1) I don’t know whether it’s a consequence of the twelve barbeques a weekend that everybody has seemed to be having over the month-long death throes of Summer, “British-Style”, but on yet another Monday morning it took three visits to the toilets at work before I could find a cubicle that wasn’t full or next to someone ‘having a bit of trouble’, with the full soundtrack of comedy sound effects. What versatile and perfectly-tuned instruments of embarrassment our bottoms are, and how we have been conditioned since birth to maximise the effectiveness of these “gruff trumpets” (Beethoven, I think) through toilet humour. Still, guffawing violently at the urinal may send a little Schadenfreude the way of the poor WC-ee, as all the while they hear your bladder contents trickle and splash their way onto the vinyl floor, via your new trainers of course.
2.) I heard today on LBC talk radio, in the traditional brain-dead cod-psychological lull between the morning shock jocks and the relative intellectual zenith of the Ross brother that isn’t the Woss bwuthah that writing a blog for ten minutes a day for about four days a week has significant emotional, spiritual, and physical health benefits. I would agree, and therefore vow to maintain that workrate at the bolo face: leaving nothing to chance I will be hooked up to a vitamin-enriched beer drip, respirated by pure nitrous oxide, in a brothel, on a laptop, whilst on my lap top a nun takes my communion into her mouth.
3.) On Mondays I vow to kill myself at least eight times before lunch, as the fragmented memories and vague hunches of crimes against decency and dignity over the weekend begin to take a De Walt chainsaw to the rapidly melting ice block of my self-respect and sculpt it into the shape of a wart-ridden flaccid cock. It is very frustrating that I can never fulfil this repeated promise to myself, but at the same time it is frustrating to think that I would be dead if I did it. And by Tuesday I’m just thinking about dismantling my reputation all over again in the pub the next weekend. Funny old game.
4.) This is the 3rd Monday in September already. Where the fuck is everyone?
I’m about to head off to present to an audience of governmental figures about railway safety. This makes me want to very much end it all as an hour in front of the dreaded powerpoint with nothing to say of note and no inclination to say it, is not one of my favourite things.
However, what is keeping me going is knowing that I will be able to celebrate my return with an evening’s relaxation and will in the next few days return to website making familiarity. It’s funny how you never realise how good it was, till you are plunged into something much much worse.
Yes, Groover. My healthily contented wednesday psyche must apologise for Monday’s morbidity. Were I a religious man, I would certainly believe that were I to commit the most mortal sin, the afterlife would be a never-ending presentation of governmental railway safety figures