I'm Supposedly Allergic To Rice? No, Me Neither!

Apparently, I'm basmatic.

Ah, so little sleep. Ah, so much has happened. Ah, so much to write about. This is the problem. Too many - Ah so's in the world, I've found.

Ah-so, Donald Trump gets shot, for a start. Arguably, there possibly isn't a bigger ah-so, in the Western World right now, aside from Putin. Or, is there?

Oh yes, and somewhat unremarkably, a few fellah's who are eye-wateringly overpaid for kicking a bag of air around for ninety minutes, left betting office bosses overjoyed with relief that so many ah-so's added to their handsome coffers, and that the annual staff Christmas 2024 mince pie fund is paid for handsomely in advance, after all.

Then, there's the clearly inept 'ah-so' who decided it would be a brilliant idea to transport the body parts of two people in suitcases all the way to Bristol, from LONDON. Mind you, the capital is so ridiculously short of green spaces and tourist spots, as we know, that Bristol does seem an obvious, out-of-the-way place, after all, doesn't it? As, coincidentally, does Brighton, for instance. Anywhere in Essex, perhaps. At a push, maybe Epsom racecourse.

Or, as a last resort, how about Eastbourne, where the elderly go to die? Apparently, they don't even bother to bury the dead there. Instead, they prop them up in deckchairs and wait for the outgoing tide to carry them away while hoping they don't meet up with any migrants on their way in. You know, like an omen. By the way, are you paying attention, Nigel? Nigel!

Now, although still somewhat keeping my powder dry where the newly elected establishment is concerned, I think they're onto something about beefing up the Border Services and bringing in other agencies for a more joint effort in controlling our coastline. Although, how effective it will be remains to be seen.

Unless, of course, the Leader of the 'unofficial' opposition is brought in as an advisor. In this case, having border personnel swap their uniforms for Klu Klux Klan outfits, and, who knows, taking to the shores, and the seas may prove to bring more results in one month than the Tories did in sixteen years - wouldn't that be right,

Nigel? Nigel!

Still, what do I know? Actually, I'll rephrase that. I know nothing, trust me, and anyone who says differently is a liar. Or, a sycophant. Though, while I'm not particularly clever at anything, and can just about manage to cobble together a blog, I do think I'd have more nous than to hypothetically place a pin randomly on a map while blindfolded, discover somewhere called Bristol that satisfies my fetish for places with Bridges (besides the Thames, that's nearer to where I live than two hundred plus miles away); and with it being built by Brunel, well, this is what totally gets me harder than an entire box of Viagra. So, I decided to transport the body parts there as a random act of homage to my all-time, favourite architect. The great Isambard, himself.

Then, on arrival, being so excited I could hardly retrieve my luggage from the back of a taxi, I engaged a random passerby to help me unload the cases while ensuring I was in full view of closed-circuit television cameras to record my moment of proving myself as Brunel's, all-time, number one fan, and, in public with others watching me. Now, if that isn't genius, I don't know what is. Only time will tell, and, I fully expect any television, or movie script writers worth their salt to be on it right away! In fact, get Frank Spencer on the phone, and tell him the part is his! What do you mean he's unavailable? Fine, sod him.

Get me Mr Bean, and tell him, I'll double his salary if he takes it!

Do you know, at times like this I'd give anything to have been born with a fertile imagination? I'd have the entire script written within a week.

Instead, by means of raison d'etre, and a short straw, I find myself here, tapping away on blog, after blog, after blog. Not that I'm complaining, or anything. You know me, I'd never do such a thing!

Instead, I have to propel my mind along, and it's all due to lack of sleep, again. Two hours slumber was finally mine at five o'clock this morning, and I swear I've been running on fumes ever since. Some seventeen hours later, no less, and it still feels as if my efforts are that of a worm farting in the Sahara. Of little consequence in the grander scheme of things.

However, just like the Duracell bunny, I keep going, and going, and going while my mind is in full-on vibrant mode - keeping almost lucid track of the day, and the events so far. Someone offered me grapes earlier, but I declined, as I was never able to consume wine in pill form. It's also the beginning of kids summer break and it's too much already. Not that I've got anything against children, of course.

I went to school with a few and they seemed alright to me. It's just the whingy, whiney little brats that do my head in. You can say please and thank you a million times and your toddler will never repeat it. But say "Ass-faced motherfucker" just once......... and I will rest my case there. Anyway, I now have a whole six weeks, or thereabouts wishing children came with an on/off switch. Or, at the very least a 'pause' button while I'm out and about.

Inevitably, when I am out and about, quietly sitting and enjoying a hot chocolate while running through a million and one ideas about what I'll write next, and how to compose it, there'll always be some well-meaning soul who engages me in conversation, and, at some point, they will more than likely ask me if I have any family. Then the biggest decision I have to make is whether or not I give them the Disney version, or the Jeremy Kyle one.

So, I arrive home after my daily trip out, and I can guarantee as soon as I'm inside the front door it's as if my head was a basin full to the top with all manner of ideas, and the plug was suddenly pulled. That is, until about three o'clock the following morning when I'll suddenly be wide awake with the basin full again.

Then, finally, as if all that wasn't enough I was told I may be allergic to rice, and this somehow affects my breathing. What, like I'm basmatic?

I need sleeeeep!