July 3, 2007

It's 4am this morning, and I am beaming broadly in the gloomy breaking light of dawn while listening to the thundering cascade of the Caspian Sea itself drop out of the sky and land, directly, on my roof, some seven slim feet above me.

I did quite well, though, really, considering that I didn't actually get to sleep until around 2am, having been kept awake by the thundering cas... oh, see paragraph one.

Mind you, it wasn't just the rain.

The fact I was fucking freezing cold, too, helped me stay awake through the first chilly hours of Tuesday watching a BBC Wales sign language programme. In Welsh.

Then again, it wasn't just the rain and the cold, either.

Luckily, with the temperatures having plummeted to what now feels like an Arctic winter, I had been forced to leave my windows wide open in a bid to remove the searing, eye-wateringly strong stench of disinfectant, Dettol, washing up liquid, unused contact lens solution, and every single bathroom and toilet-cleaning product available in the House of Doom, which in turn had been deployed by me, while wearing Vaseline around my nose and a tea-towel around my head, to remove the gut-wrenching, instant projectile vomit-inducing, deathly pallid green reek that was shimmering and floating upwards and outwards from the sloppy but nonetheless impressively-sized mound of cat shit sludge that had been deposited next to one of the windows, approximately four feet from my bed.

Boy, was it fun cleaning that up.

All that said and done, though, it wasn't just the cat shit and the biting cold and the hammering rain that was keeping me wide-eyed and bushy-tailed and bursting with self-belief.

The fact I'd found out that I hadn't been paid yet a-bloody-gain - "we'll try and get it to you this Friday, even though it should have been in last Friday, and even though we buggered up the week before, too, and, oh, if we can, we'll try and get this week's pay in on time, too, if we can, but we'll have to see" - also helped in my quest for true, Buddhist, inner peace.

And of course, as well as the remaining threepence in my pocket and the burning cloud of cheap disinfectant and the vile stench of cat shit and the relentless thunder of rain and the howling Siberian gales lashing and growling through my wide-open windows, I also had the distinct pleasure of knowing Amy had taken a turn for the worse.

So imagine my near orgasmic joy, dear reader, my undwindling trust in faith and fortune, dear reader, when the fucking BT engineers started ploughing into the road with jackhammers, like huge, hungry woodpeckers out of their fucking tits on amphetamine, at 6am this very morn.

Bliss, dear reader.

My life is bliss.