Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Already this morning I have: complained about the alarm which didn't switch on Radio Four when it was supposed to; last night's pizzas and that rather cheeky extra bottle; the overcrowded Number 17 and the state of London's roads; how I certainly didn't behave like that when I went to school; mobile phones set to "stun" rather than "vibrate", and personal stereos which are anything but; dawdlers on the pavement incapable of walking in a straight line, and thereby getting in my way; and security guards who demand to see my pass, when they've given me a cheery hello every morning for the past two years.
I feel I should point out that all these complaints have been extremely vocal, although I have, as yet, not entered into conversation with one other human being. I'm turning into one of those grumpy and grizzled old men you see on street corners, Special Brew in one hand, babbling away to themselves about all the sodding iniquities this shoddy little world's chucked their way.
You know, at lunchtime I might just go out and buy myself something fetching in purple, and get it all over with, once and for all.