Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 3 October 2014
This morning is being spent re-designing my future. An opportunity has arisen from a series of minor disasters, so it really is a case of making the best of a bad situation, or 'God works in mysterious ways', if that's what works for you.
To celebrate the dawning of this realisation (and to help quell the awful pain in my neck), I got a bit more tipsy than I normally do of a Thursday evening, and this resulted in me being told-off by John for actually speaking my mind to Rachel.
I don't mean to be cruel in any way when I say things to people, but I have inherited my mother's extreme lack of tact when speaking her mind. The only difference is that she never got drunk like I sometimes do - she just said it anyway.
What I was really saying was that Rachel and me are curiously alike - especially when drunk. I think this is why we both get on each other's tits from time to time.
Anyway, back to the future.
I obviously cannot say much about it - and probably never will be able to - but I think I may, at last, have found a solution to the problem of how to stay alive as my body disintegrates around me - 'me' being the ethereal spark which is inside all of us, but needs to be fed real food until the day it goes out.
I have written a letter which I am hoping will change my life, and the effort of doing that (along with a hangover) has exhausted me so much, that I am going back to sleep - just as soon as I have found a nice picture to put at the head of this post.