Thinking back over the last few weeks, or maybe even months, it feels like I've been trudging through porridge for ever. I guess it started when my dear old Micra was lost to the rear end shunt the marked her sad demise. It's funny how one such thing can lead to another. It's also quite humorous how much thought can easily go into this shit. Truth is that's what it is, shit and it happens.
They reckon (who ever they are) a good old trudge is good for the soul, a builder of character if you will. Well that may be the case, but to be honest, I can't be arsed. The only thing I have much interest in is a quiet life. Trouble is a quiet life is no always exactly what's on offer. Sometimes its just not quiet, sometimes it is like trudging in porridge and sometimes, once in a great while, I need to shut the fuck up and accept I'm going to get porridge between my toes.