Friday March 5th

This day was a little bit of a write off. I woke up late and didn’t leave the house or do anything of note. I flittered between writing jokes and playing Fifa. I got another England cap for C-unit (that’s my dude’s name) and I hung up some washing. Since moving out of the house all I seem to do is hang up wet clothes. When your mum doesn’t do your washing, the turnover of dirty sheets and clothes seems to increase 10 fold (excuse the pun). I have a new found respect for my mother and the amount of hanging up she used to do for me. My mum didn’t just have to hang up her clothes but also mine, my sister’s and my Dad’s (and he’s massive); she must have barely been able to eat or sleep with that much garment sorting on her agenda.

The other thing I spent over an hour doing was attempting to book a reasonably placed train ticket to Middlesbrough. I did that schoolboy error of waiting till a week in advance to book this. Somehow train tickets exponentially raise in price to the point where you just think National Rail are asking a kid to make up the prices: “How much shall we make it to Middlesbrough the day before travelling young man?”, “a million pounds”, “yup, that sounds reasonable”. It would have been cheaper to book a bus but this is one of the few things I’m properly snobby about. I hate coaches in Britain. If I’m out of the country I’ve no qualms getting in one but I’m allergic to 7hr road trips to the North East surrounded by poor people. For someone as gregarious as me I can’t stomach the clientele on the National Express: it’s like a council estate threw up onto a bus. I instead opted for a £50 return train ticket: making my profit from the gig about £10. Annoyingly I have only myself to blame.