” , it’s difficult to find a friend.

One sunny afternoon, a few days after James died, I was sitting in my living room watching Ross Kemp’s Extreme World. I was about half way in when my friend Mungo came round and when he found me on the sofa he said – “What the fuck are you watching?” I said ” I’m watching Ross Kemp’s extreme world because it’s the only thing I can find where people are in a much worse situation than me and it’s making me feel so much better.” “Well you should have said, just switch over to BBC news, there’s been a mild disaster and the death toll is only at 3, but I’m sure if you give it time, it’s surely going to rise?”


I don’t need any more natural disasters, nor do I drop my cold, heavy foot on the accelerator when I see happy couples walking through the park, in an effort to mow them down, because, well because, my favourite line from Pleasantville is; There are some places where the road just keeps on going.

For Mungo.

8 thoughts on “Misery Loves Company.

  1. I love this post. Sums up how I feel often as the mother to a little boy with autism. Run them ‘smug not a care in the world fuckers’ down I say!!
    Great to have your posts back!
    Emily x

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have missed your posts. I have no real reason to be a grumpy motherf***er most of the time, yet I still am. Think about the bullsh*t saying from times past: “Cold hands mean a warm heart.” With all those artificially warm, toasty toes in your neck of the woods, there must be some seriously dark stuff going on behind closed doors. From how it sounds to me, you and James and the whole pod were so cocooned in warmth and love that you didn’t need anything else. Underfloor heating? Pah! You radiated enough love and warmth to keep all of you going. No wonder the concept of externally enforced warmth is now baffling to you.

    Your experience is yours, and yours alone. But you are definitely not alone. I am a fellow misery, and I love nothing more than a big old sweary rant to keep me company. In fact, the only people I like are ones that have a serious edge. A reassuring dark side. So feel free to be a bummer any old time. I love it.

    Liked by 1 person

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