I just don’t see the point of making the bed after I get up. The Sisyphean aspects of the pointless task do not worry me; such is the nature of our miserable human existence.
Each night I would pore over guide books, plotting routes all over the city, hoping to pluck up the courage to make my way in to any one of the eateries that I aspired to get in to. There was no barrier but my own insecurity.
Full disclosure: I am an incredibly angry person, but that does not mean that I hate. The two are too often conflated.
I’d like to sit both ends of this phony Culture War down together for a nice cup of tea and a chat. It would be great.
One of the reasons I set this blog up was to have a good old fashioned rant about all sorts of things which get on my nerves.
I had grown sick of sharing that with my nearest and dearest, and I think they had become weary of it, too.
Aspiration is hardly a new phenomenon, but TV gives it such scope with which to make its presence felt.
I am currently sitting on a plane; a few rows behind me, a woman has been talking loudly since she took her seat. She was probably talking loudly long before that. The problem is that she is terrified of flying.