I like the quiet life.
My ideal day is to get up, brew myself a nice mug of tea and light up the pipe. I might then scribble a bit on the old laptop, and then shufty down to the village to see what is going on. I might have a chat with Spanner or drift in for a coffee, and if the weather is fine, I might head off and whack a few tourists. I like to round off my day with a few pints, and I might even fit a meal in at some stage.
Unfortunately, life isn’t like that at the moment.
Things are not quiet at all, and it is driving me up the fucking wall.
There are several things coming up over the next ten days, and they require organising.
I hate organising.
On top of that, I haven’t been sleeping too well, so the old head isn’t quite as clear as it should be. I think I may have a dose of the flu coming on, and I suspect it may be down to that Mexican I shot up the Back Valley the other day. If it is down to him, I’m going to dig him up and kill him. Again.
So my head is in a fuzz, and my life is in a spin.
I am not a happy camper.
For one of the events, I even have to get new clothes.
I fucking hate buying new clothes.
I always end up looking like a prat.