There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.
I FUCKING LOVE MY FLAT
This is great, my books, my telly, my double bed (without a plastic mattress). No living with a drunk Roddy Fraser. No flyering, no smelly jumper (well, the smelly jumper is here, but I don’t have to wear it.
I’m skint and haven’t quite got the rent, but I’ve borrowed tenner a bought a curry.
I settled down with it and some films. I needed films I knew, films that remind me of home (not Wizard of Oz, though if I had Return To Oz I’d have probably watched that)
Looking through my DVD’s I found it, Monty Python’s Life Of Brian. I’d not seen it for ages, but it’s one of those films I have watched many times since I was about10 years old.
I tucked into my curry and watched the film. “There is an animal called a balm, or did I dream it?”
After the curry was gone I made a mistake, I had a bit of a lie down on the sofa, within minutes I was asleep and woke up to find myself at the end of the film. It didn’t matter, I’ve seen it so many times that I knew exactly what was going on and sat and watched the last twenty minutes, even with a tear in my eye when Eric Idle sings the Bright Side Of Life.
I slept some more, then at around midnight, my body clock well and truly fucked I sat and watched Annie Hall.
Aaaaaaah, home.