Ahhh, that’s better. Just had a ‘phone call from my Bro in Iraq. I was feeling a bit down earlier, dunno why. Couldn’t be arsed to blog or even to watch telly (’cos there’s stuff-all on as usual). Just not feeling myself, I guess (quiet at the back, there). I love being cheered up by Bro. There’s none of the “I’m a bit down, actually” type responses to enquiries along the lines of “how’s it hangin’ you old tosser?*”. No, straight off it’s Good Mood Time, so Hurrah! The conversation wandered around various subjects, such as my Bro losing his expensive new glasses in the Euphrates, Paintballing, the upcoming Charlton game that I’m to get tickets for ‘cos he’ll by home in May, “sand, crevaces, soldiers, for the use of”, and other more inane topics, all peppered with the usual gutter-filth spoken by fellow afficianados of Derek and Clive. Many words were jovially exchanged, the likes of which I doubt even the mighty SimonG has a strong enough swear-filter for.
My Bro also told me about the 35 inch SEG telly he bought in Germany for about £260. A damn huge, good-quality telly for not-very-much-at-all. I would be tempted to get him to buy me one and bring it back with him, but it would only exacerbate the problem of there being stuff-all on telly on a Tuesday. It is a tuesday today, isn’t it? Sorry, I’m hopeless at these complicated things.

‹Picks up “An Equal Music”** to read and spends 5 minutes staring at the groovy M.C. Escher picture on the front page before realising it’s actually a postcard.›

*Brotherly Banter. C’mon, he is a Squaddie.
** Ta Carol!

Wow! I’d say spring has most certainly sprung. Quite apart from all the little flowers and buds popping up, today (perhaps thanks to the clocks going forward, ergo it feels like I got home an hour earlier) I was welcomed into my flat by the glorious rays of the evening sun. I did the only sensible thing and opened all my windows to let the goodness in and to listen to the blackbirds a-chirruping away in the silver birch tree in next-doors garden. They also woke me up with their subtly warm, warbling tones at what felt like the more comfortable time of 7:30, which even so allowed me a whole hour before leaving for work. A marvel indeed.
I shall be putting into action my plans for a Huge Cushion. Y’see, I have a massive window sill in my sitting room (a.k.a. The Hive Of Inactivity) which is my favourite spot to read books, drink a couple of cheekies and listen to some excellent music, or simply just think, all to the splendid symphony of the setting sun. To make this spot comfy I steal the cushions from my sofa and stay put for hours. Needless to say, such a holy spot should be graced with it’s own cushion of splendour. Trouble is, my Home Economics lessons from secondary school didn’t exactly get ingrained. My one attempt at needle-craft was a small hessian cushion stuffed with rags which was not in the slightest bit comfy. Besides, I’m still of the opinion that a Camel dropped from 500ft is a perfectly good shape for a cushion. Hmmmm.
Further research is definitely required.

[Edit: I got a nice card from my uncle Peter who has just stopped smoking using the same method I used. Hurrah for not-smoking-anymore!]

‹Emits a Sid James cackle as alternative reason for enjoying the warmer weather appears in sordid little mind›

Gah! Out of condition, me. I ache more today than I did yesterday. Not from the bruising; from the leaping around like a nutter. Being slovenly is all well and good, but when you’re the sort of idiot who quite happily leaps into stupid activities with both braincells you tend to keep finding new and hitherto unused muscles to punish and they inevitably get their own back over the following couple of days.
I must get ’round to starting this years secret New Years Resolution by going to the gym. Y’see, I think stuff like New Years Resolutions should be treated like pheasants: hang the buggers up for a while and make them start to fester a bit. When they’re nice and ripe, then you can eat them.

Quite how you eat a New Years Resolution is beyond me, of course, but if you’ll bear with me a bit I’ll just re-tune my antenna.
*eeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooooeeeeeeeoooeeeeooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooo*
Ah, ’sbetter. Now, where was I? Ah yes, New Years Resolution, consuming of, lunatics, for the uses of, queee-eeeeeeek…. Harch! Deft ight deft ight deft igh deft ight Companaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay… Halt!

I often wondered why my old drill instructor from Army Cadets wore deaf tights. I also wondered why I kept getting yelled at so much by the beastly man. I mean, what’s wrong with standing still and idly wondering about deaf tights whilst all the other chaps get on with the marching? Not as if I would contribute much beyond total disarray anyhow.

So, yes. How to eat your New Years Resolution. No not really. What I was driving at before was the fact that a really good NYR should, by tradition, last all year. Now, if I were to take up my NYR on NY Day, do you really think I’d still be doing it? Hell no! A good NYR should last you all year long, so why use it all up in the first week? Make it last by hanging it up like a game-bird and occasionally peeking at it, guiltily. If it’s still OK after 3 months then it’s time to take it down, blow the dust off of it and do it.

OK, so, I’ll phone the gym in the morning and book up. Right after I’ve had my breakfast from the pie van that arrives at 8:45 every morning dead on time. Think I’ll have steak ‘n’ kidney tomorrow, with a coupla scones. Yum.

Hey! So I have a fast metabolism! I can’t help being skinny!

‹Dials for Pizza. Realises it’s now 0120 hours and Mr Pizza Man might get cross. Sighs, rumbles briefly and slouches off to kitchen for a jammy sandwich.›