It’s that bipolar time again. Recently, to escape the rain, I ducked into ‘The Green Man’ on Edgware Road and ordered myself a large whisky. Within thirty seconds I was accosted by one of those men who just like to wail about the state of the world. I don’t mind that particularly. It means I don’t have to say much.
‘I had an ‘eart attack you know. They won’t give me no disability. Thing is, I’m a butcher, and if I stand up for more than two hours my ankles expand four inches.
‘Thing is, if I went in and said I was bipolar I’d get ninety-five quid a week extra. I reckon there’s no such thing. In my day, people called it ‘being a bit fed up’”.
So, I’m a bit fed up.
I tend to do crazy creative things when I’m a bit fed up so I started a painting of David Bowie’s ‘Aladdin Sane’ cover. I’ve also been watching ‘Spartacus’ on and off. One could base a drinking game around Spartacus, where one would have to take a sip of drink every time a penis was referred to, or down a shot every time John Hannah mentions bums, poo or wee-wee. I don’t think even Paul Gascoigne would get to the end of one episode before passing out.
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