Worn leather, knicker elastic, chains and fake diamonds

Preparation for craft stall.

I have to sublimate my anguished desires and frustrations somewhere, dammit. And I hate knitting.

I am bending my sisterly ear to all relationship difficulties, but even I know that I am not much use. I am not exactly brilliantly placed to offer relationship advice, either, if you look at the situation I live in.

But I keep saying to Big Brother Ghoul, you have to look on the funny side, because there has to be a funny side. Right? Yes, the woman's stamped on your broken heart, kicked you humiliated, tortured, beaten and powerless, but there has to be a funny side. Quite frankly, if there isn't a funny side to any situation, in all the pain and misery we humans inflict on each other, I'd be dead.

But I don't help. I don't help by recalling the morning we cremated our mother and, sat in the hearse, were held up by the dustmen.

I don't help by telling the story of the day we went to the psychologist and on the way home, I smashed up the car, sat in the riot van, and was served with a notice of prosecution.

I don't help by speaking the unspeakable, shrieking in panic if I touch vinegar in case my own neck throttles me, and I don't help by finding the funny side about the Victorian family murderer, the prison sentence and the doubtful parentage. Nothing helps.

Well, crafting a saucy notebook with knicker elastic and fake diamond sometimes does.