Further evidence that early rising is morally wrong and physically harmful:
I rose at dawn today with Things To Do, and dutifully had a cold bath and put on some decent clothes.
Five hours later I woke on a sofa, having accomplished nothing.
Am I, then, not dynamic…?
I have just noticed a marvellous spam email that appears to offer a '9-second ritual' to cure my 'degeneracy'.
I'm afraid that ship sailed years ago...
Another birthday approaches.
At my age one has the right to say quietly, ‘I am no longer young!’ and gaze softly into the distance.
Bonus points if, while staring into space thus, you lose consciousness and collapse in the pasta.
@SimonPulleyn …do I take you to mean, better at zeugma than at the zombie apocalypse?
Perhaps this speaks well of your character.
In my experience those whose forte is surviving the apocalypse are not always civilised.
I have just overheard an elderly relative discussing me on the phone in another room.
‘He looks pretty good and he’s kept his hair well.’
IIRC this is a quote from the Song of Solomon…?
I was up very early today, and consequently spent the morning absolutely certain that I was about to die of one of those marvellous 17th century afflictions, perhaps ‘fright’ or ‘apoplexy’.
Why is early rising not outlawed? It is clearly injurious.
It is thirty years, almost to the day, since my Weltanschauung fell off.
Twenty-five years ago I stopped trying to glue it back on again.
One lives perfectly well without one.
Espresso helps.
A bracing week by the sea has blissfully emptied my head.
My first thought this morning, while listlessly seated in a café, was:
‘Coffee.’
Very peaceful…
@SimonPulleyn Whenever I rise at dawn, I spend the morning wondering if I am about to have an apoplexy. I didn’t rise till 8am today and fully expect to live till lunchtime.
The seaside is bracing.
I am restoring my soul with slightly effeminate artisanal bath salts, and by watching a gentleman in a baseball cap explain forcefully to strangers in a café that they are not eating enough potassium.
All I need now is a Cornish pasty.
I was strolling in a pleasant harbour town today, and lost just a little of my innocence as I heard a passing young woman, who looked both serious and determined, telling her friend:
‘It involves blowing in some kind of cabin.’
Her friend looked equally grave.
Just received a fine spam email offering to reduce high blood sugar by means of a miracle compound that ‘eliminates molecules’.
Years ago, I used to listen closely at school, and surely it should eliminate only *certain* molecules…?
Rising early this morning, I was struck with a great inspiration:
A high-end fragrance capturing the unique experience of explaining to strangers on trains that if one can consistently make a sandwich without falling over, the authorities will reinstate one’s custard privileges.
Poll:
(Excuse the cross-posting: this is an emergency.)
Which of my two pale cotton safari coats should I pack for an imminent holiday?
Information: they both make me look suitably deviant, but one is new, one is eight years old.