A frenetic few days and candles being burned all over the place. I look at my previous post and read it as though it wasn't penned by me, myself, I.
I have no recollection thereof.
Play, play, work, sleep, work, play and work. There's been not a minute of min to my aeon of max until now, this moment and an evening spread out before me of nothing doing.
Today was the watermark in busyness, covering both the racing and the football.
Darting typing fingers between sports and, as I texted to the good man Ollie, not a second to so much as fart. Then a taxi and home to rescue Isaac, a fellow tenant who had locked himself out of the house. Another tenner to the winds in the name of a good deed, and of a sudden I'm a man without immediate purpose.
Feels good. I think a pizza. And some unencumbered flatulence.