I seem, today, to be all thumbs in my head. My mouth also appears to hold a deep and abiding attraction for my feet. And my work ethic sits, languid and somewhat neurasthenic, on the slightly tatty couch of my daily life, content to do nothing but sigh heavily and look out the window.
Even ice cream has not helped.
Where, where, I ask, can I purchase a clue and, with it, buy myself some self-discipline and energy? And a shoe-horn with which to pry my pedal extremities from between my teeth?*
*They taste like wet socks.