[I]n my view, health and safety legislation doesn’t go far enough. Everything is a threat. Existence is hostile. To be alive on Planet Earth is to be pinned by an unseen gravitational force beyond your control to the surface of an almighty bauble of death cluttered with sharp objects, death traps, diseases, disasters and killers concocting new and exotic means of inflicting agony upon your person, all of it revolving silently in an infinite and eternal vacuum, the sheer insensate vastness of which is simply too ghastly for the human mind to contemplate. Printing “CAUTION: CONTENTS HOT” on the side of a disposable coffee cup doesn’t come close to mitigating the horror. But it’s a start.
I’m convinced no one actually likes clubs. It’s a conspiracy. We’ve been told they’re cool and fun; that only “saddoes” dislike them. And no one in our pathetic little pre-apocalyptic timebubble wants to be labelled “sad” - it’s like being officially declared worthless by the state. So we muster a grin and go out on the town in our millions.
The insomniac brain comes in various flavours: different personality types you’re forced to share your skull with for several hours. It’s like being trapped in a lift with someone who won’t shut up. Sometimes your companion is a peppy irritant who passes the time by humming half-remembered TV theme tunes until 7am. Other times it’s a morose critic who has recently compiled a 1,500 page report on your innumerable failings and wants to run over it with you a few times before going to print.