Insane

There were eight of us in Starbucks at 7.00 this morning: the paunchy regular with the annoying moustache who always seems to be in front of me, the serious looking continental who sounds vaguely Nordic and looks depressed (think the two go together); me; and four blokes in yellow jackets who look like they've wandered off a motorway hard shoulder but were mainly ordering skinny latte. What's the world coming to when workmen have all gone frothy and light? Insane.

Work was predictably far from light (if work were a cup of coffee it would be a stale instant with a fag stubbed out in it, daring you to drink it "if you think 'yer 'ard enough"). Insane.

Headed home at lunchtime and spent the afternoon doing telephone interviews, with some success; think I may have recruited someone to take at least one worry off my shoulders. Fish chowder (home made last night) for supper followed by Cookie Dough ice cream in a meringue with whiskey poured over it. My own invention. Insane.

This is the neighbour's wacked out stock car parked on his drive behind the rose bush, with a stupid mouse on top. Made me laugh in a rare moment of sunshine. Insane.

Here's a challenge. Try saying the word "insane" over and over again in a monotone without sounding like an outboard motor ... bet you can't ...