Over the years I'm getting better at working out the right course of action from the wrong. What I don't always appear to be able to do, is take the best course.
And that is why I am going to ache all day tomorrow and the next day but achieve no general physical or psychological benifit for my troubles.
Not to worry, tonight's my night off, so i better go do something real.

Believe it or not, I cannot do cyrptic cross words to save my soul. The theory behind them is sound. Break down language into a code and get your victim to reassemble it. Its an appealing weekend pastime.
Lazily slide out of bed on a sunday morning. I mean a proper streching slide, where my torso stays in contact with the bed as my hips hook off the edge and cut obliquely down the side as my toes scratch along the carpet. Elongating every muscle as I go. Thats the only proper way to get out of bed of a sunday...
Sneak downstairs ninja style, because having to talk to anyone would contaminate the ritual. Put the kettle on. Before it whistles appropriate the crossword section from the paper ( kindly donated by earlier sunday morning risers) . Trial three biros before I find one that works. Take tea and crossword to my desk and be victimised by 1 across.
Having the mystifying become clear, one a week, every week.
But I just can't do them.

I'm not usually known for my materialism.
But I crave
and I dream
of blue patent leather ballets pointes with midnight ribbons.
But they don't exist and never have existed in the history of the world.