Dear Diary,
Rudely awoken by the loft guy, I nurse a hazy head, recalling what happened yesterday in reverse chronological order. Aye. First off I went to Uncle's place. As I neared his home I heard loud and most discordant keyboard playing. After a ten minute rigmarole of answering the door, I noticed it wasn't infact Uncle at all, making a dreadful racket. The cacophony was reported from a bull of a man, a tall guy with the look of an ex-con about him. A tough, ugly face, and as strong as an ox. Even though I was invited to stay, drink, smoke: I just had to leave, so dinful was the cacophony.
I went to see Stig. I watched some weird re-runs with him, 60's films about psychics. Then went home. Hazy.
I woke up late, and have been clearing out the attic. I'm almost there. Only a dozen more bags to go. Janie will be round in a few hours I expect. It's all good. Back to the grind for me, after this cup of tea. Mission time methinks.
Don't lose it.
Maxx.
