a thirty seventh story...'happy friday'

I really should be doing some work this afternoon.

I am the Director of the Company, for chrissakes!

The Head Honcho!

The Boss!

The buck stops with me.

But, it’s Friday – Happy Friday!!

~

The reasons I cannot work this afternoon are multifarious (great word, no?!).

The first reason is I am hung over.  In the bar last night, my pal and I agreed beer is the Second Greatest Invention Of All Time (ever since the concept of time was invented).  Second after language.  Therefore, as a result of a combination of the two greatest inventions mankind has brought to bear, I am, today, rendered an unproductive member of the human race (we were also talking a lot, and lots of talk means more beer as fuel).

The second reason is I am going out again tonight for the birthday of a very close friend.  As a consequence of my over active adrenal gland at the thought of our evening together, and of the many other friends that will be there, I am excited.  Moreover, because I didn’t get a proper night’s sleep – thanks to mankind’s two greatest inventions – I am tired and excited.  A heady combination!

The third reason is more to do with my psychological make up than my physiological one.  I am an obsessive. A monomaniac.  People from all walks of life tell me this on a regular basis (from doctors to RN commanders – i.e. my parents).  At the moment, I am obsessed with writing, and I’ve found a way to write that requires little or no planning, and involves stream of conscience.  That is to say: I am submitting myself to the mediums I use and seeing what nonsense results.  It’s fun and easy, and passes the time when I should be doing other things (i.e. working).

The fourth reason is not for public dissemination, or the kind of ‘sharing’ gossiping (men and?) women appear to enjoy.

(it isn’t that I have piles)

The fifth reason is there is a cricket match going on, and I can’t help but follow proceedings.  Why? Because it’s England versus Afghanistan, there are no weapons involved, no need for drones, or Prince Harry; just a need for cover, and when the fielding restrictions are lifted, extra cover.

Harmless fun!

(Even more so if you’re at the game as you get to wave one of those giant rubber hands around when there’s a boundary).

The sixth reason is as private and personal as the fourth, but I will say it involves another human being, a human being with different reproductive organs to mine own.  Mine own are commonly referred to as the ‘crown jewels’, ‘wedding tackle’, ‘pork and beans’, ‘master of ceremonies’, ‘who who dilly’, ‘big Dick and the twins’ and so forth.

And the seventh reason is the final, and most sententious reason of them all:

I simply can’t be bothered.  

THE END