It really has. It's been a week, almost a week, since my last post on this infamous blog. Where does the time go? Does somebody hoover it up? Does it fly by like a Concorde did until New York got them abolished? Seriously, what happens to time? Many days have passed since I hit Dieter with a cabbage, he may think I'm going soft. I'm sure it was only yesterday that I hit his noggin and yet it has been a week. A week since anything of note happened. One minute I was a little bud then I was a performer on Broadway and then I found my way to commanding an army of slugs. What happened in the intervening years? Were they stolen? If so, who would steal my years? Can I report them to the police? My years have been stolen and I demand them back. It is all quite disturbing and I'm feeling rather flustered. I need to lie down and take a breather. Perhaps I can get one of my trained slugs to make me some tea. However, last time one of my slugs made me tea he accidentally fell into the cup and boiled himself. He tasted like a mushroom. No, I shall have to do it myself whilst I work out what has happened to the past few days, week however long it has been. I want my time back and I demand answers. Anyway, let this be my blog post while I gather my thoughts and write something much more coherent soon... you'd be so lucky!
Sometimes you just have one of those days, don't you? I had mine today - one of those days. I don't know why I get one of those days. Not the one of those days as in one of those days I'm going to get you and turn your head into a flower pot but one of those days where you just feel ugh, you know, one of those days. It had started off perfectly normally. I had woken up feeling almost as fresh as a trampled daisy, spotted Dieter watering his rose bush so I nipped out and launched a cabbage at the back of his unsuspecting head then went back inside, joyously before feeling deflated and knowing I was having one of those days. Despite my best efforts, it still remained one of those days. Nothing productive happened, my slugs were evidently having marriage problems, my finger was dried up and unable to write down a single word and my pipe remained empty. It was just one of those days. Even Mr Snazzy, my famed moustache, seemed to lose his sheen. So I crawled back into bed, literally crawled as I was moderately intoxicated, and went into an eerie slumber that didn't refresh me at all, naturally. I say naturally because I knew it was one of those days.
In Maputo I am known for my love of tinned tuna.