Another Long-Awaited Ramble.

I know how much those of you who have the attention span of toddlers like my rambles, and I can churn them out fifty to the dozen, so I decided to half-heartedly provide you lot with another one. But, in my inimitable forgetfulness and half-assed approach to life, I have either forgotten what to say or cannot be bothered to come up with anything beforehand. I don't know which, as I have forgotten. I think. So I will improvise. Now, this may very well mean that this ramble will have very little structure / no structure at all (delete where applicable), so hold on to your hats. If you haven't got a hat, hold on to your hair. If you're bald, where the bloody hell's your hat? Honestly.

Right - where was I? Ah yes. Also bear in mind that I virtually shut down when cyber-rambling and let my brain do all the talking, a bit like a mental auto-pilot. By mental, of course, I mean in the mind, and not MENTAL mental, goo-goo ga-ga wappy dappy flumple shwoob humberdumpster fandango off thy rocker trolleycase mental. But that would be cool, especially on an aeroplane. Because I expect that on an aeroplane, travelling at hundreds of miles per hour, hundreds of feet up, the auto-pilot would be the very last thing that one would want to suddenly go goo-goo ga-ga wappy dappy flumple shwoob humberdumpster fandango off thy rocker trolleycase mental, as this could cause the aeroplane to fall out of the sky and land suddenly and painfully and somewhat vertically into a field.

And paragraphs will be limited. I know that this is already the third paragraph, but quite frankly I could speak bulls**t for England, so it needs splitting up into bite-sized pieces. Well, bite-sized for Cherie Blair or that lass on the X Factor that had a mouth like a cave. You get the idea with that.
But as I said earlier (fully appreciating the fact that this very sentence reiterates what I'm going to say next), I do ramble somewhat, and for first-time readers this could come as a bit of a shock. Don't worry. Just sit in a dark room for twenty minutes and practise breathing exercises.

What exactly are breathing exercises, by the way? I understand the other exercises. People go to gymnasiums to run absolutely nowhere on a reverse escalator with no steps to build up their leg muscles. And they do this so that their legs are stronger, and their legs strengthen because the body says: "Oh, hello, the legs are working a bit hard. Better build up the muscles." And they get better at running. People lift weights. Their arms begin to look like condoms stuffed with walnuts, and they can lift heavy things easier. But breathing exercises? Why would anyone want to breathe better than anyone else, and how in the name of the good Lord is that a desirable characteristic? Are people that do breathing exercises the only people that know of some sort of secret about the earth's depleting oxygen? "Oh, we must learn to breath better than other people so that we can have all the oxygen and build a better race of humans with bigger lungs, and opera singing will become a common hobby and everyone will become deaf by the sound of everyone on the planet singing Nessun Dorma at the same time. Oh yes." Breathing exercises. Don't make me laugh.

I am going to stop typing now and go to bed, hoping in vain that the bloody nubs that are the remains of my two index fingers will heal by morning.

Cheerio.