...of the accidental variety.
Some can be helpful, such as coffee and a deadline.
Others? Well, let's just say the jury's out. It would seem less fortuitous to have a late night visit by me old mate Spike last night. Enough to make me reach for half a vitamin Z, but all that did was make me too dopey to reach for t'other half.
And so I enjoyed a night of squirming semi-consciousness punctuated with stabbing pains down both legs. As a result, I have spent most of today in a state of tiredness, and managed little more than pumping up the tyres on my wheelchair and roasting a chicken. Luckily I was awake enough not to roast the tyres and pump up the chicken. But it isn't this peculiar combination I am referring to..
No, it was the altogether rash decision (considering my dazedness) to watch a particular film tonight. I am referring to the rather fine 'Gonzo-The life and work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson'.
Rest assured, I am not about to start collecting guns or adding magic mushrooms and peyote buttons to my recipe for roast chicken. It is more a nagging sense of gloom at the state of things. The film's very fair comparisons between the presidencies of Nixon and Bush Jr. are very well observed, although in truth it wasn't fear and loathing on the campaign trail which did for the former, but rather straight forward investigative journalism by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman.
As for Bush, while Jon Stewart must surely take a smidgeon of credit for helping to depose the psychotic idiot, there is a nagging feeling that we are lacking a voice infused with enough piss and vitriol to resonate with the kind of rage that should be present. For while Dr. Thompson would still have been just one small, quirky, counter-cultural voice, at least he wouldn't be waiting, doe-eyed and innocent, for the next Whitehouse visionary to be hamstrung by the system.
And, once you clear away the alcohol and drug-fuelled fog, the man could write, too. For anyone who hasn't read it, I would heartily recommend The Rum Diary. It offers an insight into the writer before the legend was born.
So, this is my point. In case you haven't guessed it. I am now tap-tap-tapping away through my own, far less glamorous haze of a double drop of Tramadol and a small glass of whisky, waiting for sleep to claim me and reset the pain clock. And wondering if this is the beginning of another period of closer 'friendship' from Spike, with his love for surprise late night appearances.
Tomorrow is another day, and I'm sure all will be well in the world once more. Well, once I get over being woken up by an eager and well rested 4 year old bouncing on me and pelting me with soft toys, only to discover the hangover I have already prepared.
Some can be helpful, such as coffee and a deadline.
Others? Well, let's just say the jury's out. It would seem less fortuitous to have a late night visit by me old mate Spike last night. Enough to make me reach for half a vitamin Z, but all that did was make me too dopey to reach for t'other half.
And so I enjoyed a night of squirming semi-consciousness punctuated with stabbing pains down both legs. As a result, I have spent most of today in a state of tiredness, and managed little more than pumping up the tyres on my wheelchair and roasting a chicken. Luckily I was awake enough not to roast the tyres and pump up the chicken. But it isn't this peculiar combination I am referring to..
No, it was the altogether rash decision (considering my dazedness) to watch a particular film tonight. I am referring to the rather fine 'Gonzo-The life and work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson'.
Rest assured, I am not about to start collecting guns or adding magic mushrooms and peyote buttons to my recipe for roast chicken. It is more a nagging sense of gloom at the state of things. The film's very fair comparisons between the presidencies of Nixon and Bush Jr. are very well observed, although in truth it wasn't fear and loathing on the campaign trail which did for the former, but rather straight forward investigative journalism by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman.
As for Bush, while Jon Stewart must surely take a smidgeon of credit for helping to depose the psychotic idiot, there is a nagging feeling that we are lacking a voice infused with enough piss and vitriol to resonate with the kind of rage that should be present. For while Dr. Thompson would still have been just one small, quirky, counter-cultural voice, at least he wouldn't be waiting, doe-eyed and innocent, for the next Whitehouse visionary to be hamstrung by the system.
And, once you clear away the alcohol and drug-fuelled fog, the man could write, too. For anyone who hasn't read it, I would heartily recommend The Rum Diary. It offers an insight into the writer before the legend was born.
So, this is my point. In case you haven't guessed it. I am now tap-tap-tapping away through my own, far less glamorous haze of a double drop of Tramadol and a small glass of whisky, waiting for sleep to claim me and reset the pain clock. And wondering if this is the beginning of another period of closer 'friendship' from Spike, with his love for surprise late night appearances.
Tomorrow is another day, and I'm sure all will be well in the world once more. Well, once I get over being woken up by an eager and well rested 4 year old bouncing on me and pelting me with soft toys, only to discover the hangover I have already prepared.
The danger with coffee is that you can just end up doing stupid things faster and with more energy (but it's very hard to resist a Melbourne coffee).
I do hope we're going to hear about how you went with R's school (i.e. re The Times article about access etc.).