My makeup supplies clattered as they hit the sideboard.
"I'm naff at sleep," I glumly reiterated in the mirror for the thousandth time. If only I could stub out my late night telethon habits and strategise some form of orginisation and/or normality in my life, I reckon things would be cushty. My Mum has on numerous occasions raised my awareness of looking like I'm from the wrong end of Soho in the 1970's. Nonetheless I guess I liked it that way, it gets the heads turning at least. I've never been one for blending in that's for sure; if anything I would try to subtly challenge peoples perceptions. Even my vintage Slingerland drum kit gets blessed with a taxidermied raccoon tail before shows.
Anyhow, breakfast! I was feeling the urge for a somewhat minimalist eat, so I stuck with the off brand "Special Flakes" and semi-skimmed, accompanied by a chopped up, perfectly ripe banana (Yellow with blotted brown Dalmatian patches). Quite the contrast to my past media studies tutor James McDonald, and how he coined that a tab and a coffee was "Och, The breakfast of champions!". I remember how he would stand there, 6ft6 in our bitter Northern winds with his licorice roll up cigarettes, teaching us how to perfect our camera angles. I've always admired his perseverance and selfless attitude towards me, which is something I like to think I've continued. It always comes in handy.
After ironing my pale blue work shirt and professionally throwing on my clobber in order, I left my home with the sounds of "A love built on sand" in my ears by The Animated Egg. A 1960's psychedelic group I would highly recommend.