"Life."


I exclaim the word ‘life’ to myself with alarming regularity.

I did it twice today, on the ten-minute walk from my flat to my office: once, when the neighbour who always blanks me lived up to my expectations despite me saying hello, then again, when I wound up doing an impromptu disco dance trying to pass someone on the street, then apologized - though it wasn’t my fault - to no response. “Life”.

I sometimes feel like I’m in the midst of a battle: Me v The World. I then realise I’m being a melodramatic, self-obsessed megalomaniac. I’ll then get distracted by thinking about megalodons, then award myself with a biscuit for my knowledge of extinct sea creatures and my top-class diagnosis.

Today is an exception. It’s Christmas Eve. Most people are too preoccupied with what they haven’t done or bought yet to look where they’re going or say hello. With that in mind, I’ll let everyone off. If it carries on into the New Year, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Perhaps I should call next year's stand-up show 'Life'. It would be a great excuse for stitching together disparate material. I could also walk on to Des’ree, which is a bonus.

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