Guh. Might have been a pie that was off, or the beer or the wine I had yesterday but my tummy is a bit iffy today.People often ask me how I’m alive and after I joke about it being a bloody miracle, seeing as I drink most pubs dry of an evening and sleep in a kebab given half the chance, I realise they mean because I’m made of cloth and stuffing and therefore shouldn’t technically be moving about being all sentient and that. I’ll let you into a little secret… I don’t bloody know!
I eat and drink and that gets turned into stuffing that gets absorbed or pooped out and suchlike and so forth. So I tell people, “I just am.” Right then, I’m off for a cure-all full breakfast and then going to sit in the pub with a newspaper (drawing moustaches and horns on all the pictures and filling in rude words in the crossword puzzle). Come join me! Buy me a pint and I’ll say, “Thanks!”