My mind is a blank tonight. What's that you say: Not unusual? I suppose you are right. But I do feel like writing something. I just don't know what. Let's see what happens.
I need a pee.
It is twenty five minutes past midnight. So I suppose that makes it early Saturday morning. I expect there are lots of young people staggering home from the pub and maybe some of them are wishing they hadn't drunk so much. Lots of them, the really, really drunk ones will be eating takeaway, takeaway...... Oh blimey I have forgotten what they are called. Those things inside a bit of weird bread. Oh you know.... Where they slice the meat off a great chunk of, probably 99% horse meat... Oh what do they call those things...Horrible they are... Only eaten by extremely drunk people. I honestly, seriously cannot remember what they are called. This is a bit of a nuisance when I need to write about them. Oh well never mind it's not important. This ain't going anywhere. I need to try another tack.
I am off to make a cup of tea.
Changed my mind about the tea. Having a drop of Southern Comfort instead. Not a drink I particularly like. Don't like it at all really, but I have about two thirds of a bottle left to get through and I really feel I should persevere. I have measured the amount left in the bottle. Not with a tape measure. I did it by eye. By my reckoning, if I drink a small shot every night for the next sixty days, I should have finished the whole bottle.
Sixty days though, that is a long time. Maybe I should drink a couple of shots every night? Get through it quicker. Hey! Maybe I should just drink the whole lot in one go? No that would be stupid. I would probably end up completely pissed. I could even end up buying one of those takeaway things I can't remember the name of. Although when I'm in the shop there might be a menu with the word I'm looking for on it. It might just be a photo of it though, and I would just have to point at it drunkenly, and say, "Give me one of them." I would say please of course. Even when I'm drunk I am still polite. "Give me one of them please."
After eating it, I would then do what everyone does after eating one, and throw up on the pavement. It's a very British thing to do, and helps to avoid going down with food poisoning the next day. I still cannot remember what the things are called. Please give me a minute. I am going to have a really good think about what they are called, because this is really bugging me now.
KEBAB! Oh thank God. I thought I would never remember. Kebab! Ugh bleedin' 'orrible. Oh well, I got there in the end.
I did say at the beginning, my mind is a blank tonight.
Actually I'm very surprised that you read this far down the page. Thanks for sticking with it though. I appreciate it. I really do.
Here's a thought. When Yogi Bear invented the television, do you think he might have expected better programmes to be on it? I only ask because I have got over a hundred channels and they are all rubbish.
Sorry. Not Yogi Bear. I meant Logie Baird. Blame the Southern Comfort for that. While blame is being apportioned, perhaps you could blame the fact that television is rubbish tonight, for this nonsensical piece of writing.
I am going to have one more glass. Knock another day off. Only fifty eight to go.