From the depths of my disease-ridden duvet...

I have begun this blog for the following reason: it is my third day off sick from work with a mega-lurgy, and I figured there must be something more productive I could do from under the duvet than groan, attempt to stream Come Dine With Me on my sticky 2007 laptop, and pretend to be a baby polar bear in a floating icy cave, cast out to sea on a tide of global warming. I'm not so sure it's going to be much more productive than any of them, but at least I'm marginally less depressed about the state of things.

Ugh. Just a quick bit of moaning first. This lurgy has been a sadistic pick-and-mix of unpleasant and debilitating symptoms, namely one that I suspect to be life-threatening dysentery but which my thoughtful on-off other half says has rendered me "a human poo turret that would be very useful on the front line." Thank you, poppet. You wouldn't be laughing so much if it was YOU trying to sleep on the toilet at 4am, crying. This was my night:

Anyway, before I start dissecting current affairs and offering invaluable advice on a myriad of practical issues (stop reading now if that's what you're after. Seriously.) I'll explicate the naming choices I have made for my exciting new blog that no one will read. Obviously I lay staring into space thinking of these names for at least half an hour, so I should be able to explain them.

1). The Cardboard Tube.

You know. The tube that remains when all the toilet paper has been used. I think there are two types of people in the world - people who will resourcefully use the cardboard tube as a loo roll alternative, and people who will buy more loo roll before theirs runs out, or be organised enough to have wipes/tissues in their bag (NB: this is for weeing situations only. The poor tube just isn't really equipped for poo. Trust me. And yes, this is the second time I've mentioned poo in this blog. No, it won't be the last.) Anyway, to be honest I think the blog is aimed at cardboard tube people. The C-Tubers. It's ESPECIALLY aimed at people who would sacrifice their pants to sort out a no-loo-roll poo situation (oops, number two reference number three. I blame the dysentery).

Hmm. I think I devote too much mental energy to hypothetical toilet situations. More on this later.

2). How To Be An Egg

I'm obsessed with eggs and have been for many years. Not even being viciously egged at the age of 13 by two terrifying, egg-wielding girls whilst I tried to run away, crying and holding my cumbersome saxophone case, has put me off their majesty and wonder. It is not just for their superpowered nutritional benefits (although I did once eat 9 eggs in one day, during that weird Summer I did the Atkins diet) but for their immense mystical symbolism and general comedy value. I mean... egg!! EGG!! It's quite hard to explain actually. But I've told that bloke that I hang around with a lot that if we ever got married, I'm going to roll down the aisle in a giant egg and then hatch out of it at the altar. Like that thing Lady Gaga did, but even more ridiculous and embarrassing. The yolk's on ME. Anyway, I don't know how to be an egg, at least not in a literal sense, but I firmly believe that everyone should figure out their own life philosophy, and mine is Eggism. I'm not 100% on the exact paramaters of this ground-breaking ideology as yet, but I'm working on it. For example, I Photoshopped my face onto an egg!

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But, in theory at least, the blog won't consist entirely of poo- and egg-based subject matter. It will also ramble about the many struggles faced by myself and my generation (I'm in that early-twenties, massive-student-debt bracket, balking at headlines like this: http://www.metro.co.uk/news/878903-500-queue-for-just-20-sales-assistant-jobs-at-new-poundland-store) to become functioning, competent members of society, in the face of numerous adversities - namely laziness and minor drinking problems. Right, back to CDWM.