Rubbish

What a totally frustrating, useless, waste of time week I'm having. Everything I've done this week I've done badly. This week is so rubbish if anything were to go right I'd no longer notice. This week can fuck off. Where did it all go wrong? Does the picture above show the start of where it all fell apart? (The man on the right is married with a child. Look at the way he carries on!) A tequila shot in a rubbish Camden bar, with my friends, James and Shaun. I felt ok the next day, I thought I'd got away with an afternoon on the booze, but alcohol is a depressant and maybe it got me after all.

Constant trips to Specsavers certainly didn't help, especially as they're seemingly competing for the most useless optician award. Like only ordering one pair of contact lenses for you to try before they can get you any more. And not having lens solution in stock. Then the computers go down and they don't know what to do with you, so they just move you to different chairs.

Even the bus journey to Specsavers was bad. I was standing by the door, because it was the only place to stand, so I was in everyone's way. Then I found a seat to get me away from the door and sat feeling guilty that an old woman standing by the stairs needed it more than me. Then half the bus got off and she still didn't sit down. She wasn't even that old. I had to go back to Specsavers later in the day, so I got a taxi, to stop the guilt of another bus journey, and felt guilty for spending money on a taxi. All this guilt is no good. It's a waste of energy. "It's good to feel guilt, it stops you doing immoral things. I feel guilty all the time and I haven't done anything wrong," as Woody Allen once said.

Remember the hovercrafts I was telling you about? Here's one leaving. I need a holiday.