Where do I start? At just after half past two in the morning I should probably just not bother starting this at all. I should try and go to sleep, like any normal person would already be. My alarm will go off at 8am as usual, and chances are at this rate that I’ll ignore it again and sleep on till I wake. A perk of working for yourself I suppose.

I’m busy at the moment. My days turn into evenings that quickly become nights. The hours chase the minutes away until it’s time to sink into a bath and begin the nightly run down ritual that brings me back here to my bed. Usually I am damn near asleep at this point. My head touches the pillow and I quickly disappear to the land where anything is still possible, and time is not important.

Tonight though is different. I am tired, I am nearly asleep, but I want to write. I want to say something, not sure what yet, but I’m just going to follow my fingers and see where this goes. It was so very nearly going to simply be a one liner, but alas the ‘brilliant one liner’ department of my brain have switched off their terminals and headed home for the night. If my head were staffed by keyboard punchers by day, then the only person working now would be the rent-a-cop, sitting there, feet on the reception desk reading a copy of ‘The Sport’ with his fuzzy radio playing music that he pays no attention to.

You know what, I smell good right now! The bath was full of things that a ‘real man’ would never admit to putting in a bath. Cheap bubbles that last just a few minutes, and some moisturizing stuff that makes me feel like an oiled up body builder… without the built body! It’s a relaxation thing for me though. Showers are good, but a bath is ‘where it’s at’ as far as I’m concerned. I sit there, cheap bubbles disappearing quickly at my feet, candles dotted around the room, a cold drink, and a book.

Sometimes I call my friends in… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]

As anyone who is self employed will tell you, there are times when you are flush and times when you have to tighten your belt and look after the pennies. If ever my design customers dropped me and I found myself a bit short of cash, I have another possibility to fall back on… Pizza!

You see my home phone number is very similar to a local pizza take out place. I get a fair number of calls from people ordering all sorts of pizzas. I probably don’t get enough calls to open ‘Simon’s Pizza House’, but I could perhaps offer to take the order for the actual pizza place on a commission basis. Well heck, when times get hard, you gotta do what you gotta do, right!

The problem is worst at the weekends. Drunk scouser lads and ladettes call me and slur something like “Can-I-ave-a-cheese.. cheese… cheese…. [long pause]… cheese and tomato one please mate. 23 Mountwood Drive… oh and hey, joodoo beer like?”

I used to tell them they had dialed the wrong number, sometimes I’d even give them the right number. But I have stopped doing this as the callers would usually just hang up on me without so much as word of thanks.

Recently though I have invented a new way of amusing myself when I get such a call. If the person sounds drunk, stupid or, as is common around these parts, both, I actually take their order. When asked how long it will be until I can deliver it I say something like “I can get to you on Wednesday at 8pm, is that alright for you?”. Other times I simply refuse to deliver the pizza on the grounds that they live in a “high risk area” and its just too dangerous for me to send a driver there. This always gets them very angry indeed!

Sometimes I let them tell me what toppings they want only to inform them that… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]