My dear departed old man was a bit of a freak. No matter what outlandish behaviour he had got up to the night before (and some of it was plenty outlandish), no matter how much he had drunk, he would still be downstairs at 6:30am, whistling away, making a cup of tea and generally being full of the joys of Spring. How the fuck can that be natural? How can anyone actually ENJOY getting up in single digit am hours? Its so far beyond my comprehension that I would stand more chance of understanding the mysteries of the universe, or even a James Joyce novel, than I would that sort of carry on.
As you may have guessed me and mornings are not exactly best of buddies.
To say I loathe them is an understatement akin to saying vegetarians loathe black pudding. My trouble is I cant function until I have been awake at least an hour. My brain refuses point blank to do anything beyond the bare neccessary and even then it has an embarrassing habit of fucking up. The number of times I have found myself trying to clean my teeth with my hair brush while simultaneously attempting to use tooth paste as a novel form of hair gel, or trying to use the kettle to iron a shirt while bumbling about attempting to make a coffee with the iron are too many to list. Some things are just too risky to even make a game stab at. I know from painful experience for instance that picking up a razor will lead to people asking me for the next three weeks how I got that interesting cut on my nose while any form of conversation, even something as simple as ordering a coffee leads people to the inevitable conclusion that they are dealing with someone who aint quite the full ticket. It really can be a shit life sometimes.
God I need a lie in.....