Andy Ward talks to himself.

Last night I conducted an experiment in my laboratory (read: kitchen). I made myself a mug of Ovaltine. It was a long process, and in all honesty, the test tubes and bunsen burners that I’d set up were probably surplus to requirements, though I was determined to make sure I got it right, so that I could finally settle the score in my head of which was better, Ovaltine or Horlicks. Now, having already given away the result in the title of the blog, if you do want to know the score, look away five minutes ago.

The Ovaltine was fine and all, and it was certainly reasonably tasty, but essentially, it was basically just like somebody had smelted some shreddies and put them in a glass. There was nothing that made me really think “Hey, yeah, this Ovaltine could really be a contender, I see potential in this drink, maybe I should add some rum.” You can always tell if I think a drink is good by whether I decide to try and add rum to it to try and make it some kind of drink megazord. I’ve done it with practically everything I like. I added rum to milk once to make a cocktail that I called ‘Pirates at the farm’. It wasn’t great, though I would later venture to a restaurant in London where they were selling these for about £7 each. Admittedly, they tasted a bit better than mine, but still, I considered it an opportunity missed on my part.

Whilst Ovaltine doesn’t necessarily have anything to distinguish it as being supreme, Horlicks on the other hand sets its stall out from the outset. On the front of the packet is a picture of the moon. AND HE’S ASLEEP. Or at least, I think he’s asleep. I’m fairly sure I remember seeing him being asleep on the packet when I last checked. I could easily go and check now, but I’m just going to stick to the assumption that he’s asleep on the packet. Maybe every packet is different, maybe it’s a series of adventures chronicling the moon’s adventures throughout the night. I was just fortunate to pick up a packet where he’s getting some rest, rather than one of the other Horlick’s packets where he’s spitting at some strangers, swearing at a cockerel or eating from a bin. Really though, if Horlicks is powerful enough to send even the moon to sleep, it’s got to be powerful enough to power my sleep. After all, the moon wouldn’t voluntarily sleep at night, this is his time when he can come out and see everybody. Sleep during the day when nobody knows you’re there. It makes more sense that way.

Aside from that, Horlicks is also probably tastier, that’s a key factor. It tastes better than Ovaltine I’d say. It’s not as obvious that somebody has just liquidised a cereal. I like this.

Those are basically my conclusions on that warm drinks debate that I’ve been having with myself. I was genuinely excited about trying to find out which one was better. This is kind of what my whole week has been building up to. That’s not good is it?

Today, more writing. I find that music and the internet act as Kryptonite to my writing, and so instead I’ll just be sitting around in silence with one of my trusty notepads. I can’t listen to music because then my mind is just full of music and nothing else. I realised yesterday, while standing at work, that I don’t actually think at all while I’m there, I’m just stood still with a tune going through my head. Apart from that my mind is blank. The internet is the same, I’ll just sit and browse the internet without thinking, taking in information that I may one day use in a conversation or something. I found myself talking to a customer about the Haye vs Valuev boxing match yesterday, despite knowing next to nothing about boxing, and having no real interest in it. I’d just absorbed facts from the internet without realising, and was thus able to make out that I knew what I was talking about. “Yeah, he’s quite tall isn’t he? Slow though, like a slow fox. A fox on crutches or something. David Haye? Yeah, he’s faster, like a fast fox. On rocket powered crutches. Or something.”

Those probably weren’t my exact words, but I imagine it was something along those lines.

I’m going to go and put another Loyd Grossman pizza in the oven now. I think on this one he’s got his mouth hidden behind a handful of basil. He should really get together with the moon sometime for some superb collaborative effort. Perhaps Loyd could be stroking his chin with a carrot while the moon injects itself with heroin in a dark alleyway. I’m not entirely sure what product this could be used to advertise. ‘Loyd and The Moon’s heroin carrots’ would be the obvious choice, but I’m not sure that this product would have such a successful future. They’d probably both end up in prison, and if the moon ends up with a curfew then we’re all in trouble.