People suck, sometimes, don’t they? Today I had a day in which people sucked, including myself. I woke up so tired I felt like I’d been sleep-boxing with Christian Bale, and he’d beaten me up good and proper with his Batman muscles. After a long morning, in which I was mostly depressed about the people-sucking thing, I thought I’d try eating my sandwiches at my desk, like the good old days (eating them lying down in the car is tricky). I’d only taken one bite when I retched incredibly loudly, right there in my open-plan office. It’s ok, I didn’t throw up, and I’m pretty sure I managed to pass it off as a burp. But what a sad state of affairs it is when convincing twenty of my nearest work colleagues that I let out a massive belch at my desk is a good result. I went to lie down in the car, wriggled uncomfortably with heartburn for half an hour, and cried fat salty tears into my undercover car blanket.
Things might’ve continued in this dismal fashion if I hadn’t discovered that Timothy bought me some more battered fish and another Goodfellas pizza. I have a weird obsession at the minute with battered fish. So we had some for dinner, and then I went to bed, probably for another good kicking from Christian Bale. But at least there was battered fish. And a digestive biscuit with jam on. Oh yes.