Lying down with your eyes closed, not being conscious to the world around you, under the soft embrace of a loving duvet, not even drooling on the pillow but just breathing in and out regularly with no leakage: like a proper grown up – I may have just found my new vocation in life.
Vocation, vacation, airport, travelator and bus station…
…Most of which was the other day. The holidays aren’t coming, the holidays aren’t coming. Until the next time I go somewhere. Which might be Dublin in the summer for a couple of days. Or San Francisco in the winter. Or New Orleans. Or Abergavenny. This last might be too exotic for me. I can only take so much excitement in a single year. Plus, you know, the Welsh insist I sing to them as they don’t have any singers themselves. I may start a campaign to raise awareness of Wales’s lack of singers. Maybe that nice Irish chap Tom Jones will help me.
What was I saying? Oh, nothing meaningful. Back to normal then. No adventurous travelogues to tippy tap away at with my iPad-unfriendly fingers (typos R us). Bedologues aren’t quite the same. Even though there was no drooling, which is awesome and should mean I get an Olympic medal or something.
Meadowlark Lemon. There, I said it. None of you were thinking it but I said it anyway. I miss that guy. I mean, when have you ever heard of another person called Meadowlark? And if you have I bet he wasn’t supercool at dribbling a basket ball, spinning it on his unfeasibly long index finger and slam dunking like a genius donut.
You’re sorry you came to this page today, aren’t you? I’ve let you down. I’ve let the government down. But most of all I’ve been filling in time until I can go back to sleep.