Another adventure in the newest sci-fi dystopia serialisation of a story which will not be seen in a cinema near you.
What if a gift is shit? If the person who has bought the gift couldn’t give two rats arses about what the recipient derives enjoyment from or can make use of in their lives, then the gift will usually be utter crap.
I love words; I love music; I love to cook. I also, kind of, like recipes where they are written as something to read, not purely as some kind of technical document. They’re entertaining, no?
I was wearing shorts and sandals, and a big sheet of plastic. I looked massively ridiculous and I did not care.
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.
I like a drink, and I always have. The problem is what comes the following day.
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.