I’m not going to condone drugs.
Although, they are great.
But drugs have dangers. The goth picnic night out ended up finishing at about 8am. I got home on a sunday morning and had a shower at about the same time I normally get up to have a shower the rest of the week (when I have a shower that is)
I then went to sleep.
I awoke at about 1pm to put on the Grand Prix and generally find it dull enough to go back to sleep.
Which I did.
Several times.
Later in the day I was properly (not really) awake and went to Sainsbury’s to get my din dins. I decided to make me a tuna cheese melt. I love them and they are good for when you feel shit.
And it was good, this is not what the notblog is about. For this was yesterday. Today I had to go to work, not so much fun. I got home and couldn’t be fucking arsed to do anything, I had to work on preview show tomorrow. But the drugs leaving my system order me to sit on sofa and mong.
I decided to make myself another tuna cheese melt… oh yes readers. Two in a row. Both rock and roll.
I set everything up, mixed the tuna and mayonnaise, had the baguette under the grill and everything. But I couldn’t find my cheese in the fridge. I knew Ariadne, my flatmate, was just back from holiday. It’s reasonable that she’d have used a bit if she had no food in. But I had nearly a whole block there.
I did that thing you do when you feel vague of looking in the fridge some fifteen times, hoping it would appear.
It didn’t.
Then I found it
In my drug addled sunday afternoon state I’d put it in the cupboard. It was now a bit squidgy, and, although no expert, I presumed it was full of nasty bacteria. I had to reluctantly chuck it away.
But I’d already started on the sandwich, I couldn’t be arsed to get more cheese, so I just ate a horrible hot tuna sandwich.
So next time some drug lover comes up to you and tells you that there are no victims of drugs, there are… MY CHEDDAR.