#0159. MY 'ONLY FOOLS AND HORSES' ALARM CLOCK.

There are no nice alarm tones. No matter how calm and soothing they sound the night before, come 7.15am they're clanging death-bells being hammered with untuned violins. But sweet baby Jesus, there has to be a better way than this...

You have no idea how confusing it is to be woken up every day by having someone else's name shouted at you. 

And not only is my first thought of the day, "Jesus Christ... I'm Nicholas Lyndhurst!" it's also quite obvious from the urgency in David Jason's voice that there's some kind of trouble afoot. Possibly involving Uncle Albert and/or an unpaid VAT bill relating to those Spanish calculators we shifted in the Nag's Head last week. 

(And then I think, "Well, if all this goes belly up I could always live off Cassandra's income for a while. And thank god I've got that CGE in computers...")

Then it plays the theme tune. And I'm awake. 

Welcome to the day. 

Thanks, fuckers. 

#0158. GETTING A BULLY-BOY IN A HEADLOCK, THEN REALISING YOU'VE PASSED THE POINT OF NO RETURN, AND THAT SUDDENLY YOU'RE QUITE RELUCTANT TO LET HIM GO.

It's a bit like Guantanamo Bay -- you can keep them there indefinitely, but the longer you do, the higher the chance of reprisals afterwards.

Which is why I once held one particular bully-boy in a headlock for an entire 30-minute lunch-break.

Granted it wasn't recently.

But you know, I've got nothing to say about Swine Flu.

So.