Roots Will Reclaim The Bricks That We Lay

Dear Octopus,


An uneventful weekend. The Goat's birthday on Friday, which after a long lunch in Yauatcha with ITV (and at least two White Russians too many) was something of a heinous display of wretched inebriation that I would not advise anyone who has friends to wilfully repeat. On Saturday I wrote a short story, for which I have enlisted Honksy to devise a title. In the evening went for a Thai on the Northcote Road with the Bear and the Toad, fresh from their excursion to 'the boat show that shall not be mentioned.' The Bear got food poisoning from his green curry, which to me sounded like a hearty dose of much-needed karma. We talked about house prices.


I've been thinking a lot today about my clothes. When I went down to steal her swipe card and then claim Alex was using it to chop crystal meth, Becky told me that she liked my jumper, to which I honestly replied, 'I absolutely and unreservedly hate this jumper.' Quite rightly perhaps, her response was, 'well why are you wearing it then?'


I had nothing. Why was I wearing it? Why do I wear any of my clothes? They're all rubbish. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure that I like clothes any more. 


Epiphany. 


Is that it now? Am I destined to be one of those people who wears things just because they're comfortable, rather than fashionable? Will I find myself in years to come watching University Challenge in a pair of Marks & Spencer's Blue Harbour chinos with an elasticated waistband? Fleeces? Sandals? Where does it end? The sad truth is that I know where it frigging well ends.....it ends with me spending my Saturday wandering aimlessly around the Homebase on Dog Kennel Hill, muttering to myself about how maybe I should get some new dimmer switches for the living room, pushing a trolley full of Dulux emulsion that I don't need and worrying that the ticket on the parking might expire, even though I know it has another hour. A mirthless life lived in the shade. Vast aisles of infinite nothing.


As I'm typing this I know for a fact that there's a bottle of bleach in the bathroom that I could easily drink before Honksy and Fobbs start watching Glee. As tempting as it sounds....


......I can't. If I spilled some it might ruin my jumper.


Your loving friend,


Action Squid