What am I supposed to put now... it’s pushing 3am, I was rudely awaken at 7am, plied with presents and booze for many many hours, stuffed with ham, turkey, sprouts and stuffing, involved in board games and bored games, and displayed to the neighbours in silly hats and jumpers. Now I’m pissed as a sprouty fart, sodden in Bacardi, champagne and (weak, flavourless) American beer, more interested in snuggling and reading one of my many new books and collapsing into a sudden sleep. I’ve recently been mocked for my English accent by my girlfriend’s pissed wee brother, whose indefinable Belfast trawl suddenly became a startlingly accurate Lancashire/Manchester accent. Suddenly I could understand him; only 18 and he’s learning to speak properly. He’s got one up on most of his country-folk.
Anyway, friendly racism aside, what the blinking fuck am I doing writing a blog on (way passed) Christmas day? I’ve got personal and private, yet extremely exciting, news to reveal but the blog is not the place. If you are important enough to find out, you will before I start referring to it casually. Family have been told, and some friends know. But enough about that... whatever it is. Facebook status’ will soon be changed.
I’ve got sputum to cough and pages of Charlie Brooker ranting about ten-year old TV to read and really cannot be feckin’ ersed wit thes wee shite... Christmas and drunken exhaustion: need I give any more explanation as to why I am about to caffle and abruptly end this blog in the middle of a