I woke up the other day, woke up all new like, fresh and invigorated. It was a new day. New moments and minutes and seconds presented themselves like so many angry Irishmen, adept at producing sweary nonsense and odd outbursts of paraphrasing. I felt at peace with the world, I felt like all was right and all was as it was meant to be.

I spent a couple of hours pottering around, cleaning up after myself and making small things out of paper and old rag. The morning passed, as mornings are wont to do, and soon it was afternoon. The sun streamed in through the window, leaving golden shapes on my face and the floor and whatever it is that lives in the corner of my kitchen. I dare not ask its name. I count myself lucky that it hasn’t tried to kill me yet.

A few more hours passed. I realised I had been staring into space. Or, at least, I would have been staring into space if it wasn’t for the fact I was looking downwards and Space, if you take “Space” to be that infinite and seemingly empty void that stretches on and on as far as the eye can see in any direction you choose from our lovely little planet, was located roughly 50,000 kilometres along my line of sight through solid rock.

I was bored. Really bored. Things weren’t happening. Everything was too good. Everything was just hunky-dory. Everything was, well, apple shaped. As opposed to pear shaped. Which still, in the grand scheme of things isn’t a bad shape to be, really. My life had become something to be content about, something to wallow in, something to be at peace with. But it was oh so terribly dull.

It was at that moment that I had a revelation. I knew how to make things interesting again. I knew how I should proceed with my existence on this small and round-shaped chunk of rock in the outer arm of the galaxy known to some as “Jim” but to others as “That Milky Waaaaay”

I was going to have a midlife crisis. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea. Fair enough, I was only 24, I had many years to go before the time, date or location that would be known as a “Midlife crisis” arrived on my doorstep. And yes, even when that day came, I would only regard it as a minor nuisance and waste my valuable “Crisis” by doing things such as “Having fun” and “Really not caring” but still, I was bored, there was nothing to do so I sat down and started having a midlife crisis.

But then it dawned on me. I had no idea how to have a midlife crisis. It was all terribly new to me. I’d heard tales, of course. I’d seen the sitcoms and the hilariously inventive ways in which middle-aged men took out their rage and frustrations upon an increasingly confusing and oddly-shaped world.

I tried to emulate a few of the things I’d seen. Then I remembered that I couldn’t remember any of the things which, if they were written in a book would have been collectively known as “How to Have a Mid Life Crisis”

I made up a list, which if I ever got round to it, I would publish in a book :

How to Have a MidLife crisis (Oddly capitalised For Added impact)
by Howard Nebulator

Basically, go a little crazy. But not too crazy. Otherwise people will think you’re insane, rather than simply “Having a crisis”

Ways in which this can be achieved are as follows…
- Spread some jam on a duck
- Go walking round and round your garden at night singing Simply Red songs. Don’t do this naked. That would be odd.
- Start watching “A Question of Sport”. Whilst wrapped in cling film.
- Become either a being of pure energy, a Bhuddist monk or Peter Mandelson. But not all three. That would also be odd.
- Start a fight with yourself.

And there you go. By now, it was nearly dinner time, so I got up and proceeded to fight the thing that lives in the corner of my kitchen for the right to get into my pantry. This was always a lot of fun and never failed to brighten up a dull day.

I know it’s not easy, but don’t. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about superman

Today I got a new keyboard, shaped differently from my old one. Not in any major way, just enough to make it feel different. It’s a little bit disconcerting, because all the keys seem to be in the wrong place. I find things like this to be terribly exciting and view them as a welcome change to my daily routine.

Another exciting thing happened today when I was watching daytime television. Now, normally, I am not one to be found lazing infront of the TV on a Tuesday afternoon, stuffing my face with cheese, cakes and/or mercury, but this day was different. I have no idea how it was different, it just was.

Anyway, during the advert break for some hilariously bad talk show/detective drama/news bulletin, I found myself staring with eager eyes at the garishly animated dancing corporate logo of some Loans Company PLC. Incorporated & Sons. This horrible dancing logo - I think it was a talking phone with wheels, or an exploding foetus or something - was extolling unto me the virtues of taking out up to £25,000 to buy myself something really, really nice that I probably didn’t want, will never need and am no doubt allergic to (I am allergic to many things including things shaped like peanuts, mercury, the music of Jethro Tull and the sky).

Being the suggestible type that I am, certain parts of my brain immediately snapped into action. “You really want that loan, really really really really”.
“Yes I do”, I aggreed.

I called the number that the talking wheeled baby-monster told me to call and was greeted almost immediately by a cheerful young woman who introduced herself as Foona. I have never known anyone called Foona and I don’t think it’s even a real name. This didn’t seem important at the time.
“Hello, Foona”, I said, “I would like a loan, post haste, pronto pronto”. I never take any nonsense from call center types and find that this is a good way of achieving an instant rapport with them.
“Ten of your thousand pounds should do nicely”. She then took my details, including my name, address, credit card number, date of birth, underwear colour, marmoset breeding license number and fax number.
“Ha! I do not own a fax machine, never have and never will. Your attempts have been thwarted”. Quite what I had thwarted I have no idea. I hung up the phone none the richer but wiser, thanks to my exciting adventure on the phone and proceeded back through to the living room where I placed myself, one again, infront of the TV and awaited further instruction from animated talking dustbin logos or whatever.