I Must Confess I Still Believe, Still Believe

So off I shuffled to the lovely, sprawling scourge of west London, Heathrow, which would normally be a journey I would do with a song in my heart as it means I'm off to do something ribald in a foreign country, but this time was coloured by sadness as I was sending the young chap off for a two-week business trip. This is not an occurrence that usually would impinge on our lives, as we are happy in our relatively minor and menial positions in the hulking media behemoth that pays our wages, and in return for our continued suppression of any career aspirations, we are given no responsibilities to weigh down our brows after we clock out of an evening. But, alas and alack, the young chap's natural abilities have shone through his disinterest-encrusted exterior, and he has been given a promotion he didn't ask for. So off he's veritably buggered, leaving me with two weeks to make my own entertainment, in a strictly non-euphemistic way.

At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without him by my side. Or more realistically, that I'd be really bored without someone to laugh indulgently when I start ranting at the television, or the computer, or the gods. But now I have two whole weeks on my own, I can't see how I'm going to fit everything in. At least four cinema trips (smuggling in contraband coke to reduce snacking costs), my Richard Herring book has arrived and needs to be rapidly consumed, there's a whole lotta Liberty City that requires ripping the hell up, and I may even fit in a few slivers of time for interactions with other pleasant humans. There's a good chance I'm going to have so much fun that I will never want the young chap to come back and litter up the place. Apart from the long, crippling bouts of loneliness, I'm having a ball.

So I may even be blogging slightly more often over the next two weeks, although my creative momentum may not get the opportunity to build up too much if I'm just absorbing other bits of culture. My rotary momentum, however, is building up way too much as I spin round and round and round and round on my cheap-assed Ikea office chair. I think I miss surfing-whilst-on-couch ability more than man who has taken said ability away with his laptop.

Good thing he never reads this, huh?