Almost ready to go out.I considered whether to visit the pub tonight. I hummed and hawed and then I read this.
So I’m going out. Before I go I’m having steak and chips, no veg, no salad, no fruit. At the pub there will be no limit. I’m taking more money than I can possibly drink and enough tobacco to smoke myself into a kipper.
Tomorrow I’ll still be alive. I base this on a measure statistical probability far more secure than any derived by those fake charities who insist on controlling every bite, swallow and puff. Every time I’ve done this in the past, I’ve woken up the next morning. Every time, without fail. Except one New Year when I woke up late the next afternoon, but that was an especially good one.
It is possible, of course, that the only reason I haven’t died is sheer bloody-mindedness. It is possible that I breathe and move for no other reason than it annoys the Righteous. Good enough for me. I can’t think of any better reason to be alive.
Enough talk. Drinking time’s a-wasting.
(If I post anything later, ignore it. It’s unlikely to be coherent).