I saw two shooting stars last night. I wished on them but they were only satellites. And artificial ones, to boot.
I feel I should be on a quest, either to find a new England or a new Minge. A trip to the lakes is in order. It should help me make up my mind.
I've decided, dear reader, insanity aside, that I'm a bit weird. You'll imagine my delight, then, when I read this. I wanted to join in, and here we have it. Six things other people might find a little odd about me:
I pick at my eyebrows. The left one is quite sparse at the moment. I started doing it, I think, when I was about six years old. Mum took me to the GP. He told her that some children cry, some hide under their beds, some pinch other children, some bite themselves, some have tantrums, some vomit. I pick at my eyebrows. Weird, because I also used to cry a lot as well. But it took a lot to make me cry. I used to see children crying at the slightest thing and think they were idiots. It took a flying punch from my Father or to see my Mum knocked out on the lounge floor to make me cry.
So, that's number one. Number two...?
I often photograph my stools in the toilet. Sometimes I send them to people. The photographs, not the stools. I love it. It's great that we're able to flout convention with such aplomb these days.
Three: I sometimes talk to the dogs like they're human beings, furthermore, like they can understand me (for, indeed, dear reader, some humans cannot). I wonder what my dear daughters might say to me if they could speak. I think their most common response would be, "Never mind."
My refusal to answer the telephone is number four. You might catch me, dear reader, if you call me at a time when I'm expecting a call I'd normally take. I don't like surprises and I don't like coping with situations I can't get out of like engaging in conversations on the telephone that make me uncomfortable. Usually, the conversations are with people I like and we cover topics I generally approve of. So I don't really know what I'm worried about, but worry I do and answer the telephone, I don't.
I find the topic of masturbation quite upsetting. Sometimes I have inappropriate thoughts. When I'm stood talking with someone, I'll suddenly think you've been masturbating and I'll admit that sometimes these thoughts are pictorial. I shan't be watching wank week. Five.
My sixth and final odd fact: I used to encourage my niece, when six years old, to tell stories of murder and witchcraft and to draw pictures of beheadings. I thought it might make her arty. She's turned out a lesbian. Do you think the two are related, dear reader?
Take it easy, take a sisi.