Well not ill. It is a shambles really. I haven’t drank since Saturday night/early hours of Sunday morning yet I was still wrecked today. I wont be graphic about it but it feels like I have no insides. Things are just falling straight through. Oh, I did get too graphic.
But it is really pathetic isn’t it? I am not being too down on myself about it nor am I going OTT and saying I will never drink again (it seems like both would be the actions of a wise man, though) but I really am ruddy annoyed at putting myself through this amount of pain. “You don’t look well, Phil,” say people on my return to work. “Yes, despite having not drank since Saturday and spent yesterday lay in bed I am not really physically or mentally capable of doing my job properly. And I keep excreting my stomach lining in great chunks every time I have some water, which people keep telling me to (have some water, not defecate my intestine).”
Then they tell me to make sure I take on plenty of fluids. THAT’S HOW THIS FUCKING MESS STARTED.
I hate the thought of looking like I am taking the piss out of someone but someone it is hard to avoid it. In the newsagents near work I was buying some Lucozade (yes, I know) at lunch and the server asked me if I wanted the new copy of Hello for 20p. It was the special edition for the Queen’s jubilee. “No thanks, I think I have that one already, ” I jested. Ha, I am funny. “No, it’s the new one. Only out this morning,” the woman said, “I think it’s the photo on the front – it was in the papers the other day.”
This struck me as a bit of an odd thing to say. Do people get things with the same picture on confused? Does she? Some of the t-shirts she sees must blow her fucking mind. Where does an observation like that sprout in someone’s head? NO! I don’t think I have read this issue of Hello! because it has a picture that was all over the papers. Things like the Hello! logo on the front of it. And big, daft bits of text fitting in with the front cover of this kind of magazine (with sub-headlines like “Elton John: Kitchen is Clean” and “At Home with Lady Fish Von Tikka and her fiancee Marble Stills”). I didn’t think it was a picture from last Wednesday’s paper that someone was expecting me to pay 20p for.
Apart from anything else it was this picture (sans cock).
It’s Good to Be Back
I don’t often agree with some of the – and this is not a description I would even write myself – bullshit that gets talked at work. Today, however, a woman took a phone call where she got some good news about the son of a friend’s degree result. She was clearly happy as she walked away, mobile phone clutched to ear. When she got back and confirmed what her news was a brief conversation started about getting good news being good. And you know what? They were right – it was the kind of debate these times of austerity almost extinguish and it was a reminder of a more gentle time. A time when all people got was good news – the mid 90s. I am pretty sure Tony Blairs won an election based around good news being good and therefore just telling people the good news was better than admitting everything was not so good. Gordon Browns did the opposite.
For a short moment I did think about throwing bad news into the mix. Not by actually giving them bad news, but by just saying “what about bad news?” and to see where they ranked it in relation to bad news. That’s right I was having flippant thoughts. And then one of them said that getting good news was better than getting bad news.