A New Yawn

I think my post-count for this month is in trouble.

I've been unusually busy, so I haven't had time to sit around, writing about how un-busy I am.

Lots has happened since my last blog entry. I went to London for some filming of comedy things, I bought a bagel, I prepared for a work Sales Conference, I had little sleep, I got sad, I got happy, I participated in a work Sales Conference, I got sad again, I drank some orange juice, I bled a radiator, I lied about bleeding a radiator.

All those things.

Which has left me as weak and whiny as a diluted lemon child.

So it's going to be difficult to hit double figures.

Maybe I'll do it bit by bit. A little here, a little there, and a little there.

So here's little bit number one:

On Sunday Lucy and I got a Chinese takeaway. I waited for the food, whilst she went to get other stuff from a shop. So I waited on my own. It's quite a nice place, and has a big bar, so I bought myself a drink and sat down.

Opposite me, on the other side of the room, the wall was mirrored. I could see everything I was doing.

I began to realise that whenever I'm alone, I must be worried about looking like a loser or a loner. I look too smart, or too scruffy, or too posh, or too keen, or just too out-of-place. But I've developed a technique for counteracting this:

I act tired.

I rub my eyes, I scratch my head, I yawn, I exaggeratedly open my weary eyes. It's not a conscious thing, I don't think. It's instinctual. But I do it all the time. I don't know what the underlying thinking is.

I suppose I'm hoping any stranger that sees me will think: "Oh. I thought he was a loser. But look - he's tired! He's probably been up all night partying with models and Russell Brand! What a cool guy!"

Or: "Wow! That guy looks tired! He's obviously so relaxed, he doesn't care where he is! He doesn't have any pretence about him. Someone like him must be confident, intelligent, and handsome!"

But in reality, I look like a stoned Winne-the-Pooh, staring at myself in the mirror.

I need a new technique. Perhaps some kind of prosthetic limb or a cello.