2004-11-19 - 12:38 p.m.

This morning I was walking to work, cursing the fact that I was walking TO WORK and not, say, enjoying a bed-based buttery crumpet with a selection of up and coming soap opera stars. More to the point, having been not really coerced into drinking more beer than was strictly necessary after the top drawer Modest Mouse gig, I was what in thirst describing circles is termed �spitting feathers�.

�I could really use a slightly chilled fruit based drink,� I thought to myself, the lack of ready funds / bank machine / fruit based drink emporium steeling my bad mood still further. Then, POP! Out of the blue, the dry mouth fairy came to my aid, and a sparkly-jacketed PR girl (you know the kind; the ones that just aren�t quite good looking enough to be actual models � still a gazillion time more attractive than me, before you start up with any funny business) and quite literally handed me a bottle of water from her mobile fridge. I was more than satisfied with that state of affairs, but the drinks lily was well and truly gilded by the fact that it was a NEW fruit-based water drink, or fruit-flavoured sickly chemicals that make your breathing go all funny-based water drink, which is the next best thing.

I wonder if it is physically possible to be simultaneously spitting feathers, sweating cobs, crying buckets and looking daggers? That seems like a lot of bodily output to me. Call me old fashioned and everything.

For some reason, the words �a can of drink� really annoy me.

�Would you like a can of drink?�

�I�ll tell you what I WOULD like, and that�s for you to describe the contents of the can in more detail, just so I know I�m not blindly pouring molten earwax down my throat as a result of your generic portrayal of said liquid.�

That said, I would have taken a free can of drink this morning, so, like a secret contortionist, I�m more flexible than I appear.