Summery

This isn't a diary.

That should be obvious from the lack of tear stains (cyber) and my lackadaisical approach to its security. My real diary is under my pillow (in New York's East River).

That being said, I think some people use blogs to describe the day's events. I've done that on occasion, but I usually lose interest in that approach. It's mainly because nothing particularly interesting happens to me. Richard Herring can write about his daily life because it involves regularly performing stand-up, being on TV and radio, and palling around with celebrities (albeit ones that most people haven't heard of).

But I write a lot of blog entries at work (in designated break periods, of course). So if I was to summarise the day's events, it would just be:

Woke up. Felt angry at the world. Came to work. Did boring things.

Which is, of course, fascinating. But you can imagine that if it was repeated daily, some of the magic would fade.

But it means that I have to generate blog content. This usually just comes from the polluted stream of my consciousness. The results can sometimes be entertaining (like an amusingly-shaped piece of flotsam), or depressing and banal (like an amusingly-shaped piece of jetsam).

So, given that the river is more of a trickle today, and that I've been at home, I'll write an account of my activities. It could be hugely exciting.

I didn't leave the house today.

I woke up at 12:45, which was delightful. I love a good lie-in, but they have been hard to come-by lately. But a good eleven hours sleep was ideal. I think that's my ideal level of sleep. If only I could have eleven hours every day - I think I'd be operating with the power of a chess grandmaster wrestling Mozart in a canoe.

Anyway, I was just in time to watch the England game, which was interesting. For me. The team weren't great, but I'm all for lowering the expectations of the media. Playing Japan also gave me the opportunity to bring out my always accurate (and never offensive) Japanese accent. It's mostly gleaned from Japanese wrestling commentators, and mainly involves shouting "BODDDY-SLAMMMA"or "SHIYYININGGGA-WIZZAAARDOH!" into the mirror. I'm well-adjusted. Remember, it's not politically incorrect to do that, as I'm part Chinese - which gives me immunity for mocking that entire region. Carte blanche-supremacy, if you will.

I noticed that one of the billboard sponsors was Thames Valley University. Part of me thinks that any student who makes their university decision based on a football advertisement is probably not the most desirable candidate. But another part of me thought: "Hmm. Thames Valley University! Sign me up! A course in Sports Ad Science seems like a good idea!". Then a third part (the brain) thought: No. Don't do that.

After the match, Lucy and I just lounged around in bed. We opened the windows wide, and let the beautiful proto-summer air swirl around. We have a tree outside our bedroom window. It's fun to watch it change with the seasons, to pick its fruit, or to harvest any cats that have strayed for the last time.

Looking at the foliage, we quickly identified the leaf in charge. Every tree has a commanding officer - someone who'll take charge of the whole operation. Our tree's leader is Keith Heath, the Chief Leaf. He's small (like Napoleon), but forthright (like Neapolitan).

Hey, that reminds me of the Metropelican! Remember him?

Not much else happened in the afternoon. We lounged, we read, we drank tea. It was all quite tranquil. I think all weekends should be three days long. And all weeks should be two days long. And there could be a new construct (a weekendeekend, perhaps) to make up the difference.

In the evening, we watched Lewis, and were delighted to see our old college, Mansfield, in some of the scenes. I'd love to be in Lewis. I reckon I could play a murderer. Or murderee (I don't want to spoil the ending).

I might write an episode, using my knowledge of Oxford. Most episodes would involve Lewis and Hathaway sleeping in, and then naming leaves.

And now I'm writing this. My iPod is on random, and is currently playing the Elevator Mix of Gwen Stefani's What You Waiting For?

Which is odd.

So that is a summary of my (lack of) activities. Don't weep for me; I like doing little.

Anyway, whilst my body is inactive, my mind is racing with a thousand thoughts: creating new characters, solving leaf-based mysteries, and evolving faster than a mouse in Richard Dawkins's house. Also, I came up with this:

'Hippo' is the politically incorrect abbreviation for a hipsy.

I'd better slow down tomorrow.