To (0044)74144704374

Hi there. It's Noel. You've texted me a good few times now, and it's getting a little uncomfortable.

I appreciate that you care about me. I appreciate that you're concerned about recent accidents I may have had and payment protection insurance I may have been mis-sold. I appreciate that you want what's best for me which, according to you, was £2,800 last week but has now risen to £3,400. Pushing up that figure must've taken hours in court, sticking it to the man so that I can have a few hundred pounds extra in my pocket.

But there's a problem.

In my case, there is no man. I haven't had an accident. Check with the folk at my work, I haven't pulled a sickie in two and a half years. The worst I've done is stood on a plug beside my bed, and who can I sue for that? Bendix for making plugs that always sick upwards when not plugged in? Evolution for giving me such sensitive feet? I just don't think we have a case here, never mind a three grand case.
And, as for the PPI racket, I'm grand for that too. I've a credit card and a current account with Lloyds, and they've always taken good care of me. They phone me every six months to make sure I'm doing okay, and bumped up my interest rate on my ISA account without me even asking. I like to think I'm a savvy shopper, to be honest. There was that time about a week ago when I left a pack of Extra gum on the self scan till while I went away with my shopping. Do you think you could claim back my 59p?

If not, then I fear our relationship must come to an end, (0044)74144704374. It was... interesting while it lasted. It wasn't all bad. Each and every time you texted me I, for the duration it took me to take my phone from my pocket, felt special. I felt excited, like maybe a friend had texted me, like maybe someone out there wanted to tell me something, or maybe even wanted to hear my voice.. I'll never forget those moments. And I thank you for them.

But,
For now,
Fuck off.


Noel

Good morning.

Every so often I arrive into work with a spring in my step. I've a smile in my face, I greet my co-workers with  unexpected enthusiasm and I generally just can't wait for the day to start. People occasionally comment on this. They say I'm "chirpy" or that I must have gotten out on the right side of the bed. And I just smile and nod. The day begins, and three or four people booked in for eye tests that morning get the best damn eye test of their life. Chirpy Noel. There's a fair chance you've never met him.

You may wonder what has me in such a good mood. There's lots of things that could do it. None, by the way, of that Robson and Jerome/Perry Como codswallop about hearing newborn babies cry or touching leaves for me, though. Touching leaves just doesn't cut it for me.

But... maybe I saw some nice art on the way to work?

Seen down Leith Walk sometime last year. A nice break from mobility scooters and tramps.

...no. I'm not chirpy because I saw nice art on the way to work.
But maybe I saw a nice animal on the way to work? A cute dog or some kittens?

Or a goat?

Again, no. I'm not chirpy because I saw a nice animal on the way to work.
Maybe I met a friend on the way to work? Maybe I bumped into an old acquaintance and we had a chinwag at a pedestrian crossing?

And drank a litre of beer.

No. And I only suggested that option so I could use this picture. It's a great picture.

Maybe... I had a nice trip on the bus? A girl smiled at me, traffic was light or the guy playing his music too loud was playing music I liked?

A bus. You didn't need this picture, did you?

Not that either, no.
No, the reason I'm so chirpy this morning is simple.

BOOM!

BANG!

THWACK?

KABLOOEY!

It's because I had my energy shot this morning. It tastes like cordial... that makes cordial. Double cordial. It goes down in one mouthful and it lifts my spirits like nothing else. I usually use it for running but, the odd morning I just can't face the day, one of these down my neck has me tearing out my front door like my first appointment is a naked Famke Janssen.
Thank you, Focus Energy Shot, or whatever you call yourself (the same wee bottle is repackaged in at least six different ways), for getting me where I am today.

I salute you.

Hey,

I just met you,

And this might sound crazy,

But since the early seventies most of the world's governments have been forcing cereal companies to put more iron into their breakfast cereals. By making us ingest more iron they're hoping to gradually make our blood more magnetic so, using well directed magnetic fields emitted from, oh, A MOBILE PHONE, they can control the flow of it to certain parts of our brains AND CONTROL OUR MINDS.

(I wrote that on my facebook and wanted to share it.)

Red, red, yellow, yellow, green.

People, at times, accuse me of not "keeping it real". They come up to me and say things like
"Hey up, Daddeo, you're not where it's at anymore. You used to be where it's at, but you rolled down the hill and can't see 'it' anymore. Now can you fix a screw in my bifocals?"
I usually have good comebacks for these people. I tell them how I listen to "pop" music, how most of the people I listen to aren't dead yet. I tell them how the majority of films I've seen in the past year have been in 3D and how the wax I did my hair with this morning has the word "XTreme" in its name.
They swiftly back down. They realise that I'm not only where it's at, they realise that "it", by default, is wherever the fuck I happen to be at a given time.
But, today, I did something I'm a little ashamed of. Something uncool. Something unforgivable for a twenty something year old.
I bought a pizza. I bought a pizza in Sainsburys and instead of choosing the pizza by flavour or topping, as most would, instead of choosing it by price, as many would, I chose it by the wee colour coded wheel telling me just how bad the pizza is for me.

"Red, red, red, red, yellow? Not today.
Red, red, red, yellow, green? Not you either, sunshine.
Red, red, yellow, yellow, green? You're practically good for me. Get in my basket."