There's a chair fallen over in the garden I've been meaning to pick up for a year. Quiet now and listen to how enlightened I am. I never buy a car I wouldn't be happy to crash. Stop bullying yourself and bring me a sandwich at once. When I die I want you to have my feet. Sorry, we never hear the doorbell, but the smoke alarm goes off if you open a bag of bombay mix. I've tried telling her. And the news just keeps getting better. Minidiscs were always my favourite except for before they existed and after they became unwieldy. I have a lot of explaining to do I guess. Nah shaving isn't one of my interests but have you seen what happens when you don't do it? Well she tends to remember things, I think it's one of her hobbies. Usual, but I did this course, how to live with yourself, it was alright. If he's gonna be a big shoe about it tell him I'm a very busy man with a lot of things to do. It's about a comedian but most of it isn't funny, I think you'd like it. I know, she has me on the wrong list. There was no-one official to sign our timesheets so we just got the tallest man in the marquee to do it, hope that's alright. Two weeks in a room with the lights off, yes, but with more powerpoint than there'd be at home. Mostly a cross between a cashew and a Nik-Nak. Have one installed in the garage if you like it so much. Thanks, if anything changes I'll extremely let you know. We're letting the side down but I still haven't done anything about it.
There are a lot of Post-It notes on the wall in front of me and the wall to the left and the bit of wall that sticks out to the right. They've all got vague things written on them in capital letters and are arranged in groups in a way that's supposed to seem methodical. Behind me is the door and sometimes I leave it open when I go out so that anyone walking past can look in and think of incremental potential fulfilment and move their mental image of me a bit closer to their mental statue of Winston Churchill. One of the Post-Its says ELBOWS, one says RICHARD GERE, one says STOP MAKING SENSE with SENSE crossed out and JOKES written underneath. I sit down and look at them and tell myself I know what it all means and I'm really onto something and have a good haircut. There will be nothing to compare the result to so I'll be unable to think it wasn't a successful arrangement. A major breakthrough. An ivory trench. Please send me a photo or pickled head or drawing of your own system along with ten thousand letters about how it is or isn't helping.
Royalties arrived in my inbox and a few clicks later were in my bank and I spent them immediately on a bag of bags of small things to put in my mouth. Thanks for that. A lot of the small things were spicy and/or or or hot. I've got this invisible swamp donkey using the front of my head as its arsehole, which, amongst other things, has caused some tremendous nasal disquiet. The spicy hot small things help to simplify the nostrils and promote a brief feeling of faciocranial justice. The hairs that would usually be creeping out of the conk-holes in order to form, if left un-destroyed, I can only assume, tusks, have relocated to the ear-holes where, against a black background, they resemble forked lightning. I sit in a booth in the weekend clamour outside Pret A Manger and auction off the chance to remove them. This week a guy did it with a roundhouse kick in them shoes that have blades that sching-glint-whoosh out from the toe-end when you tap the heel on the floor. He ate the hairs both at once and sprinted off to another appointment. The four hundred quids he outbid dozens with were donated to victims of poor judgement.