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Good Fucking God, I am in a total bastard of a mood. I have no idea where it came from, why it's sitting in my head making me snap at my nearest and dearest, but the fucker is certainly here. I have had a peach of a day, doing my thing, and now pretty soon I am going to make movements toward the kitchen and start boiling up a pot of live, wild mussels from Plymouth. I have two good friends coming round to munch. Willem, the chippy who keeps avoiding getting invited around and Jack, the dentist, who invites himself around.

But what is on with this mood? I can tell it is a really good bad mood because I am enjoying it. It is as if one of my personalities has taken control and shut me out and smiles and eggs me onward as the other me makes contorted faces of general and all round disapproval whilst banging fists against bulletproof glass.

I have the answer to it, of course. Alcohol. I have lager in front of me, wine in the fridge and more wine for the moules. Instead of being in a bad mood, I shall be drunk. I am a lucky chap because whilst some drunkards become angry, morose, agitated or asleep, I get happy. Anyone who knows me knows that I am obtusely happy anway, so me on the piss is simply one big grin fest; to the point of Chelsea Grins all round!

So fuck you pal. You can take your snappy retorts (which are actually awfully witty) and snide remarks (which are accurate, now I come to think about it) and go and vent your spleen (but it feeeeels so good) and take a hike.

Actually, you could go to the fridge, my glass is mostly empty. A state of affairs that must be redressed immediately.

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