Hello.
Whilst walking in near total darkness in a part of Brighton I'd never been to before, I thought of an opening to this blog.
Some people just don't deserve to be human. They make mistakes, they flounder, and in the 10k race of life they end up face first in big pile of dogpoo. And rightly so, for these people tend not to listen to basic, simple facts, lose things that are important to the survival of them and others, basically, ruin it for the rest of civilisation who have the right, if not duty, to malign, mock and behave in a violent manner towards for the rest of their short, useless lives. In a word: Failures. I wouldn't have made it in the jungle, I would have been the first to be picked off, by a hippo. Not even as prey, just for a laugh. And it wouldn't even have been funny, just a bit boring really, so the hippos would continue grazing and blaming my shattered corpse for their unamusing dinnershow.
Ok, I lost something again.
I'm not proud of it, nor do I endorse the somewhat over-intense negative portrayal in the above paragraph. But I am a fool, as many of you know.
After having got some books from the library in an attempt to hand in nice and shiny essays this week, I went to a shop near where I live and bought some food. Nothing wrong with that, you might say. Nothing wrong indeed. The next bit is where it got tricky. I put my wallet in my shopping bag, next to the shopping. From then on, I thought of other things. Such as: should I be writing a blog again? Should it be about other things than sheer undiluted ego? Could it be about more universal things than my frankly doomed-to-fail comedy career-dreams? (look at all those hyphens! Pretty huh? Well, get me a booking then! You hyphen-loving comedy booker-type you! Rrr!) Wasn't it nice to see my dog again over skype today? Shouldn't I be thinking of my essays? Nah, can wait. Wait! Wasn't that my shirt I lost 2 weeks ago? No, it wasn't, it was a green binliner. Oh, ok. Hey! That lady has a special bag for plastic bottles! Etc. (James Joyce eat your heart out).
In short: no more wallet.
The worst part of it is, I wasn't aware of the fact, having spent two hours watching iPlayer and only then checking my email, to find an email by a nice, friendly person who apparently found it near the shop I was at only minutes before. She had included her phone number. I called her immediately, and ran out into the street*, checking 700 times for my keys and phone. I walked to where I thought she lived, according to google maps.
Then, me being me, I got lost. I ended up at the other side of the road, near a barbed wire fence (i.e. a fence that is not just an obstruction with pointy bits, but also barbed wire added. I know the expression gilding the lily, but this is just taking the piss), and with nowhere to go, I had to turn back. Hence the first paragraph.
I did have to walk through a completely dark alley to the house where my wallet now was, which I'm not very good at. I did the classic, ok, if there's any murderers and scoundrels around, I'll just look bigger than I am, in the same way a puffer fish scares sharks. Sharks are thick, of course, since puffer fish are highly poisonous and even after 300 million years of evolution, puffer fish still have to tell sharks not to eat them using that very basic defensive measure. That's why the bullies in school are usually the thickest kids, and I wasn't allowed to have poisonous stings implanted in my face as a child to defeat them. But it's just evolution, mummy! I pleaded. No it's not, she said, and going back to her work as a genetic engineer, crossing a sea cow with a wasp. ... I seem to have gone out on a limb here. I apologise.
In short: I acted big. But I'm not. I've never been in an actual fight all my life. Don't know why not. I'm quite rubbish at fighting, anyway, my brother always beat me, from age 3 onwards. He wasn't even born yet (COME ON!). But for some reason, I always think I can defend myself in such a situation, that, if I need to, that innate fight-or-flight response comes to my aid and gets me out of trouble and the baddies in A&E. No chance. Fight-or-flight for me is probably flight-or-fail-and-die-bleeding-out-of-my-face-in-an-embarrassing-way, so embarrassing that even the police will go: Nope, too much loser-juice there, not going near it, it might be infectious. Maybe my innate failure could be a sign that predators would avoid, like the bright orange frogs in the central American rain forest. I would just jump around, happy as anything, not being bothered at all by anyone. Survival of the failest. Or something along those lines.
Then again, I would be hunted down by tribesmen and used as failure-based curare for their arrows.
I CANNOT WIN.
Which is sort of the point, really.
What I´m trying to say is, I got my wallet back, everything was still in there, all cards, my passport, everything. There only were 4p left in it, which had gone (so I might have been burgled! Never put wallet in shopping bag again!) but that's not too bad.
So, in short: Thank you nice person who found my wallet!
As my mum would say: you don't deserve to be so lucky.
As a matter of fact, I do :-)
See ya!
*At this point, in writing this blog, my left Shift key (my favourite, if I'm honest) had fallen clean off. In a rare moment of technological mastery (yeah, take that dad!) I attached it back on. I rule! This last sentence, and the ending you've just read, thereby balance out the hugely negative beginning paragraph making this blog, on balance, still relatively heavily Anti-Jorik biased.
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