I got really fed up with sitting at the computer tonight,
trying desperately but in vain to think of a suitable subject for posting. I
wasn’t in the best of spirits, you see, because the side symptoms of fatigue
are much in evidence and I’m experiencing the old circular relationship between
fatigue and stress: they feed on one another and get on my nerves.
So I decided to switch off the computer and do some ironing
instead, and I thought it would be good to have an accompaniment of some nice
classical music. Only I discovered (or re-discovered) something interesting. I
dislike classical music after dark. It depresses me. I seem to have a nocturnal
phobia regarding classical music once the curtains are drawn against the night,
and I haven’t a clue as to why.
I got over it, but now I have two more irritations to contend
with:
1) I forgot to take some bread out of the freezer, so I can’t
have a houmous and cucumber sandwich.
2) The beer I got in lieu of my usual brand (which they
haven’t re-stocked yet since the recall) doesn’t suit me. It’s true to what it
says on the can: ‘With fruit and hop notes.’ Hop notes are OK; fruit notes aren’t.
Let’s put it this way. You’d happily walk down the street eating an apple,
wouldn’t you? But you wouldn’t walk down the street eating a handful of hops. Hops
are suited to flavouring beer; fruit isn’t. Fruit is for healthy eaters and
wine drinkers. I might be strange, but I’m not that strange and I don’t want my
beer tasting of fruit.
I think I should watch some more Mitchell and Webb and then
go to bed. Do you know, every time I go to bed these days (nights) I half
expect to wake up and find the priestess regarding me with an apologetic smile, and saying ‘Sorry,
Jeff, this isn’t a dream. You died.’ Oh, well…
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