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Monday 21st June 2004

CNPS numbers spotted 7 (853). I need 146 numbers in 43 days - an average of 3.4 numbers per day. It should be possible, but may go down to the wire.

Annoyingly I just spent half an hour writing an hilarious account of my car journey to my gig last night, but when I pressed post the whole thing disappeared. It was probably the best Warming Up ever written, but I just don't think I can recreate it and I don't have the time, so I'm going to write something different.

The problem with thrill seeking is that the high is inevitably followed by a low. After feeling I was the king of the world yesterday - respected by men and desired by women - today I came down to earth with a bump. Or rather I didn't. And that was the problem.
I had returned to my humdrum life which involved less falling through the sky at 120 mph and more sitting on a chair, failing to write anything and looking at stuff on the internet. I considered throwing myself out of the window for kicks, but I didn't have a little bald man attached to my back and would have crashed through my conservatory ceiling before I had managed to experience the exhiliration of free-fall. And then there would have been the bleeding and broken limbs and glass to pick out of my eyes. On balance I decided to stay where I was. And maybe play a game of Scrabble on my Gameboy. I got an eight letter word that crossed tow triple word scores. But it wasn't the same as jumping out of a plane.
Suddenly playing Scrabble against a computer seemed like a boring and pathetic thing to do.
I have jumped out of Pandora's Box and nothing will ever be the same again.
Have I entered a cycle where I need to find increasingly more thrilling things to do in order to feel alive now? Is this why parachutists are suicidal, because after you've fallen from a plane, life itself is too dull to contemplate?
Or was I just depressed because I was doing a gig on a night of an important England match and I knew no-one was going to want to come and see me?
I hope I am not going to have to become a professional dare-devil and serial dater to keep up with the excitements of the last few weeks. Like some kind of sleazy version of John Noakes... or actually just like a normal version of Peter Duncan.

That was nowhere near as good as what I wrote before. Fate is a cruel mistress.

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