[Sundae]

So.

I had a few mugs of mulled cider at the festival (barely alcoholic actually, because it's heated) and came home in the dark.
To find a note wedged into the door from my Landlord.
I'm paraphrasing here, but not by much.
It told me that unless I responded by return he would consider my occupancy terminated and my belongings would be disposed of. I didn't know this was illegal - a formal eviction notice has to be served.

After a little bit of vomiting, I braved a text response explaining I had been absent and was trying to work through some mental health issues. I was seeking advice regarding my situation. Because even I know you don't make financial promises in writing.

I then received FIVE text messages in quick succession, each more threatening than the last - sadly I started deleting them after the second. And then a couple of voicemail messages, ditto.
But it proves that the time I called Dana and Limey in a panic when I thought he'd entered my flat was actually true, because of details he included in the second text.

Anyway, no sleep for Cherry that night.
Some of what I owned was still stored in rehab with no way to get it back on a single bus trip - although they have been very good about the whole thing.
I was about to be made homeless with everything else I owned destroyed.
I had a box of ashes instead of the furry love of my life.
I was in debt.
I couldn't go home - and although I love Otley more than Aylesbury, home is still where my family live.

Radio 5 told me it would freeze that night. And it was obvious from midday it would.
I saw a way out.

I planned reasonably well.
Escaped the flat for the day, making sure I was good and cold.
Used the last of my paper money to buy a bottle of vodka - alcohol raises skin temperature without body core temperature.
I even took sandwich bags and toilet paper so if I had to do the necessary I wouldn't defile the forest.
Oh, by the way I decided on death by exposure because even though I thought my landlord was A PIG he was actually a businessman and did not deserve to find a body in his flat. More of that later, he is actually A PIG.

So, after spending my last pennies on half a pint in an old giffers' pub to give me courage, and to have a wee, I set off on the two mile climb up to the Chevin.

I made some big mistakes though.
Firstly, do not wear flip-flops. Yes, you will stop feeling your feet very quickly but you will also not be able to leave the main path, which is actually very unfair to early morning dog walkers. Wear stout shoes and take them off.
Secondly take Lola's lovely little torch (which I still use and is usually in my bag) or you will not be able to leave the main path and be very easy to find.
Thirdly, do not call a Dwellar. Even though having no word at all from Brianna broke your heart and you know this Dwellar will be awake at that time. Step forward if you'd like to BTW, I am only preserving your anonymity out of respect to you.

Good thing though, I heard my first ever real owl. How cool is that?

Anyway I removed my clothes down to my underwear - my dead mottled minge is not something I think anyone by a Coroner should be subjected to.
Then had a good ol pull on the voddy, forgetting about the whole I-don't-drink-neat-spirits thing and so promptly threw a fair amount back up again. What? I'm writing about a suicide attempt here, I might as well give all the details.

Anyway. I thought I was all canny and clever when I talked to the Dwellar.
As if.
Said person worked out enough to call my Mum.
One or other of them got in contact with the Police.
I'd only been there a couple of hours when a Police helicopter turned up, searchlights on. Then the blues and twos, lights flashing. At this point I knew I couldn't compete. They had proper boots and lights and everything. I'd already lost a flip-flop in the dark, I could hardly outrun them.

It was at this point I was struggling back into my clothes (one final indignity I wanted to spare my family) that I fell face forward onto the forest floor.
I've broken two "insignificant sinus" bones and am blind in one eye. Although they expect sight to return partially or even totally.

And that, folks, is why you don't take your dead cat's ashes out to a dark forest with you.
I'll tell you the unedifying story of the second hospital ward they put me on, and the nuthouse I am now in (well - I'm on leave at my parents' for Christmas) later.

But two interesting addendums:
After all the threats and unpleasantness from the the PIG, the Chief MALE member of Nursing Staff from the nuthouse called him and he said said, nice as pie "Oh no, she still has the tenancy, nothing has been removed blah blah blah" So my glasses, which I have trouble seeing through my good eye without, my phone charger which meant I was friendless for ?six? weeks, and my underwear which meant I had my arse sticking out of a backless hospital gown for the same amount of time are all waiting at "home" for me. Which is nice.

And the same with my post, meaning the letter from the DSS saying I needed to contact them with further information is just sitting in the hall. So guess what they did? Like any agency anywhere they assumed I didn't need the money and stopped my claim. I borrowed money from a very kind person just to pay the (exorbitant!) bus fare from Oxford to Aylesbury and finally buy some deodorant.

I know, half blind and still moaning about money.
A least I have Diz. Even if he's a bit crunchier than he was.