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johnny9fingersWe're having the bathroom redone at present. Our Victorian house will have a Steampunk Victorian bathroom, full of polished chrome exposed piping, checkerboard floor, good lighting etc. Very good neat 'n' tidy workmen, which is a help.
Yesterday I took Poor Mad Felix out to lunch.
Whilst perusing the papers in the pub we go to I noticed an obituary for Poly Styrene, whom I had met a few times. I showed it to Felix who said: "She isn't dead, I spoke to her yesterday."
I then pulled out another paper with another obit, saying: "Well, it seems the other papers have also published her obituary." And pointed him to the other papers.
"You can't believe anything you read in the papers. it's all part of a global conspiracy. She wasn't called Poly Styrene, you know."
I replied to this with: "I know: her name was Marianne Elliott-Said."
He said "Rubbish, she's called Grania and lives in Croydon."
Sometimes he makes me angry. Death isn't subject to Felix's whim, much as he would have otherwise.
In his world nothing anyone else says can ever be the case unless they are agreeing with something that he has already said. The papers and media all lie about everything. He is the source of all truth and knowledge. No book has been written that wasn't either written by him, or stolen from him by another less talented writer. No piece of music was recorded that didn't feature him playing, writing, and producing it. He doesn't like to call himself the messiah, because it is boasting (unlike all of his other claims, which are merely factual retellings of his various exploits through the ages) even though to all other intents and purposes he is the messiah.
He is very mad at the moment, and very difficult to get along with. And I feel guilty for becoming annoyed at some of his outbursts.
Yesterday I took Poor Mad Felix out to lunch.
Whilst perusing the papers in the pub we go to I noticed an obituary for Poly Styrene, whom I had met a few times. I showed it to Felix who said: "She isn't dead, I spoke to her yesterday."
I then pulled out another paper with another obit, saying: "Well, it seems the other papers have also published her obituary." And pointed him to the other papers.
"You can't believe anything you read in the papers. it's all part of a global conspiracy. She wasn't called Poly Styrene, you know."
I replied to this with: "I know: her name was Marianne Elliott-Said."
He said "Rubbish, she's called Grania and lives in Croydon."
Sometimes he makes me angry. Death isn't subject to Felix's whim, much as he would have otherwise.
In his world nothing anyone else says can ever be the case unless they are agreeing with something that he has already said. The papers and media all lie about everything. He is the source of all truth and knowledge. No book has been written that wasn't either written by him, or stolen from him by another less talented writer. No piece of music was recorded that didn't feature him playing, writing, and producing it. He doesn't like to call himself the messiah, because it is boasting (unlike all of his other claims, which are merely factual retellings of his various exploits through the ages) even though to all other intents and purposes he is the messiah.
He is very mad at the moment, and very difficult to get along with. And I feel guilty for becoming annoyed at some of his outbursts.
