OK, so I lied, but look at the bigger picture: I'm now fucking rich, really, really rich. And a lot bloody richer than you.
Well, it was odd, you know: at first I thought 'Me, a gorilla, get a mortgage? It doesn't make sense!' And then, of course, it made complete bloody sense.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Did I switch the fucking gas off? Did I? Did I? Oh no! Fuck, fuck!
I don't care if you're gay, just tell my friends that you fuck me stupid every night. Please! Please!
Philosophy? Philosophy? Who gives a flying fuck about philosophy? I've got wine! Get a life!
Jesus, if only I'd started a pension plan when my dad advised me to!
‘. . . and she really, honestly thought we would be impressed! I ask you!’
Incidentally, while I am compiling this entry (sitting at the kitchen table), my wife, in the living room, is watching something on TV going through ‘hits of the past’, you know that kind of crap, the kind of thing TV puts on to keep its older viewers sweet by letting them pretend they are not yet dying of old age. There were quite a few songs wafting through to where I am sitting which I like. And one or two I don’t like at all, and never have. And what kicked of this addendum to the above post was Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush. Well, make that ‘sodding Kate Bush’, because I don’t mind going public on the fact that I loathe her and her music (except for one song, Babooshka). Who in their right minds likes to listen to a banshee shrieking with lots of faux profound lyrics?
As I am on a roll, I also loathe sodding Nick Drake and don’t particularly care for Tim Buckley or his son Jeff. There, I’ve said it!
PS As I write, there’s another song that has just startd playing that I also I loathe: Bridge Over sodding Troubled bloody Water. I otherwise quite like many things by Simon and Garfunkel and later on just Paul Simn (50 Ways To Leave Your Lover is a great song). But not that one, not Bridge Over sodding Troubled bloody Water. Then there’s sodding John Lennon’s Give Peace A Chance (yeah, right - the irony, the real irony, is that you have to fight for peace. If you want to ponder on the nature and essence of irony, ponder on that one, rather pertinent given all the recent furore about Britain’s Bomber Command bombing Dresden. Wake up, John. Oh, I forgot, he’s dead).