Nobody loves me
Wednesday morning, another week half finished and I'm feeling unloved. Posty's been and gone already and once more there's been no mail.
Not a flyer or offer of replacement windows. Not even a vaguely threatening promise to deliver cheaper insurance than the next thug. Certainly no political nonsense has crossed my threshold, for which I suppose some thanks must be given. But it's been three days now (four if you count Sunday) and not a single thing has come through the letterbox.
This is unusual. Normally by this stage of the week I would expect to have been offered a sun-tube (whatever that is) or replacement gas heating. The local supermarket quite often tries to tempt me with anaemic photographs of dead poultry and multipack offers of fizzy chemical piss masquerading as beer. But this week, no. Even the Papur Bro, the local free press, has fallen silent, as if Rupert Murdoch had taken over Ceredigion. Nothing has been delivered at all.
Not even the new Julian Cope CD I ordered last week - the arch drood forsakes me like everyone else. I am alone with my thoughts, three dogs and one cat.
And no-one seems moved to comment on my blog, which is understandable I suppose, since no-one reads it. I guess you've all been put off by my constant moaning, my wailing and gnashing of teeth. In which case this entry won't help things much.
So I'll resign myself to my solitude and instead get on with some work.
At least it's peaceful.
Not a flyer or offer of replacement windows. Not even a vaguely threatening promise to deliver cheaper insurance than the next thug. Certainly no political nonsense has crossed my threshold, for which I suppose some thanks must be given. But it's been three days now (four if you count Sunday) and not a single thing has come through the letterbox.
This is unusual. Normally by this stage of the week I would expect to have been offered a sun-tube (whatever that is) or replacement gas heating. The local supermarket quite often tries to tempt me with anaemic photographs of dead poultry and multipack offers of fizzy chemical piss masquerading as beer. But this week, no. Even the Papur Bro, the local free press, has fallen silent, as if Rupert Murdoch had taken over Ceredigion. Nothing has been delivered at all.
Not even the new Julian Cope CD I ordered last week - the arch drood forsakes me like everyone else. I am alone with my thoughts, three dogs and one cat.
And no-one seems moved to comment on my blog, which is understandable I suppose, since no-one reads it. I guess you've all been put off by my constant moaning, my wailing and gnashing of teeth. In which case this entry won't help things much.
So I'll resign myself to my solitude and instead get on with some work.
At least it's peaceful.
Comments
Nice to know you're still lurking, Darren. Keep up the good work.
But good thoughts, warm fuzzies and dappled sunlight heading your way.