The Magnificent Sloven

 I'm not up to much. Ask anyone. But what I mean is I haven't been doing much.  

I could have been. I've always got stuff to do. I'm re-formatting a screenplay. I've got half an idea for a short story. I've written a couple of short films and I should be thinking of new and exciting ways of thrusting my "Goat Songs" film under people's noses. (Actually harder than you think - even e-mailing it directly to people on THEIR request isn't always enough to get them to watch it. I wish my booster jab was as resistant). I'm supposed to be constructing a CV and attempting to lure people into representing me. 

But I haven't been doing that. 

Today I watched an episode of The Sweeney while eating mini-cheddars, lying on the sofa in the manner of one of the more crapulent Caesars at leisure. I'm now watching a Christmas episode of Upstart Crow, while Susan is in the other room preparing some gin and tonics. Unusually, and I'm knocking the shit out of a forest of sap-spilling vertical wood, I'm presently not in any pain. In the past few weeks I've had back ache, tooth ache, head ache, knee ache, bouts of gastric flu and a couple of Covid pings, though Susan and I have never tested positive. Its been quite grim. I resent pain that seems to have no cause, because the implication is that its just old age, with the further implication that this is just what life is going to be like from now on, until the sweet relief of death. 

But, at the moment, the agonies have abated. I can unclench. I can relax. I'm watching Joanna Lumley on her quest to find the Northern Lights, and I'm about to open a bottle of red. I've sent two e mails today and written this blog, and that's as close to work as I've come. I'm back in my cherished bum groove on the sofa and I have a pillow case full of M & S cheese tasters the size of Santa's sack. 

And I'm not shifting. Merry Christmas.