The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists and calculators has succeeded.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Sugar High

I'm surfing a wave of glucose-related chemical imbalances. My fingers trip over the keyboard like a stampede of wildebeest who've drunken too much coffee. I am flying on wings spun from candy floss, I am pogoing around on a stick of Brighton rock. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in five weeks - I've eaten chocolate. The richest, most fattening, to die for chocolate I have ever had the immense satisfaction to stuff into my cakehole.

The problem is my body can't handle it, my legs won't stay still, I've got a head ache, my jaw hurts, my teeth are jangling around my head, humming and blurring like xylophone keys. It's safe to say I'll be back on the old GI diet tomorrow. Oh yes, ain't nothing but brown rice and oat cakes for this little space cadet from now on.

We went to such a posh restaurant this evening. The kind of place where the chef has certificates of excellence covering every wall. How could I refuse a dessert in a place like that? I'm only human after all.

What else, what else? Oh yes, above is a picture of Father Troubadour taking the air in my new flat. Notice his faintly effeminate gait, notice the funky up lighter on the wall, notice my cool double doors. Incidentally I like the idea of giving all my friends and family faintly ridiculous pseudonyms. Red's taken to it like a duck to water, even I'm having trouble deciphering what and who she's talking about. Still she's hilarious with it, so who am I to complain?

Spent the day on Ebay. Fancy a lovely scooter? Then click below.

My lovely scooter, Charlie

Other than that, I've a smile on my face for the whole human race and everything's coming up roses. G'night, my imaginary readers, sweet dreams.

(What do imaginary people dream of? Maybe it's reality, maybe pretend people dream us into existence?)


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