I’ve gone slightly nuts this weekend. Left to my own devices, talking to the cats, occasional pleasantries with the nice lady that marshals the self service tills at Tescos. I have a doleful sausage and chips on Baker Street with a friend who says I can get £30 a day as a pallbearer, cash in hand. I tell him I’ll keep it in mind, he says he can lend me his uniform and later sends me a link to a place where I can buy my own.
The cleaner arrives, she washes down the kitchen cabinets, cleans the cat trays, polishes the whisky and tequila bottles. Had I not given up the drink 8 months back, I would have polished off those myself, boom-tish.
I read an article on how the founder of a health food chain Tossed blamed his “starvation” diet for a drunken attack on bouncers at a Chelsea nightclub, telling a court it left him unable to handle his alcohol. I have the mic set up from an earlier interview with a guy who did the James Bond Taschen book and I rant for 15 minutes straight about what idiots we’re incubating in society.
I’m approaching the signpost in my career that tells me I need to use my time more productively than write and ramble about mindless things. They’re also telling me I shouldn’t be taking a 1001 pictures of the cats each time they get off the sofa. Hopefully April will be a busy month, I have written down the goals. Once again the one word that starts every list is discipline. I’m hoping April hill harbour new prosperity. I’ve got much to tell you all still, all to be revealed in the next week or so. In the meantime, please follow my girlfriends cats on Instagram, she loves it when they get a little attention.