Thursday, 4 June 2015


I am sleepy.

No! Not the Frikken dwarf! What the frick frack is wrong with you?

I’m tired, sleepy tired all in my face and in my feet mostly but there are bits of sleepy all over me, all fogging up my brain and that.

My life ain’t exactly an all inclusive weekend trip to Boscastle yer know.

And yes, I will admit that there was a teeny tiny element of staying up late to binge watch Netflix involved in this state of current sleepiness, but most, and I mean MOST of this sleepiness is due to… der der deeer! 

This ain’t no superhero, no biro doodle nor no crazed delusionary!

This is a man that plagues my open windowed nights! Stalks my dewy dreams! (Dewy?) Creeps through my moonlit dozes!

Clickle… clack… clickle… clack…… clickle… clack…

This staccato click clacking of his walking sticks tapping along the empty, unlit streets of New Town is driving me into a state of fatigue-drenched RAGE!

Who is this semi-debilitated man of two, YES TWO, sticks?

And am I supposed to show compassion to his feeble frame due to its reliance on a supporting structure?


How can I display any compassion at three in the morning when I am awoken in a fuzzy haze of confusion by CLICKLECLICKLECLICKLE


But last night, last night the stick man expanded his repertoire…. Oh yes!

His gentle amble with his stickle stackle, his playful clickle clackle with his stickity stick at 5pm, then 9pm, then 12am, then 3am, then 6am …. ad infinitum. Is no longer enough! Nowhere near enough, to sate his desire to vex his slumbering foe!


No, last night was a special night. Last night was the night he decided to start shouting.

Shouting random abuse. Shouting random abuse consistently, at no one, in between his clickity clacks... Lovely.

‘BOLLOCKS’… Clickity… ‘WANKERS’… clickity… ‘YELLOW PAGES’ (I never said it was coherent)… Clickity.

Oh what tremendous joys await my next night’s slumber?


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