The odd moments for me are when I have plentiful bouts of time for blogging and the egregious monster of having bugger all to say rears its ‘orrible face. That is my situation at present. Usually when this occurs I decide the best course of action is to invent a particularly silly title, rattle incessantly and allow the chips to fall where they may.
Yep, that’s what I’m going to do.
I often recall fondly the first time I caught herpes. I was a young man at the beginning of a journey, she was an experienced prostitute with a heart of gold. Our paths crossed one autumn morning in the disabled toilets of a Burger King; sparks flew, angels sang and the Earth ceased to spin on its axis for the merest of moments as if the gods themselves paused to witness our union. 10 minutes and £15 later she left in a blur of cheap perfume and ill-fitting, trampy footwear. Gone, but never forgotten. Where are you now, Shaniqua?
No. That’s a bit weird. Continue reading