Dear Dobson,
Your day of 'Super Learning' made me want to weep for you and those like you. If ever there were a valid excuse to self-harm I'd say you have one right there... 'This morning we will be dealing with conflict resolution and this afternoon we will be stating the cunting obvious'. It's a shame your poor man's Tony Robbins looked nothing like Tony Robbins; given that visual stimulus some inappropriate nipple brushing at the back could have been a fine way to pass the seemingly endless hours.
Today it is my turn to have eyes like pissholes in the snow. It's safe to say I am fairly fucked and a battery recharge is on this evening's agenda. A lovely, but late, time on Friday night / Saturday morning and then beaucoup de gin in Kings Langley last night has broken me.
The train journey back from Watford was fairly horrific; standing room only and I'm sure I actually nodded off at one point during the twenty-five minute ride, unable to fight the urge to close my stinging eyes. On waking from my vertical power snooze I noticed the dribble down the back of the young German in front of me and can only presume I was responsible.
I was so desperate to get home I was close to tears on changing at London Bridge. An irritating toilet stop slowed me down there, though I confess the desire to just let it flow was strong. I am unsure whether the need for 'immediate release' was a symptom of the three pints consumed with my roast dinner or simply my middle-aged bladder. I don't relish the prospect of the waterworks going up the spout just yet. Catheter schmatheter.
Is it too early to go to bed given that the clocks went back?
Frankie
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