I’m Going Slightly Mad

I’m sure everyone has those days when they have a small moment of clarity and express genuine concern about their own state of mental health. Today is my one of those days. It was only as I woke up and got out of bed that I realised I had spent the entirety of yesterday wearing my boxer shorts back to front. I realise that I have given various pieces of information there that many would not be privvy to usually, such as my choice of underwear and also that I do pretty much only sleep in my pants. I have pretty much only ever worn boxers as I think that no matter how ungainly your naked body looks, boxers have the ability to make you like slightly less of an idiot. Y-Fronts however exceed in boosting your bodily deformities to the highest extent. Were you a man of geeky, skinny build then Y-fronts will somehow suck even more weight off you, making you appear to be Mr Muscle’s bitch, someone who might snap in two if you stubbed your toe. At the same time, if you are, like myself, teetering way past your BMI limit, then y-fronts have the magical ability to give you membership to the official naked troll club. The only way y-fronts can work is if you are a big hella hunk of man and even then its only if you don’t have your name sewn into the insides incase you lose them at the gym. So boxers it is, and I have never worn boxers back to front before ever. It did strike me as odd yesterday when, in need of (to put this as uncrudly as possible) a widdle (that didn’t work. Shouldve stayed with piss or slash. Damn) it took an unnecessary degree of fumbling to find the buttons for the er front bit and in the end I gave up and used a certain degree of contortion. I have never bought boxers without a front bit or without buttons on, and yet I fully accepted that this pair didn’t have any. At the same time I couldn’t understand why it was slightly uncomfortable sitting down all day, failing to realise that I was pressing my arse into some the same tiny buttons that were missing from the front. There is no reasonable explanation for this other than perhaps my own deterioration of mind.

Other things have caused a level of worry too. There was this morning when I went in and out of the house 5 times due to me leaving various different things inside that I needed with me, only to find three of them were on my person the whole time. Once or twice is forgivable. But five times? Five times? It managed to do that magical comedy thing whereby I laughed at myself the first time, felt irritated at the next three and then by the fifth was a giggling wreck at my own incompetence. That aside, the other reason for my anxiety is that yesterday was the fourth time lately I have been told that work I do for people doesn’t pay much cash but I will get hugs. Now I am far from an anti-hug merchant. Hugs are pretty important and I like a good hug as and when necessary. Only from people that are deemed hug worthy mind you. Anyone who squeezes too firmly or weakly is gone, as is anyone who smells or I just hate the sight of. All of you do not get hugs. But generally hugs are good. I am also, I would say, an expert hugger. Some people just know exactly how hugs should be carried out and I feel I mastered this at an early age. If there were badges that said ‘hugging master’ then I would hug them. Some might say hugs make the world go round. Those people are idiots who have not studied science properly, and I class them in the same band as fuckwit creationists. But despite my appreciation of said embrace, they are not an accepted method of payment. Hugs will not get me food or pay my bills. I doubt if I hugged the man at Tesco’s or the gas man that it would change that either. Why would you think you can get away with paying for people in hugs too? My only thought is that rumour is going round that I have Downs Syndrome. While not meaning to be disrespectful to anyone that does, they are the only people that might appreciate such payment. I worry that backstage at gigs acts and promoters discuss how I will do a whole 30 minute set for a hug but they have to be careful as I’m stronger than I look. Either that or they believe I am some sort of soft toy, cue several jokes about stuffing. I am neither of those things. Money please. Any hugs that follow are a bonus. For you.

The last hint of my madness was when I went to see As It Occurs To Me, Richard Herring’s live podcast, at the Leicester Square Theatre last night. I have a full memory that I purchased a ticket, and remember seeing the confirmation webpage but as I arrived at the theatre they assured me that no such thing had ever happened. I went back to check through my emails and no confirmation email appeared. Luckily Andrew Collins came to rescue and had a spare so I got to see the show in the end which was a relief. Its been a great series of 10 podcasts and I’ve really enjoyed listening to them on my way back from gigs in the middle of nowhere so it was great to see the last one live. Without meaning to ruin any of the podcast should you not have listened to it yet, its a brilliant last show and I’m very glad that Rich will be bringing it back in 2010.

Lastly, to prove I’m not mental, here’s one of the words I recorded a definition for on Wordia.com. I am mental on purpose here and that means I can’t actually be loony. Or maybe it means I am super loony. Oh dear. Either way, enjoy:

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