4016 days without missing a blog.
No finger in my anus this morning. Somehow life just doesn't seem as vibrant as it did yesterday. I guess I could have put my own finger up there, but I am not a pervert. Maybe if I had sat on my left hand and then used that it would have felt like someone else had done it. But without them being there to look slightly sickened and then apologise it means nothing.
Of course if the technology ever becomes available to send a finger through time then we might be able to change today and give me the lift I needed. And in that reality I might have got more work done. But I still won't be able to see the time traveller's disgruntled face and will always be left with the distinct feeling that the finger still belonged to me. I mean who else would use the technology to achieve this goal.
This probably isn't the best entry for new readers (and people unaware of my other work) to start on. At least read yesterday's entry first. And no pun intended on entry there.
Ian Virgin and his deputy manager Richard Branston have had a fair deal of money off me in the last few months without having to provide any service at all. I have been paying for the gym and have maybe been three times and paid about £70 a visit. Which is good because it makes me feel like an eccentric millionaire who has no idea of the value of anything and pays top dollar for everything. So thanks Richard Branston. Hope you enjoy throwing my £210 around on a bed in Necker Island, laughing at my stupidity as well as the fact that I am really fat and unfit.
I do feel that gyms should have some kind of evaluation and if you've paid for a few months and rarely or never been you should at least get a free meal in the cafe or something. But having finally made it to the Virgin Active this morning my wife and I had lunch there too and gave Richard Branston another £15, like he is some kind of charity case. And why not? We shouldn't discrimate. Why should it be only the poor and needy that are recipients of our generosity? Without us to fund their billionaire lifestyle, people like Branston would have to live in a manner that would be, to them, much more humiliating and scarring than the stuff that poor people have to put up with. They're used to being poor/starving/ill and so it's not so difficult for them to cope. Please give generously to the rich. There won't be snow on Necker Island this Christmas.
And at least Branston seems to enjoy spending my money. A lot of those billionaires look so unhappy and pinched and just keep their billions tied up in bank accounts and investments. Look how happy Branston is. I helped put that smile on his face.
Surely one day Branston will have a look on his computer and notice how much money I have given him and how little time I have spent at the gym and as a reward invite me for a free fortnight on his exclusive holiday island. And with a little wink he'll say, "And you can use the gym here any time you like, for free.... so that will be never then!" And we'll laugh together and Kate Winslett will bring us a cocktail and we'll get on so well that Branston says I never have to go home.
Without me and people like me giving him money in return for nothing, Branston would be back flogging LPs. I know it's wrong to do something this charitable and expect something in return. But fingers crossed.
It was good to get back to exercising though
And my favourite thing today was Leonard Nimoy tweeting that when he was a cab driver in the 50s, he had once had JFK in the back of his taxi. For some reason the thought of Spock giving a future president a lift made me feel warm and happy. An accidental crossover between two men who would have a profound effect on the world, neither of them realising it at the time. JFK would never see Star Trek of course and he must have also been bummed out to miss the first episode of Doctor Who (though he came so close). I wonder if he was assasinated by people who didn't want him to see any science fiction television. Perhaps the finger on the trigger that day had travelled through time to get to the book depositry. It chose to go back and assasinate a 46 year old President rather than give a 46 year old comedian a cheap and unexpected thrill. Which suggests the people in control of actual time travel are not as beneficent and kind as the Doctor. If you are reading this before going back to kill JFK, please reconsider and stick that finger up my anal passage. I say this for the good of humanity, not for any personal prurience.
More historical fun in today's Metro column, my 91st for the paper, not that I enjoy counting.