This was literally as exciting as my day got. At one point I decided to mix some rum in with the Horlicks (I seem to mix rum in with everything these days, just to see whether it works. Soon it’ll reach the point where I’m dousing weetabix in rum. Something to look forward to), to see whether I could create a super drink. I thought “this could be my salvation, if I can just patent a brilliant drink and market it as the hot new clubbing drink, I could make millions.” Horlicks and rum was to be this brilliant drink. To be fair, it worked surprisingly well, a lot better than I’d expected, and miles better than various other drinks I’ve attempted to craft over the years (Jack Daniels + milk + ribena, Milk + rum + Danone coconut yoghurt drink, basically milk plus anything it seems). I’m not sure it’ll be overly easy to sell to the clubs though, since I’m not sure people will be prepared to stand around at the bar while their mug gets microwaved for a minute. Also, spilling your drink would suddenly become a lot more deadly. People would probably be coming out of clubs with third-degree horlick burns, an entirely separate degree of burns entirely, a lot more severe than regular third-degree burns.

“Doctor! We’ve got to rush him to intensive care, quickly!”

“What’s the problem?”

“Can’t you see! He’s got third-degree burns!”

“Of course I can’t see! Don’t you know I’m a blind surgeon!”

“Well, that’s a story in itself… Can we fix him?”

“I don’t know, third-degree burns you say?”

“Third-degree Horlicks burns.”

“Horlicks burns! If we don’t get him to surgery quickly then he might smell slightly malty forever! Pass me my scalpel!”

“Doctor, I’m not sure this is entirely wise.”

“Damnit nurse! Give me my scalpel or we’ll lose him!”

“Ok… but if anybody asks, I was against this…”

“Am I fixing the burns now?”

“No, you’re stabbing him in the face.”

“Is this it?”

“No.”

“Alright, can you tell me when I’m getting warmer?”

“Ok… cold… colder… coldest… ok, now you’ve severed his arm.”

“DAMNIT NURSE!”

“Why the hell did we even hire a blind surgeon anyway?”

Anyway, that was yesterday. I did a little bit of writing in the end, not as much as I’d have liked, but still a little bit. I did have some ideas for my first sitcom which I ‘finished’ ages ago and want to go back and edit now, so I may try and implement a few changes soon, though having said that, I had these ideas just before I went to sleep, and have now forgotten most of them which is… good. At some point I’ll probably convince myself they were all rubbish anyway. They probably were. You see, I’ve started already.

I’m not sure what I’m going to go and do now. Probably nothing, which I’ll then come back and try to write about tomorrow for another thrilling read, like a Famous Five book in which they do absolutely nothing. ‘Five Sit Down and Think About Cake’ or ‘Five Reminisce About Toenails’. That kind of thing. Not that I reminisce about toenails. I mean, I’m bored, but at no point during the day have I ever found myself going ‘Ah, good toenail times…’ I’m not Hannibal Lector, or some similiarly obsessed toenail collecting maniac, however, this has provided some kind of inspiration for a horror film I might write. The Toenail Collector.

“What was that? Did you hear that? It came from the front porch!”

“But the front porch has been dead for 30 years!”

“Then that means…”

“It’s the toenail collector! Hide your toenails!”

“I can’t! They’re stuck to my feet!”

“Then run for your life! Or at the very least, your toenails!”

This really has ended on quite a dark note hasn’t it?