Alternative title: It’s 4pm New Years Day and I am trying to distract myself from the jar of coffee calling my name in the other room…So far I have managed to spit half a Lindor chocolate over my laptop while shouting “oh you useless piece of…grumble, mumble” at the half-time Burnley score (classy bird me) and danced (like a idiot) to this Avicii song. I’m not proud of myself.
Brain: “I want a coffee”.
Me: “We agreed to decrease the caffeine remember? How about a kiwi, ginger and pear juice?”
Brain: “How about I punch you in the Hippocampus?”
Me: “It won’t kill you to just try it!”
Brain: “The hell you say, I could be allergic to that green shit….pass me the Nescafe, a tablespoon and a bib!..Don’t give me that disapproving look…In fact forget the spoon, just pass me the jar!”
My brain is not handling the whole ‘decreasing caffeine’ thing well, I am trying to keep it distracted but I fear I have failed so far.
The day started with what I thought would be a bracing walk in the rain (it is Lancashire after all) with the pup…However it turned out to be a new style of ‘Krypton Factor‘ in which you have to avoid the copious amounts of broken glass bottles, vomit and turd (nothing says Happy New Year like a combination of those three smeared on every pavement for you to skid in).
“I just want a cup of coffee” I said to mum after explaining the horrors of the morning.
“You just need to keep busy, to just keep focusing on other things…Why not go shopping for those boots you’re after?” She suggested.
“You know I only ever go shopping when I’m feeling particularly evil…and gassy” I uttered with a smirk.
I’m afraid I don’t ‘do’ shopping; I don’t get excited by handbags or shoes (or make-up for that matter), I get all glassy eyed by the differences in jean styles (not that it really matters given that the leg length is always wrong for my short frame) and I definitely don’t like walking into a shop only for some numpty to spray perfume in my eyes (my eyes can’t tell you if there are subtle undertones of lily in the liquid, they can just tell me that it burns more than the time I fell asleep in a Vindaloo!).
Instead I opted to put out the bins ready for tomorrow’s collection (read as: I managed to tip the whole thing over when trying to manoeuvre it down some steps, cue much swearing as each bin liner pretty much split and rained rubbish over my trainers when I tried to clean up the mess) then settled in for the football with a decaf tea (the chocolates were a big mistake given the level of gobby I get to when the Clarets are playing).
All the while my brain is talking about caffeine…
“Burnley are losing at the moment…perfect time for a nice cup of (full-fat-none-of-that-decaf-rubbish) tea”.
“Oh, going for a wee…you know what would go great with that wee? A lovely cup of coffee!”
“Brrrr…That Panopticon photo looks cold…Doesn’t it make you feel cold just thinking about it? How about a hot cup of coffee…or tea…tea is good too!”
“Oh look, a Burnley equalizer…Why not bob the kettle on for a celebratory brew? Huh? It’s as good a time as any for- oh wait, Newcastle have scored…Balls”.
Sigh. Balls indeed.