Tuesday.

A remarkable amount of criticism has been brutally slam-dunked onto my unprepared, innocent, damned dashing face because of my last post. Apparently you do get ambulances that aren't 'Emergency Ambulances', which won't come and get you when you're bleeding to death because they're far busier rescuing a man salvaged by that thing where some bile goes into the back of your mouth. Now I'll be the first for the extreme discomfort and slight queasiness this phenomena brings but the whole affair seems just a tad ridiculous to me. Ah well, I'll drop it, it's gotten me in quite enough trouble already. What really infuriated me was the level of scorn with which I was inflicted for my honest mistake, despite my entirely reasonable and logical arguments against, which I should point out are entirely valid still despite my minor mishap coming into public perception. I mean, can a man not just be wrong these days? It's correctness gone mad, is a little bit of truth that important between friends. Shocking is the way in which some people think they can be better than me by knowing more than me and saying what they know more eloquently than I say what I don't. Does the fact that their performance outstrips mine at every turn render them better speakers of truth than I? Alas, yes, and so I say unto you, world, "feck".

And now for my first encore, or to be more precise the actual point I've been meaning to get across today rather than blithering on about mistakes of the past. Here we have it:

Wouldn't it be just absolutely dandy if we could remember being a baby?

Consider it. We lose a good four years of happy memories and baffled luxury at the hands of gawping adults, when we chuck them on the "Bright lights and people pulling weird faces at me" pile, only to be reclaimed often in extreme old age, presumable because of the similarities between such memories and day to day life in the charming and yet entirely bewildered dream state of pensionhood (If pensionhood exists these days. Political BOOM). Surely there must have been some excruciatingly joyful times, or at least occasions so bizarre and confusing that at least they would provide us with a few laughs fifteen years down the line. Now what I'm about to say is pretty immature, but you'll have to bear with me, because I have the keyboard and there's nothing you can do about it. Besides, this is all in the past now anyhow, I've written the next three paragraphs, strictly speaking now I'm editing, and I'm sure I must be blowing your minds, speaking from the future like this. I'd mind out, the next stuff is pretty saucy, don't get our mind blown now. Is this sort of behaviour allowed in a supposedly legible blog? Back to immaturity, which I'm sure you're all now desperate to get back to:

Imagine the first time defecating. That must have been an odd one. The buildup of tension, the sudden relaxation and explosion all at once, and then everything's sticky and smells of, I would say poo, but we don't know what that smells like, now do we? That's just the point, the world is so full of surprises and dangerous things to put in your mouth when you're a baby. Admittedly, there are surprises at our age, but they tend to be in the form of someone unexpectedly punching you in the face or finding out on the day before the exam that chemistry is also known as 'opposite subject' and that EVERYTHING THEY HAVE TOLD YOU IS UNTRUE. And as for dangerous things to put in your mouth, we shan't even go there... Oh to be young again, and feel nappy's cruel sting*. Happy days of pungent innocence, how I long for thee. Call me a stupid little kid, but I want to be a stupid little kid. There's a first time for everything, once in your life you'd never once emptied the bucket. Weirdo.

You should all follow my friend and his new blog, http://dictionariesanddebauchery.blogspot.co.uk/ as he too is just a Darren Smith waiting to be fangirled, and he has many deep insights to divulge if only we can keep him.

*That, I'll have you know, was me being poetic and melancholy. Because, as we all know, people fangirl** melancholy people. Handsome melancholy people. But then, I'm behind a computer. So melancholy is all I can muster. Not that I can strictly speaking muster handsomeness in real life...
**You ma have notice I skipped around topic a lot today. The reasoning behind this is that more topics means more interest, which in turn will lead, as everything does, to the ultimate pursuit and acquisition of fangirls.