I have been away. Many bad things happened to me. We all like to focus on the bad things so here they are:

1. I was brought low/Made weak
I am a yes person. This is often a weakness. Saying yes makes people like me. 'Can you handle all the work?' they asked me. 'Yes!' I cried, puffing out my chest like a superhero. The top toppled, I was dragged under and my list of things spiraled out of my grasp and fluttered down to the gutter of stress and mayhem in brightly coloured, splintering, shards. Wound tighter than a Duncan Firewheel, I gritted my teeth and used all my digits long into the night, trying to knit them back together and present them as done and dusted the night before Last Day. Then I slept like someone prepared for a knife attack at any moment, ready to spring out of bed fully cognicent at any given moment. I was a walking moron come Last Day.

2. I Went Out
The mad dash of Last Day was further mired in impending doom by the need to go to the Once in a Lifetime Gig. I found it very perturbing that a long awaited for moment seemed to cash with Last Day. This meant everything was frantically spat out under the looming omnipresence of the ticking clock, much like a nail-biting scene out of Countdown - one without Giles Brandreth present to take off the tense edge with some well-placed attempt at humour. I was still late and my yoyo had well and truly snapped by that point. So much so that drinking didn't really seem worth it. I was saddened by this.

3. I Went Out Again
Fueled with the new found freedom of Time Off Land, I nose dived into a life without care and drank and drank and drank. Oh the revelry! Oh the pain. The next day I felt well and truly rotten. Rotten like an apple that has fallen from the tree, been pecked by birds, drilled by worms and squelched into the lawn by unsuspecting feet. But it didn't matter as it was Holiday Time! The next morning at ridiculous-oclock I would be prowling Gatwick Village waiting for McDonalds to open. Life seemed burgeoning with possibilities.

4. I Caught a Cold
I realised at 3pm that Hangover Land had transmogrified into Illnessland. I packed the Night Nurse, Benylin, Lemsips and generic feelgood pills whilst feeling very very sorry for myself. Gatwick village passed in a blur of self-loathing and bitter recriminations and an egg sandwich from Eat.

5. I Burst My Eardrum
Hey, Why not? Fill me with mucus, put me on a plane and crap up the only ear I can hear with. The Gods of air travel are cruel. Can you imagine what it feels like to have your eardrum stretch so thin it rips itself apart like the flimsy surface of a balloon? Yeah, ace.

6. The Wind Hit Me
Yes it's true. Just after I had finally announced the cold had left the building, the ear had stopped whistling, the wind stepped in and blew a very large umbrella into my face. The next morning I awoke to see that the blood vessels in my left eye had burst into all their florid glory like a miniature red firework across my eyeball. I now looked as if I had been in some post Euro 2008 fist fight. Oh woe is me, woe is me.

7. The Sun Pricked Me
The departure lounge had no air, no breeze, just hot air making me waspish and tired. Outside there was a small terrace in the sun. Admittedly hot but the air was clean and the breeze was balm next to the alternative of inside. What could 20 minutes sitting in the blazing midday sun do to me I thought? It was hot. Oh yes it was hot, but this was to be my last 20 minutes. Surely I would be robust after a week in this weather. Prickly heat. I never get prickly heat. I am covered in little lumps. Bah, just another illness to wrack my poor weak, body.

I am sorry that this entry has been so heartbreakingly sad. Like a dirge almost. I know you feel for me. I feel for me. But bizarrely enough... I still had a great time.

Today is my lucky day. It isn't anyone else's which is what makes it all the more sweeter. You see, I was born on a Friday the 13th. That makes my mother very lucky as well. I often like to phone her up and remind her of that fact, on this, our special day. In order to celebrate this special day I have done some very special things.

1. I went to the at shop to buy a portfolio and change my future... only they weren't in stock.
2. I was given a box of scones by a new bar that has opened up near work as some kind of marketing lure... only they were stale and too small.
3. I bought an organic banana from the organic store run by organic looking people... it was overpriced and under ripe.
4. The Dude was supposed to come back to see everything that's he's missed, see who has taken over his pen pot and come out for a jolly drink… only he found something better to do than hang out with ex-work losers. I mean what's better than going out with work I ask you?

A day of luck already I am sure you'll agree.
Now I plan to drink some cocktails in some overpriced bar to really get this party started... then probably go to bed early.

Rock n roll.

So I spent a balmy evening lounging on the roof terrace last night; a scene of urban bliss you'll agree.

It was… until a man decided to stand in the street outside the house shouting. For hours. At first I thought he would tire. It's so draining, being full of ire. Have you ever tried shouting? For like ages? It's knackering. After a while you just run out of welly. Well most of us do. This man didn't. Him and his can of Strongbow were suitably upset enough to go on for what seemed like hours.

I really did want to ask him to be quiet. He was right there below me, ruining my alinement with nature, waiting for some kind of feedback I am sure. It's not very understanding though is it? There you are with something to say and all someone like me can do is ask you to be quiet? It wasn't going to wash I felt, so I waited. Waited until other people in the neighbourhood decided to respond.

Instead I sat there periodically wincing, wondering what goes through someone's head when they decide to shout on the street?

'That's it! I've had enough! The world outside deserves to know what I think - yes ME, MY words, every golden one of them. You lucky, lucky people are about to gasp in comprehension as I enlighten you with my articulate remarks concerning the intrinsic pitfalls inherent in a society ruled by fizzy drinks, talent shows of dubious quality and microstructural patterns that develop in the shadow of institutional totalitarianism... yeah!'

I don't know about you but I just have never had one of those moments myself.
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'Almost BBC1' is starting to grate on my nerves. It just makes me want to jump and twiddle the antennae maddeningly. I have tried this. All it does it destroy 'sort of ITV' which drops in and out of sound at critical moments.

Sleep is short and false. It is just the wisps of the drugs being filtered out by some fully-functioning organ. There is a moment when I wake with a start, heart thumping, pulling together the sound that woke me. The loo. I am sure I heard the toilet flush. Someone is here! In the house! Urinating! I jump out of bed, but it turns into more of a slow roll and a trundle down the staircase which is overly-noisily and not stealthy and alert in the slightest. With just my bare hands and my pyjamas as my only weapon I stagger to the scene of the crime. Read the rest of this entry »

1. Two people used the word 'pernicious' in my presence today. Now that's not something you bandy about.

2. A girl in front of me at the ATM machine had a wallet stuffed full of cards that must have been wider than her fist. Where on earth do people keep these things? Were they all store cards? It just renews my hatred of all reward/store cards, apart from my Boots card which I love like a smooth, furry pet.

3. Hayfever is for wimps. I have moved on from feeling sorry for myself to firmly rooting myself in denial. Those little pollen fuckers have messed around with the wrong person, oh yes. They are dead to me. I refuse their existence. They can in fact, swivel on it.

4. I plan to spend the entire bank holiday on my roof terrace glaring menacingly at the foliage. Luckiy it is already suffering from an influx of insect housing. It would seem that my hibiscus is the new luxury housing in natureville, they are all swarming for a penthouse position. Little do they know that the poison is quietly panting on the sidelines, ready to commit mass genocide this very weekend. Such is life in the cut and thrust world of the insect kingdom. I am bigger and stronger, therefore they're all going to get it.

So the weather turns. This excites me. Warm weather is for inactivity, cold weather is for doing things. Exciting things. On the list of daring deeds to do in cooler climbs is Taking The Tumble Dryer To The Tip. This is a very intoxicating event. The dump is full of wonders much akin to trawling round rock pools on youthful beach holidays. I shall go out for a small few sherries tonight in trendy East London, but my inner thoughts will be building my campaign for Tumble Dryer Freedom. Fly my pretty FLY...

Poor Tumble, after years of not working, he has finally been excavated from the warmth of the airing cupboard and turfed out into the garden. I remember when he was new. When the concept of tumble dryers was right up there with Sputnik and calculator watches. Now he has been cruelly relegated to the bamboo bush, turned feral whilst the rain rained on him and the sun sank on him.

Tumble will soon feel the chill of our rejection as he is jettisoned from the warm embrace of our love right into skip number three, the appliance skip. Oh it's like a droid scene out of Star Wars. If only he had learned to bleep affectionately and jiggle up and down pathetically.

This whole going out in the summer thing is great, it really brings out the inner wino in me. Everyone piles into the offy, buys their bottles of beer and gets the shopman to open them, then it's off to sit on the grass (on top your generic blue plastic bag if you're imbued with any sophistication). If only we could do this all day long, from like 9am, but with cans of Special Brew. It'd be neat.

On other matters of National Importance, I want you all to know, yes all 12 of you, that I have moved from the blogging layby, into the blogging B-Road. It's true. Little would you know, but secret ferrets have been active at night linking me in to the information highway. One link in some trendy place and now I have hits, like proper stats. We're talking at least 3 hits a day. I knew it was only a matter of time before my incredibly interesting life became fodder for others. Next it'll be made into a film.

In the meantime I shall try and combat this new allergy to tree pollen. I say allergy, but I think everyone in my office has it, which means it's probably not an allergy, it's probably a general health travesty. It's them there tree things in the park outside. They keep shedding these little bitty things that get right up my nose. I can see them everywhere. They have coated my phone, my keyboard, my eyeballs. I'll look like a wookie soon. We might have to all club together and buy an office ventalator, gas mask, ioniser if it carries on. Already I am alarmingly low on tissues. The crisis continues...

Tales of London Transport
I saw a man on the bus. At first I was next to him, forced into his personnal space by that great institution; the bendy London Bus; designed to fit 4 people seated in comfort and 100 standing souls crushed into each others faces. It's usual now, I never expect to sit down. It's always a playoff between being thrust up against someone with a basic understanding of personal hygiene or someone without. Read the rest of this entry »

'You see? It's hands free!', I exclaim, sticking it tightly in my ear and waggling my hands about as if I am a magician. We are slow to technology in our barrow so I am fully expecting her to gasp in amazement. Next i'll be getting a solar powered calculator and i'll really be on the fast track to the Matrix.

She peers at me disinterestedly. 'Does it work?', she asks.

I immediately pull it out of my ear in fright. She has just reminded me of the ominous words the man spake unto me in the Orange shop:

'Whatever you do, you MUST read the manual before you attempt to use it', he warned cryptically.
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The office tidy descending into more of a 'Let's pull everything out of its dark corner and leave it' kind of affair. Everyone looks drawn and haggard this morning. I myself am planning to do no work whatsoever (and to split my infinitives all day long) as I am surely in shock after so much physical activity. Just finding the gluing machine was shock enough. It had seemed like such a cunning piece of machinery back in 1765. Obviously it was the size of a Canary Wharf and was used approximately once during its first week in the office before it promptly found itself weeping in the dark confines of the cupboard of dead machines. We like to think of it as 'The Hole'. Read the rest of this entry »