Sssss

SURPRISE!

Ahaha! You should have seen the look on your face! I can't believe we got away with it. I thought Fran had given it all away by being indiscreet on the bus.

So, you had no idea?

Classic.

Classic.

...

Classic.

Anyway... blog post.

You can't mistake it. If you're reading this, it is one.

***

RICK: One.

NICK: ...

RICK: Two

NICK: ...

RICK: Three

NICK: ...

RICK: Four

NICK: Rick?

RICK: Five

NICK: Rick?

RICK: Sick. 

NICK: ...

RICK: Sssss! Six!

NICK: ....

...

That was an extract from the play I've been writing just then.

It's about loss. And people with similar names. I'm hoping to perform it at this year's Failed Experiment Festival, which I'm finally going to get up and running this year probably.

I'm going to play Rick. Or Nick.

How have you all been?

That's not true. Really? That's not true.

If you're not going to be honest, there's no point in us even doing this.

I haven't achieved much lately, but that doesn't mean I'm all washed up. It's only natural for people of my age to experience a period of stagnation. It's only natural for me to suddenly hate writing and comedy and anybody showing any enthusiasm whatsoever. It's all part of growing up.

I think I need a sabbatical. Not just from my job, but from the human race. I'd like to live as an animal for a while. It will be like a humanity detox. I want to flush all higher brain functions out of my skull, and replace them with a pure nothingness.

For three months.

Then I'll be able to tackle my thirties with aplomb. I can own a suit.

But enough about me.

What about my clone?

He's going from strength to strength. Afterwards, he intends to tackle strungth. I think he may be a bit too ambitious, but he's always been like that. We're like chalk and cheese (except for the whole clone thing). Chalk and cheese in a pod. Thick as thieves.

I'll ask him to send through a photo some time. I'm sure you're all interested to see what he looks like.

The only thing I resent about my clone is that he never mentions me in his blog. What am I, chopped liver? (He only eats whole liver)

I'm enjoying this. I really am. I can only assume you are all enjoying this too, and that you don't think there's anything wrong with me. Or Paul 2 (that's what we call my clone's penis).

***

Whenever I'm using a pelican crossing, I always walk slightly faster than I would normally, as a courteous gesture to the waiting drivers. I know they have to wait for the flashing amber lights anyway, but I just want them to know that I'm thinking of them. There's nothing worse than a pedestrian who dawdles and lollygags, as though they're the only person in the world.

I walk slightly faster. Not too fast. That would be disconcerting. The drivers might think I was late or had a Crank-style heart condition. I walk slightly faster.

And I'm always annoyed that they don't notice.

Which is silly, because:
a) how would they know what my usual walking speed was?
b) I have no way of knowing whether or not they've noticed anyway

I just want them to appreciate my thoughtfulness, that's all.

Is that too much to ask?

Is asking "is that too much to ask?" too much to ask?

I don't know. But I resent it. I give and I give and I give, but Jenny Car-Owner just sucks it all up and leaves me a dried-out husk. I hope her parents (Ollie Car and Layla Owner) are thoroughly ashamed of her oblivious motoring.

I deserve better. Drivers should be 50% telepathic and 40% grateful. The other 10% can cover hair colour and miscellaneous characteristics (facial ticks and so forth).

I'm the best pedestrian.

My destiny is pedestriany. My dad said that, when he saw me struggling to understand a bike (aged 10 - which is a pretty old bike).

But enough about me.

Enough.