The Joy & Misery of being Winged

Y'know I've mentioned my 'mental health' work colleague (MHWC); the one who shares the same neuroses as me? Well, to be fair, I work in an office of crazies.  The only one who has genuinely been certified as being a bit nuts looked on and shook her head ruefully as we discussed our horror at one day being just 'gone'.  I'd also asked MHWC how her suspected arm cancer was doing as she hadn't moaned about it for weeks.

 She then blamed me for reminding her and the sudden subsequent re-emergence of the 'disease'. 

Of course, all this came after the enquiry about what the symptoms of scurvy were.  At least I've only got some kind of suspected neck sinew tightening disease which they might name after me, tooth ache and soul burning mortification still going on.

Y'know, I'm surprised that I didn't experience spontaneous human combustion after that thing that happened last Thursday; my face has been burning deeply and brightly ever since.  Y'know, had I combusted, all that would have been left of me would be half a leg with a slipper on it and a zimmer frame.  I don't know why, but the photos of people who've spontaneously burst into flames all seem to suggest that they just end up as half a be-slippered leg and zimmer frame combo...

...but yeah, I returned to a thought I often have which is how wonderful it would be to have wings. 

Unfortunately, I've learned that there are stages of madness I have to endure whenever I get a cool thought. 

Stage One: Smiling/nice thought:   My daydream starts off with me thinking of the joy at being able to fly everywhere.

... but then a troubling thought comes into play. 

How does one position oneself when flying; the traditional stretched out, straight arm with a fist leading the way stance?  

Bollocks, I know I wouldn't be bothered to do that!

...and let's face it, you'd look a right sodding nob in your work clothes - not sparkly or superhero-ey in any way, in a Superman pose flying along.  I'm a lazy git and will it take more effort to reach height?  I won't be bothered to put in much effort in so I guess I'll end up flying at about 3ft off the ground, not stiff in any way and therefore with my shoes dragging along the floor and with my arms just flopped in whatever position gravity leaves 'em.  

Stage Two: A bit bloody concerned, actually:   I cried when I had to go to the gym (voluntarily) so what would it be like having to fly?  I don't particularly enjoy exercise and so would I be whining that my wings ached all the time?  

Would I be flying along weeping and getting lower and lower until I just hit the deck? 

What about the effort of going up stairs and needing to get the coordination right so I didn't bang my face up every bloody step or hit the back of my head on the ceiling?  I then started to worry about my clothes.  Does EVERYONE suddenly have wings or just me?  Where would I get clothes with wing holes cut out?  Nothing would look right would they? Wear massive, baggy things to cover them up which renders them totally useless or find something with massive holes in so they poke out properly?  OH MY GOD, don't say I'd have to be nekkid to fly about.  Think about gravity and the hang!  My face'd probably look like Deputy Dawg from below so god only knows what everything else would look like.  I'd have to strategically place bulldog clips around my body. I'd be the miserablest looking flying fucker in the history of ever.

Stage Three: The Horror of it all: Shit, what if the wings aren't feathered but are like.......INSECT WINGS!  I'd be in a constant state of horror and phobic madness screaming like Homer Simpson when he found that dead body.

...I recognise that I think too much.

Finally, this is supposed to be a diary to rival that of Samuel Pepys.  I wonder if he obsessed about having horrible insect wings (can they rip?) Clearly my diary is on the shit side compared to his, mainly because I forgot to diarise the recent riots all over the place.  Erm, so yeah, RIOTS........ALL OVER THE PLACE!  People are saying it's a symptom of 'Broken Britain'.  Not all people, just some people.  The police are pissed off because that nobber Cameron is bringing in an American to tell 'em what they should be doing. I'm pissed off because officially I am a Criminologist (...and a comedian.  A comedy criminologist?) and I can't be bothered to write a stinging piece on the situation.  Hell, I can't even be bothered to be stiff bodied when I fly.

I'm rubbish