Life is an enduring mystery. What's it all about? Why am I here? What's on telly?
I've just got back from work after nine hours spent at a desk, every moment spent looking at the clock and counting down to 6pm. And now I'm home and freeeeee, and I have the sneaking suspicion that something might be going on beyond these walls, all I can think is 'Ah fuck it, I'll stay in'. I've got my free time yet I'm worn out, and I'm penniless. And I'll do this til the weekend when I'll barely move except to eat shit and visit lots of art galleries for a couple of days until it's back to work for a week of more banal, spirit crushing mundanity.
Then I'll wake up aged 56, with a hernia. Life is a bunch of cunt.