Yesterday

After chatting with a friend a couple of days ago, and after pissing and moaning like a little girl about how I have no outlet for my over-opinionated and warped mind, I decided to start trying to write a regular blog.

It won't last.

Yesterday, I spoke about my regret over not being a Samaritan any longer and the events leading up to my dismissal. What I didn't write about however, were the events directly after this where I went looking for a gun to gain revenge.

No, I'm joking. That didn't happen. I'm not unhinged. Regrettably.

Well, let's see if there's anything else that would entertain the non-existent reader. How about selling all my possessions and cycling off to the Highlands of Scotland in the hope that my sorry life would be extinguished at the hands, or more accurately, front grill of an articulated lorry on a mountain road.

Almost happened. Very close. A windy road on a windy mountain (that's 'windy' as in meandering and 'windy' as in very blustery). It was nicknamed 'the cobbler', or something. Ben Arthur being its correct name.

But I survived and returned to my horrible life. I moved into a house with an old dog (no new tricks), and the fitness I'd gained was smashed into a rancid pile by an allergy to the little rat and I had to fight most nights to breathe. I'd get through about fifty tissues a day. It was not a happy time.

But then, as old dogs tend to do, it died. Yippee!

My allergic reactions petered out until they became nothing more than a wheeze filled memory and once more the Sith will rule the galaxy - no, once more unto the breach dear friends - No! Once more I was able to get through a full sentence without running out of breath mid-point and coughing and spluttering like a sixty-a-day fag addict. I can laugh again - like I did last summer. Oooh twist again. Twisting time is here.

You know how it goes.