I have just participated and, thank the Lord, been succesful in a game of TEPS (The Emergency Poo Sprint).
For those of you unfamiliar with TEPS, this involves an evening of drinking and eating, culminating in a sudden and rather frightening need to immediately excrete.
The need hit me about five minutes ago as I wended my drunken way home after an evening out with my father. Thank Christ, I made it in time. Racing in through the front door like an impatient penguin, I waddled upstairs (curse my first floor flat, despite its admirable view) and burst into the toilet before, well, bursting into the toilet.
I am now sitting, drinking water and enjoying the kind of buzz that is usually only experienced by potheads who have just smoked a twelve-inch skunk roll-up marijuana pipe.
Is this a male only phenomenon or do women experience TEPS too? Feedback please. I like to think I'm closing the sex gap.
So, I listened to Baz Lurhmans 'Everyones free to wear sunscreen' again yesterday. I love the song. If you don't like it, get out. Now. I mean it. Fuck off out of my blog you neanderthal.
It appeals to me on so many levels, not least of which is my own tendency to dispense sage advice to people regardless of my apparent inability to control a single event in my own life.
One of the lyrics in the song is "Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t."
That lyric has been haunting me.
I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm 33. Surely I should know by now?
Sadly, however, I don't.
Does that mean that I'm an interesting person?
Maybe it means that I'm far from interesting and have only succeeded in failing spectacularly.
I don't know.
I lack direction.
What does the future hold? Is that the question that should be occupying my time? Should I be concentrating on what destiny has in store? Should I be ignoring destiny and concentrating on my next masturbatory fantasy? Should I just go to sleep.
These are the questions which, ironically, keep me awake...
Answers on a postcard.