A day in the life

There are some days when you just feel good. Days when you find you have a frisky little spring in your step. You might even be so bold as to attempt a cheeky wink at the girl who serves your coffee. You feel like Popeye after a can of the green stuff. Like George Best in his 1960’s pomp. You’re top of the toppermost, punch the air and whistle a cheery tune, undisputed King of the World. You’re the devastatingly handsome, gymnastically witty leading man in the movie of your life, with great hair and killer suits. You’re floating on air. Fresh like a giggle. You can’t put a foot wrong. Not on days like these. Sadly yesterday wasn’t one of those days. Far from it. Yesterday I felt clammy, itchy, greasy, oily, spotty, blotchy, icky, yucky, woozy, fuzzy and plain old rubbishy. Pick any not-very-nice adjective you like with a XXXX-ing Y at the end of it and that was me. Everything felt ‘eurgh’. All dreary, faded and modest like 1970’s tinned vegetables. I was off colour and off the pace. It felt like my head had been stuffed with cotton wool and my brain replaced with a greying pickled egg. I did not feel myself. Actually, I felt more like Gollum. It was definitely one of those ‘Please God don’t let me bump into any ex-girlfriends’ days. (Personally I don’t think there’s ever a good time to run into an ex, but if fate decrees you should, then I’d rather it didn’t happen whilst I’m feeling like some bedraggled and damp smelling sub-species.) Yup, from the moment I put my boxer shorts on back to front, Thursday 3rd January was just bothersome. But on days like yesterday I thank my lucky stars that I live on Earth and not Mercury. A day there lasts 4224 hours. Imagine what that would be like if you were having a bad day.