Imagination

I despise people who have imaginations. They must sit around, daydreaming and pissing about with their woolly thoughts. You used to sit next to pathetic girls at school who'd be thinking up some fairystory about pretty girls who wear tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian dresses.

I, on the other hand, take time to reflect on real things and events.

I'm insanely jealous of people who have imaginations.

Ask me to make up a story and I can't do it. I have great difficulty describing what things look like - I just don't know the correct adjectives and metaphors. I can't describe what people look like, or the clothes they wear, but I can tell you what they're like as a person (usually using the words "cock", "twat", "nobhead", "wanker", etc).

I could never be a musician because I could never make up a tune from scratch and I could never learn a piece by ear: although I had good technical skills, I could only play after I'd heard how it was meant to be played and if I also had the music to follow.

I'm excellent at drawing, but I'm useless with a blank piece of paper unless I have something to copy. I suppose that's why I like photography so much.

It's a shame that somebody with a decent command of English can't do much else with the skill other than launch vicious attacks on deserving sections of society.

If a friend accidentally left a pair of their knickers on my bathroom floor, I'd simply wash them, dry them and give them back. I wouldn't sniff the gusset or sleep with them before sticking them on the boil wash. It would never occur to me to to wash them, dry and iron them and then stick them in the post with this accompanying note:

Still, I have other strengths and, let's face it, the world would be a boring place if we all had the imaginations of Herge Smith or Trillion.

And I make a fucking top notch lasagne.