This is a long time. I know I shouldn’t moan because I’m really lucky to be here but, you know what, I’m going to, so shove that in your pipe and smoke it.
I have found a whole new level of dissatisfaction with things. So much so that I’m actually impressing myself with my new found negativity. Just call me Nihilism.
For example, how are there so few people walking past my windows? This is the High Street. It’s meant to have plenty of foot traffic. Don’t people know I’m bored? They could at least do a detour and provide some much needed observation opportunities for me.
Quite often they don’t make themselves heard until they are already past my viewing area so how am I supposed to see them? It’s downright insulting.
The only glimmer of excitement recently came when a young Mother, baby in pushchair, stopped and leant against the windowsill to light her cigarette. I was torn between thanking her effusively for providing human interaction and giving her a strongly worded public health advisory lecture on the dangers of smoking.
And passive smoking.
Also, the Postperson has left two pieces of card, on different days, saying “You weren’t at home when we tried to deliver your parcel”.
WRONG. I WAS. I’M ONLY ALLOWED TO BE AT HOME.
Did you even knock? I don’t think so thank you very much.
The joy those Marks and Spencer’s secret support pyjama tops could have brought to my lonely existence. I’ll just have wobble about for a few more days I suppose.
Also again, the kitchen looks like a rubbish bin. I have so much card, paper, tins, plastic and glass that needs to be recycled I’m thinking of building a scale model of Buckingham Palace. Well obviously I’m not that creative, but it’s the thought that counts.
And one other thing. Why are flies so hard to kill? They are complete sods. No matter how stealthy you are, they just slip out from under the swatter nano seconds before contact with the surface has been made. I hate them all. Have had to resort to squashing small moths between my palms to restore some semblance of power. Sorry moths. You were too slow.
Tomorrow is another day.