When my dad used to say that he never had enough hours in the day I always used to think that he said it because he really was too busy and that the day wasn't long enough.
And then someone said that people who say that they never have enough hours in the day use it as an excuse because they're disorganised. And that idea stuck because for a few years my dad wasn't my favourite person in the world.
But it's true because I now realise that he wasn't disorganised. There are simply not enough hours in the day.
In the mornings I get onto the Tube and my hair is still a little wet from the gym because I've rushed.
And I am usually out of breath because I've ran for the train and I jump on just as the doors are closing. But all of this counts for nothing because I am still late getting into the office.
And then I work flat out but I have to do a menial task like buy stamps but it's too complicated so I don't bother doing it and that fucking envelope has been dicking about in my bag for around four days.
All it needs is a fucking stamp so that I can post it. Maybe it's just a London thing?
Maybe it's only in London that the queues in the Sainsbury's, where I buy my tuna in tins, at around 10pm is like 15 people deep.
And there's a wait everywhere. People, queues, pushing.
I get home and I make my food for the morning and I can't find a Tupperware box and that takes five minutes and then I realise that I'm not going to be in bed by 11pm because I want to be up early and fuck.
And then I can't find the remote for the Mac so I can't plug it in to listen to music and then I find the remote and I'm still thinking, what the fuck ever happened to that letter I was supposed to post?
Oh, it's in my bag without a stamp.
London. Fuck this place is for fucking idiots. But I am not having a London-hate day.
I have those every day but it's like that quote from er... it goes something like (and I've replaced London for democracy)... London is shit and it isn't perfect but it's the best that there is.
I'm having one of those days where .. oh god, I'm not going to bore you but doesn't it sometimes seem like everyone else's life sails on in calm serenity but yours kinda bashes to and fro?
My eyelids are heavy I can't keep them open.
Do you mind if I carry on with this in the morning.
And by the way. There's a new personal trainer at the gym. He is hot off the scale.
Liam and I are sure we know him from somewhere - Chris says he's straight.
Liam (not me) is sure he's seen him from where somewhere - in Liam's words; "like on one of those websites where straight men get their knobs sucked off by homos for money."
There is something familiar about him. Cocky, muscular, tattooed, cute, very friendly, built like a boy from the continent who dances in gold hotpants on a podium in Fire. Er...
The story, my pretties, continues shortly...