Pork Sweats

It is ten past 4 in the morning. I have just awoken sweating profusely despite the fact that it is very much Winter. This is not due to some fantastic heating system I have in my flat - no - it is, I can only assume, a result of my having had too much pig. Let me explain. Last night, I had what can only really be described as "the tea of a madman". Having next to no food in my flat (cupboards as bare as a Mother-Hubabrd), I grabbed my arctic fleece, crampons and pick-axe and dived (dove?.............Dave?) into my freezer to see what delights I could liberate, defrost, cook, burn, ruin and consume. All I found was, well, a confusion of pork. 4 pork chops, which I had clearly thrown in the freezer in something of a shopping induced strop (easily done), which had become one and the same. So, as I thought you couldn't defrost, cook and then re-freeze pork, and after having struggled unsuccesfully to separate them, I decided to eat them. All. All 4. My tea was 4 pork chops and half a can of baked beans, decorated with a little sauteed (bollocks, it was fried) onion and some grated cheese. FOUR. PORK. CHOPS. I phoned my Mother later that evening and told her. She sounded worried. The sort of worried Mothers normally get when you are 17, locked in your bedroom for a week and a half listening only to Radiohead. She simply replied "oooooooooooh, that's too much meat". She (as Mothers often are) was right. 8 hours on from my "meal" I am, whilst not in agony, not very comfortable. I have the pork sweats and it serves me right. Who eats 4 pork chops? Not even a large dog. FOUR!!

Anyway. That's enough pig/dawn gut ache news, how are you? Good I hope. Oh, I just found out I won £7.70 on the Euromillions, excellent, I can afford some indigestion medicine now. I suppose I better try and get some sleep. Goodnight. Sleep tight. (FOUR!)

Tired thoughts

My Mum made macaroni with blue cheese tonight (I don't eat there every night, I am not a stray cat with 4 teeth which can't meow properly so sounds like old bagpipes being squeezed by an accountant). My point is, Mum has known me just over 37 years, all my life in fact, and I have NEVER once said to her "mmmmm this blue cheese is ruddy delicious and doesn't taste at all like sweaty dog arseholes". Still I battled gamely through it, there are after all people who would swim through a sea of used hypodermics just to lick my spoon when I am finished so I shouldn't whinge.

I am currently looking for somewhere new to live (the gummy cat scenario may not be far off) and am going to someone's house tomorrow night to see a REALLY cheap room. Theories currently keeping me awake include: it's cheap because the room is smaller than a bee's purse, the people who own the house are perverts and will film me shaving while eating trfile in swimming trunks, the floor is made of Ryvita, they have an old, old dog called Harris who every so often shits in everyone's shoes and it ALWAYS smells of pedigree chum soaked in diesel, or maybe they are fat naturists and have more flesh than the entire boxsets of Carry On and Emmanuel combined. Soon find out.

Right, I am away to the land of nod. Not sure why, but that sounds dirty; "Where you been?" "Nod" "Oh yeah? Get any?" "Yeah, 40 wanks, I mean winks".

Goodnight everybody, goodnight.