Right, I fixed the Internet. I was fed up with Dad and his moods and we’re still not talking to each other. Mum showed me all the cables and things and there was one cable not plugged in. It was dead easy, but it would have taken Dad weeks to fix it. A child could have done it. A child did it. Well, a teenager, but still. Plugged in the cable et voila (That’s French, don’t ask me what it means, because I don’t udnerstand a word of the language).
It’s nearly weekend and I have to post all the stories I have written since Tuesday. I don’t think I am going to post them all at once. It might just take me a day or two. Besides posting my life story, I still have to lead my life and at the moment I am worrying a lot about Mr Bent’s health. He didn’t look too good at all yesterday and those doctors need to learn English. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of what the doc was saying and I asked Mum when we got home, she couldn’t tell me anything either. Maybe we can ask Mr Bent tonight. He might just feel better and talkative and he might understand the difficult words, seeing that he has read all those difficult books.
Talking about Mr Bent. I am going over to his place in about an hour to clean up a bit more and to make sure he can use his bed without having to lie down on a load of books. How does and how can this man live like this? It is amazing. It’s not that the place is dirty or anything, it’s just packed with books, bric-a-bracs, knickknacks, oddities, and peculiarities. This man saves anything to everything. It does show that he’s seen places and probably more than once. He’s not only travelled across England, this man has been from France to China and back again. Everywhere he went he took souvenirs back with him. I bet he’s got more tales to tell than just the ghost stories he tells me.
How come a man who has travelled the world can be such a hermit? Doesn’t he have any relatives or anything? Hardly anyone ever visits him, if anyone ever visits him at all. I should find out more about him. Mr Bent is quite an intriguing person. There’s an air of mystery about him. We might hear some more of him tonight when we visit him at Barts (that’s St. Bartholomew’s hospital). Barts has an official name as well, but that sounds way too posh for me. He’s lucky he’s in there, and we’re lucky the hospital is still there. They nearly closed it in the early 90s.
That’s it for now. I’ve got stuff to do before I am off. There’s schoolwork and … schoolwork … and schoolwork. I guess I could do some schoolwork. Ah, and I have to put up some of my stories on WordPress, and see if I can find some new friends on Facebook and Twitter. I think I am about to procrastinate a little. See me tomorrow (or on Facebook).