On the down-low

It’s that time of year again, and I am feeling low.  I know Melbourne winter is nothing like the perpetual darkness of, say, the London working week, nor as cold, but at this time of year, every year, I fall into the kind of funk that can’t even be overcome by the great working class escapes of beer and football.  It seems to have come early this year … I wish I could get outta here.

More coffee might help, but I am sure if I had a cardiologist, they’d be getting pretty worried about the extent to which I seek solace in that particular vice. 

More blogging might help a bit … if the fine writers out there hadn’t gotten completely over it all – why the nothing, people?  Does anyone know of anything good and reliable to read?

Urgh, I hate winter.

I hate the darkness, too.  Pic: http://www.chud.com

Guilty pleasures

Mrs Donkey's on some kind of health kick, so while I count myself a very lucky Donkey indeed to have my darling wife prepare an evening meal for me, tonight all we got was an entre ... soup!  So while most blokes disappear out to their shed of an evening to play video games, drink beer and watch porn, my lonesome, guilty pleasure these days consists of nothing more than to sneak away for an egg and bacon roll. 

C'mon Mrs D, all I ask is for a potato or two!

Mmmm ... better than sex.  Pic: http://www.smh.com.au

What'll it be, Gents?

I'm about to head-off to the pub.  Perhaps that's not a very remarkable statement to you, and indeed, not five or six years ago, it might have been a statement I'd have uttered two or three times a day.  But at my current stage of life, visiting the pub on a Sunday afternoon is somewhat of a foreign experience ... and I'll admit to being a little nervous.

I wonder what happens at the pub these days?  Will we nonchalantly drink our beer at a ridiculous pace in order to passive-aggressively assert our manliness over our friends and their girlfriends?  Will we all fall over ourselves to reach the bar before each other in order to buy more jugs of beer before the ones we have are even empty?  Will we stand on the tables, crushing ashtrays and knocking glasses over as we shout Irish rebel songs to unknown women across the thoroughfare?  Will we spill beer all over ourselves and walk around looking as though we've wet ourselves?  Will we wet ourselves?

I really don't know what happens at the pub these days, but I am hoping that my years of training have prepared me such that I'll be able to blend right in.

This was too good to pass-up; this pic that came up on a Google Images search for 'beer'.  The source is The Tele (http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au) ... need I say more?