What you are about to read may possibly scar you for life. There’s a good chance that after viewing this entry you may never sleep well again.
There are no references to blood, viscera, disembowelment or Jamie Oliver. No suggestion as to the existence of monsters, ghosts, ghouls, phantoms, vampires or a new Wayans film and absolutely no mention of psychos, serial killers, stalkers or Katie Price. It contains nothing about diseases, illnesses or gruesome injuries and steers well clear of sharks, crocodiles, piranhas, Roseanne Barr or anything else guaranteed to eat you to death with very little warning.
The only thing you’ll find beyond the little ‘Read more’ button is something you’ll recognise, something almost comfortingly familiar.
In fact, so familiar will you find it, that you’ll probably not realise what I’m getting at until it’s far, far too late and you begin casting around for something suitably rusty and jagged with which to scrape clean your brain.
Proceed. If you dare.
I know I should be in bed. I’m tired, I’m not sleeping properly and I have to be up for a meeting the following day, but I just can’t bring myself to go. I have this irrational thought process, that I haven’tbeen able to shake since it first appeared when I was 8 years old, that the earlier I go to bed, thequicker the following day will appear and, by consequence, the sooner I’ll have to go to work.
I know it doesn’t make sense, that’s why it’s irrational.
Well, this a mite embarrassing.
See, I have 3 entries all written and ready to go and a fourth (why did I use a number for the 3 but wrote the word ‘fourth? Meh, who cares) in progress about the evils of fashion (I had to spit just for typing the word).
However, all 4 of them are currently on a flash drive, nestling lovingly in the USB port on my work PC.
Yes, I’m a knob.
I know, I know, I should have them all saved onto this system with release dates already entered, but that involves organisation and common sense, and I have neither of those things.
So, apologies for my total and utter wankishness. I shall berate myself further in private and promise to copy all the entries I have onto the system at the first available opportunity.
Did I mention I’m a knob?
I have a series of issues with TV.
Some of them are minor (mostly having to do with Jamie Oliver being allowed anywhere the front of a camera), some more serious (with the majority involving any programme/show/video clip containing cockney chefs using the word ‘Pukka’, and a few astoundingly major hangups with Jamie Oliver being allowed in the same country as me.
But they pale to the hue of a bleached lily when placed alongside the one, true, aggravation: