I’m tired after flying. I have a bad case of plane hair where the style now mimics the back of the seat I was pinned into. I’m stood in a bathroom cubicle. It’s a good airport. You know a good airport when each individual toilet cubicle has a sink and a mirror.
Granted there are only two of them and I had to queue until I nearly wet my pants but that’s a minor detail.
Now I’ve made the mistake of ruffling. Never ruffle.
I’ve gone from seat head to that look when you’ve been rubbing balloons against your head. I hope everybody has done that at least once in their lives else I’ll look like a giant tit. Mind you, it won’t be the first or the last time. Crap. Imagine if something awful happened to me tomorrow and I died, then I’d have to take that last sentence back but I couldn’t because I’d be dead, unless of course I left the world in a most comical way and then I’d have made a great tit of myself for the last time and then wouldn’t have told a lie. Good, I’m glad I got that cleared up.
It’s fair to say I look a bit peaky. I’ve woken up a little, well, enough to handle the baggage carousel anyway. Hang on, wasn’t there something else?
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