Monday, June 2, 2014
Vault Face: I Shake My Fist At A Cosmos Turned Upside Down
Sometimes, only the most stale of fish will bring cheer to a badly lit and unkindly heated hall full of professional trout sniffers. Beyond that, there's always another Abysswinksback re-tread. Here's April 2010...
Now the excitement has all but died down (apart from the feeble whistle of the odd balloon, dangling from the rafters like a bulbous scrotum), do I detect the emerging flush of a return to normal?
Not a chance.
Every floorboard in my house is currently less attached to the floor than a novelty performing dog act that’s just won three yeses from Simon Cowell on Britain’s Got Twats; every wall previously covered in wallpaper now stands stripped bare as an imaginary male stripper in the brain of a downtrodden housewife with a spare five minutes between the hoovering and the ironing; and every vitally important document, set of keys, mobile phone, tv remote, and jar of soothing anti-stress balm lies pining for its customary easy-to-find resting place, stranded in some infinite limbo of junk like that monkey the Russians sent into space in 1949.
And where is all my underwear, Mr Central Heating Refit Guy?