It's Thursday, today. And thank the baby Jesus for it. It's been a very long week thus far. I've spent the majority of it emerging from a heavy cold. This has left me physically bereft. I spend all my time either sleeping or yawning. This leaves scant resource for gadding about and witticisms. The time, when in a slough of physical despond like this, passes ever so slowly. I'm hanging on by my fingernails for the weekend to scoop me up in its frivolous arms do the necessary.
It comes to something when your life is a bitter grind for the most part, with only the occasional low-octane piss-up at the weekends to lighten the load. I keep thinking of pastures greener when it's like this, of working with my hands, of joining a circus or taking up base-jumping. The trouble is I'll read a similar lament by some pampered wining lifestyle columnist in The Times on Saturday and realise that these thoughts are wholly unoriginal and, therefore, not worth acting on for a confirmed contrarian like myself. I'll then set my jaw against the notion, and determine to stick to the largely meaningless bourgeois existence....that'll show 'em!
Your eyelids are growing heavy...
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