About patrickbatemanblog

My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 30 yrs old. I work in the public sector in Greater Manchester. Not American. Not a psycho. Just need to vent.

Minor improvements to shituation

 

Last week I was burgled as mentioned. Since then I’ve made shit-tons of phone calls and have been assigned a hire car. The police have for some reason closed the case, which is bullshit. I don’t think they realise I’m making a direct allegation about a scumbag neighbour who has since avoided me. I’ve given his car reg to the police, and I’ve taken a few pictures of him from my window.

The police were supposed to drop off some window sensors that give off a loud beep if someone bangs them. No show.

I’m having nightmares about people breaking in, and that’s when I can sleep at all. Work has been shit.

Sorting out insurance for the house, trying to figure out what has been taken and how much everything was. Very difficult considering a few mental issues. Having to look through bank statements, pictures, notes. What is also depressing is seeing how much my bank account has taken a hammering since DLA was cut, and a small PIP amount was allocated… and WTC was stopped. And they tried to fine me.

Women: A few messages to MMM but not much. Nothing else.

Shite state of affairs

 

Friday night- went out with a support group in Manchester. Met a stunner called MMM. Blonde, gorgeous, glamorous. Just what I like. I was brave and pushed the boat out. She was seeing someone though, so it wasn’t going anywhere. Doesn’t sound like it’s too serious with her guy, so I pushed on. Unfortunately I was getting hammered, so I wasn’t on top form, so things didn’t go to plan.

We walked into a bar in town, where the doormen searched me. I had a little pen knife on my keyring which I use for trimming my nails- security wanted it, so I drunkenly handed them my whole set of house keys.

This was my downfall.

We left the bar soon after, and I got a taxi home. I had to stop half way to throw up, something I’d never done mid journey before. The taxi driver was considerate and gave me some water while I churned it all out in the street.

I paid him and staggered to my door. I then couldn’t get in. No keys. Fuck.

Meanwhile this couple approached me- neighbours from down the street- who offered me a bottle of water. I got bad vibes. They were standing too close, and there was something that was sending my instincts signals. They asked me if this flat was mine, and what I was going to do. I told him I was walking to my mums.

I woke my mum up, slept at hers, and the next day she went to the bar and got my keys. I got a lift back. The car was gone from my drive.

I buzzed in and my flat door was unlocked. Clothes strewn all over my bedroom, and no wash basket. They wanted it for something. I walked into the kitchen: shitloads of alcohol gone. 2 watches gone from the bedroom. Keys gone from my computer trolley, along with a pot of coins. Crowbar marks in my kitchen window.

Phoned the police immediately. Cue many phone calls, hung over, to the police, the insurers, the housing people. These calls are still going on, and I’ve had visits from people nailing my windows shut and dusting the place down. The suspects were wearing work boots and work gloves according to forensics.

My memory is obviously hazy, but when I cast my mind back I think the neighbours asked me which flat was mine, and may have mentioned the bottles in my kitchen (which, if the cupboard door is open and my blind is up, can be seen from a footpath around the back). Suffice to say, I’ve moved the remaining bottles into a cupboard in my hall and filled my pantry shelves with cans and cereal.

Last time I saw these neighbours they darted off when my parents turned up.

The insurers have offered me a hire car, and I’m currently waiting for them to come and pick me up.

The Council have nailed my windows shut.

The Police mentioned that the same people, the suspects, had an argument recently and that he may have moved out of her flat. They’ve asked around.

Meanwhile, MMM was messaging a little, but she’s gone quiet. I told the group about the burglary. Dunno what she’s thinking. Hard to tell when she won’t respond, but whatever. Let’s see if she pipes up in group chat.

Radioactive Prison Tomatoes

 

My colleague JS told me this story recently, and it’s too good not to share.

JS’ dad was a bit of a naughty boy back in the day. He stole a lot of car radios in the North East of England, and got sent down. In prison, they served him extraordinarily large tomatoes at mealtimes. JS, when she was retelling this story, was holding out her hands like she was presenting a galia melon.

The tomatoes had been grown on the prison’s allotments, which were maintained by the prisoners. Next to the prison: the smoking cooling tower of a nearby nuclear plant.

After his release he moved to Greater Manchester, married, and had JS and her sister. He got his own allotment where he continued growing his own veg.

Decades later, JS’ dad developed cancer in his mouth. Coupled with this, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and was losing the ability to look after himself.

Eventually he was hospitalised as his cancer spread, and was referred from Oncology to the End of Life team. JS’ dad was still asking her to look after the allotment, even though it had been knocked down 30 years ago. JS graciously ‘agreed’ to look after it, and would reassure him that the allotment was still in good condition. It gave him some peace in his final days.

Then, on one visit, JS noticed her dad had picked up. He was sat up, talking, and making jokes like his old, perky self. A day later he died.

It’s common for cancer patients to appear to recover in their final days, as the body gives up the fight with the disease. It gives the relatives a false sense of hope, almost a cruel trick nature plays on relatives of the afflicted.

It would be interesting to see how many people were prison inmates in the North East, in the 50’s and 60’s, I’m guessing, who later developed oral cancer. It would also be interesting to see if regulations have been put in place to stop institutions or organisations from operating allotments within a certain radius of certain power plants.

I tried

Last night: made an approach in Albert’s Schloss. She was ‘sort of seeing someone’ so that went nowhere. Didn’t get the feeling of despair I’d previously got from rejection. It seems that after 30-odd years I’m starting to toughen up and be able to take it.

Done some filming for a TV dating show. Found it really difficult to big myself up. I’m generally confident on camera, but talking about why a woman would like me is hard. I can see too many of my own flaws.

Knobhead ranting about police brutality on Peter St

DK, who tried to set me up with the Peruvian girl KL, was trying to set me up with his neighbour this weekend instead. I remember her, but wasn’t particularly into her. I was busy though, out in Manchester, which was dead.

I need DK to come to Manchester with me so he can see what kind of places work for me and how far away that is from his barbecues with his dodgy neighbours. I need to explain this without being a bastard.

This weekend: Went out to bars for the first time in a while. Saw SF, the organiser of the social group. After this I had a wonder- town was quiet, but once you get to Peter St it’ll be anything but. Last night I saw this shit going down. Top of Peter St near the library.

Went to a barbecue with a mate from a support group.

He’s been trying to set me up with a Peruvian 50-year-old woman called KL. She looked a lot fitter on Facebook. When she turned up she pretty much went straight to bed, after working a night shift. She then woke up, got drunk really quickly and started to give me signals. Her English isn’t particularly good as it is, so when inebriated she made very little sense at all. I pretty much felt out of place with everyone there- they were all just a bit common, although I hate to say it. They wouldn’t come to my bars and clubs for the life of them.

Careers advice isn’t going anywhere, although I’ve applied for the odd thing here and there.

I do have an interesting work story to tell soon, though. CBA right now.

Didn’t go out this weekend, not at night at least.

Was involved in depression-related events for most of the weekend, which to be fair was rewarding- raising awareness of support available, meeting people with the same problems as me, etc.

Sleep is a real problem at the moment. Little routine. Hayfever and general heat is hard to deal with when you’re used to bitterly cold winds and months of elongated snowfall.