Nothing To Blog About

I'm kind've at a loss this evening. I can't really think of anything to blog about. I mean, I can think of some stuff, but I'm not really feeling especially inspired but would actually quite like to go to bed instead.

But because I'm a dedicated blogger and because I know that you are all hanging on my every word, I shall endeavour to produce something worth reading. And I shall do it by typing a load of bollocks until something amusing comes out.

I could tell you about my work colleague who regaled us this morning with half-hour long anecdote about how a drunk man pointed out her big boobs to her. I won't though, because it's not very interesting and you already know the best bit.

I could also tell you about the wave of conjunctivitis that's about to strike in our building because one of the dinner ladies won't take time off. I won't do that either, because I reckon I can get a much better blog post out of it when it actually happens.

I suppose I could comment that the car park in Bedminger smelled exactly like sick when I arrived at work yesterday morning, but the truth is that by the time I went out at lunchtime, the sick smell had reverted to the rather more familiar smell of poo.

I could mention in passing my minor error with my measurements on yesterday's blog post, but I'd rather not let on that I can't do simple math.

Perhaps I could write about my sudden inability to parallel park my car, but that might cause you to question first my competence to drive and by inference my status as a man.

No. I think I might go to bed instead.

Night night.