Going down?


I was going to write something here about me turning 23 the other day but I can't really be bothered it's never really been that important to me the whole birthday thing, it's just another day like any other. Oh people say the old but your a year older now. No I'm not. I'm a day older then I was yesterday which is a day older then I was the day before that. Time progresses it doesn't take one big stride a year.

So instead of writing about that I'll give you something that you probably don't know about me:

Things I do in the lift at work which I wouldn’t want anyone else to see:

Lick my finger and try to wipe a mark off the metal door. Leave a big disgusting smear. Hurriedly try to remove the smear just as the lift approaches the right floor.

Try to find a way to balance whatever I am carrying on the hand-rail that goes around the inside at about waist level. What is the point of this rail? You can't fall out. You're in a lift.

Groan and lean with both arms up, palms flat against the sides, as if I'm being frisked.

Occasionally bang head on panelling.

See how many fingers I can get in gaps between panels. The answer is invariably two. It also occasionally gives me a electric shock. I still do it.

Stare directly upwards at reflection of self in shiny ceiling. Wonder if I always look like that.

The badger dance.


I do not fart in the lift. Much.