I just tumble through life putting up with everything in a sort of mild mannered reluctance. When did I realise that life is shit? And when did I begin to succumb to being grateful for being here? I know I’m lazy and I know that just accepting the crap thrown at me is pathetic but ‘so what’ has been my mantra for 25 years now. Now, don’t get me wrong, I adore the moaners and complainers and fighters of injustice. I’m one of the few homo’s who think Peter Tatchell is a saint and I get moist eyes when wrongly convicted baby killers are acquitted and I march in demonstrations in spirit rather than in person. But when did I realise that life is basically shit? Why did I stop bothering?

Could it have been when my mate John was pulled from his scooter and beaten to death by bikers for just riding a beautiful piece of classic Italian engineering?
Could it have been when my favourite gran died from lung cancer never having smoked a ciggie in her life?
Or was it when the miners strike started and there was an immoral atmosphere of festivity among the strikers because there was money in the strike fund to pay everyone for 3 months?
Or was it when she won 18 months later?
Could it have been the weakness of hero’s (Kurt’s death and that awful Velvet Underground reunion tour).
What about being dumped after 10 years of devotion?
Or circling Miami in a 747 for two hours burning off fuel because the wheels were fucked and we might explode upon landing?
How about a horse riding accident that nearly killed me and did kill the horse?
I’m bored now.

Anyway, like the t-shirt says, shit happens and we all deal with it (or don’t) in different ways. My way is best for me.

By the way, in case you’re wondering about the catalyst for this post, nothing shit has happened today.