<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3200994\x26blogName\x3dDreadful+Nonsense\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://shazzle.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://shazzle.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d7615377689624956874', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I know, I know, I know. I say the word "tomorrow" in a post, promising something will arrive within 24 hours of the last one, and that is what dooms me to being too busy for a full week to even begin to think about blogging. I do apologise, particularly to the SPECTACULARLY DERANGED LADY who keeps texting me for updates. I am therefore writing an entire post about how splendid my boyfriend is, just to annoy her and the rest of the world. Mrs Bishop? THIS IS ALL YOUR DOING.

I have problems with morning time. I always have, because my brain has a very slow reacting starter motor, and it refuses to begin to consider interpreting anything that might be happening around me for at least 10 minutes after I've regained conciousness. This leaves me at a great disadvantage, should someone happen to try and tell me something without accompanying it with the world's largest cup of coffee and some soothing noises that tell me that everything is going to be okay. The danger is, if the soothing isn't immediately provided, anyone standing nearby would become a victim to my primordial wrath, and would probably lose an appendange.

Astonishingly, He Who Only... cracked this code early on in the staying-over part of our courtship, and this is the reason that he is still alive today. He is now able to lie about all day in his pants if he so wishes, having given up his day job to concentrate full time on gadding about and playing with his friends. This means that he is NEVER in a bad mood on waking in the morning, because he knows in his heart that once I've left the house, he can continue to lie down with eyes closed for as long as he likes.

He now has to combat his guilt at watching me flail about every morning, looking like a tiny baby seal who has just watched all of her friends being clubbed to death and knows that her turn is next, while he gets to stay wrapped in a duvet watching day time television. For some reason, his response to this is to try to share the happy vibes. His latest attempt to making me normal in the mornings is by trying to force me to smile while I'm still defenseless. For the record, just yesterday morning this astonishing feat was achieved by doing an impersonation of journalist Jon Ronson being hit by a car first at 30mph, and then again at 40mph.

Myself and He Who Only..., probably imagining the accidental death of another minor celebrity, and laughing.


Post a Comment