Captain Bored.

Captain’s Log.  Stardate: 16th June 2011.  Location: A branded coffee house in Greenwich.  Status: Very, very bored.

So bored in fact, I considered taking Viagra.  Just to see what it was like to be 14 again.  Walking around with a throbbing erection all day.  I opted against that.  But I considered it.  Seriously considered it.  That’s how bored I am.

The windows let slip the view of the dribbling rain.  Even the rain’s bored.  Persisting with its lethargic sprinkle of pitter-patter, it exhales and gives me an exhausted look.  Just getting on with the job.

I’d wish it’d thunder.  Gallons of water falling in seconds, causing people to run from doorway to doorway.  The wind disfiguring faces and even thrusting small dogs into the air.  Mans best friend looking non-the-wiser as their tongues lap against their widened eyes.  I look on and laugh to myself.  Like a maniacal baddie. Occasionally sipping at my hot chocolate.  A marshmallow catches in my moustache as a man’s face is forced upon the window by the relentless weather.  He didn’t even wear a jacket.  Idiot.

On Planet Normal it’s drizzling and people are arriving through the doors in a calm and collected matter.  Not much to speak of or share.  No need to unite against a common enemy.  People can cope against the drizzle.  No excitement is created.  It’s just a shit day.

Shit day or not, I like the rain.  It takes a certain sense of guilt away that only comes when I stay inside on such a beautifully sunny day.  A tug of war takes place on whether I should be outside not wasting what limited good weather we have in this country, or whether I should be inside working hard creating the life that I want.   I’ve decided that if everything goes tits-up, I’m heading to a tropical Island to live in a beach hut.  That’s my contingency plan.  In the meantime, well, it’s just going to piss down all the time anyway.

I heard the heavy droplets of rain this morning whilst the warmth of the bed tried to keep me dreaming;
“What you doing today?” Hannah was stroking my head as she was leaving to go to work.  I started to think.  Nothing came to mind.  Apart from eating a bacon sandwich.  It was 8.30am and I was immediately bored.
“Dunno,” I exhaled, “Might write my blog.”
“Oh really?  What about?”
“Oh that sounds good.  See you later tonight.” She kissed me goodbye.  Hannah was immediately bored.

I never know what to write about.  What do you write about in a blog?  If all I did was offer opinions, then I would just be a weirdo having an opinionated ranted week by week all by myself.  Surely the joy is to discuss?  I like people to come back at me with some sort of thought.  That is how one learns (in my opinion).  And even though I am one of the most opinionated persons on this here earth, I find that some days I don’t want to have an opinion.  I don’t want to discuss.  I am bored about trying to figure things out.  I don’t give a shit.

As the millions (okay, more like tens) of people who read my past blogs will know, I’ve tried the whole Guardian columnist bloggy blog blog thing.  You can’t live your life like that.  Everyone writes like that at the moment don’t they?  Who wants to read another person doing that?  As far as I’m concerned we’ve got Charlie Brooker.  You don’t need anyone else.  Besides, Hannah always moans that I’m ranting.  I explain to her that that’s what blokes do.  Women nag and men rant.  That’s life.  None of us realise it, we all do it with the best intentions, but we all do it.

So what should I write about?  I could talk forever about football.  I could go for a week about how much I dislike X-Factor and similar circus programmes.  I can scream and shout about politics.  The truth is, I’m happy going for a long walk and having my belly rubbed.  I want to chase a stick and bite peoples’ ankles.  I want to sit at a window and watch attractive women pass by, pausing only to indulge in weirdos dressed in carrier bags. That’s all I want from life sometimes.  Some might say a dog’s life.  But hey, dog’s love the rain, and they’re always smiling.

The ever elaborate Camomile tea bag moistens my nose as I finish my cup.  The chair growls as I rise to a standing position.  Outside, the sun has broken through the rain clouds.  I’m still bored.  Think I’ll head out for a stroll.  Catch a t-shirt tan.  Maybe chase a car or two.

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