It's all colopsing around one's ears.
What to do? That is the question. Hamlet, when he was a boy, did he have an imaginary friend?
Where do I fit in? Perhaps I'm a non fitter-in. Surely not.
The Misfit - he didn't fit in anywhere. At least, that's what he felt. And if you feel something then that's the reality of the situation, isn't it.
He's writing, writing all the time doctor. It's not natural, is it?
Drums, Group, Dancing, not doing good at any of 'em.
Not a successful Thursday night. Why can't I remember steps.
Of course, being deaf doesn't help. Not stone deaf, just hard of hearing.
Perhaps I need a good horror story to take my mind off things.
But who's interested in how you feel. They've all got their own problems, so drink your Moretti and eat your crisps, though not too many because of the fat content.
Alcohol and crisps, she said, I spent it on alcohol and crisps.
It's coming to something when the adverts are more interesting than the football.
And with one mighty bound, he leapt to freedom.
The beer has reached my knees. I will depart into the night.
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