Fridays are a waste of time

Friday evening. It is hard. Callous.

I have had the opportunity to fly spiralling out the window - plummeting towards the grass at less than satisfactory velocity - and there to end. Wonderfully, beautifully. It is a missed opportunity, certainly, for adventure. Most horrid adventure.

It is surpising how often when wandering beside a busy road we are tempted, prompted by the realisation of the opportunity, to throw ourselves in front of the oncoming traffic and end the brutal hideousness of the thought of spending another evening alone in front of the ghastly television. What a beautiful instant it must be - to think that the ribs might crush, the heart stop, and the consciousness cease all at once. All over in practically an instant, and no more X Factor ever again.