Coffee, Tea, Guns and Knees...

The smell of coffee is taunting me. My coffee maker is so slow and LOUD! I swear to god it gurgles and rasps and splutters like you'd never believe. I'd get it an iron lung if I didn't have instant to fall back on.

I do prefer my tea though. Tea makes the world go round. Tis the Fountail Of All Goodness. The Drink Of The Gods. The Divine Beverage. Cod Liver Oil For The Soul Only Far Better Tasting. Perhaps that is why the coffee maker makes the offensive noises it does, perhaps the gurgling is really profanity in coffee maker speak, and it it telling me of it's contempt for my favouring the teapot.

Come to think of it, when was the last time I used a teapot? Do I even have a teapot? I must scour the kitchen sometime in search of this elusive tea making utensil. I vaguely remember one, I think it was brown, or beige. Does it matter though? So long as I have a kettle and some teabags all is right with the world.

But I digress... I prefer tea, but occasionally the unfettered need for pure caffeine overrides the good sense of my tastebuds. And right now, I need coffee. The damn coffee maker however is making things difficult.

The old War Injury is acting up. I may call it the War Injury, but really, a bit of a knackered knee and my leg refuses to work, how pathetic. I scorn my right knee and all of it's contemporaries, namely the Anterior Cruciate Ligament, the the Posterior Cruciate Ligament, the Tibial Collateral Ligament and the Tibial Plateau, all of which are plotting to undo me. The swines.

Other than that my life is a cesspit of unadulterated boredom. Here I sit, in the corner seat of the leather sofa, propped up via a mountain of green cushions, watching some sort of home makeover programme and refraining from beating myself into unconsciousness. How did my life descend into this? I had a life once, friends and men and money and GUNS! Guns for christ's sake, SA-80s and the lark, MP-433s and other forms of deadly weapons. And a bayonette. My life was all sweat and dirt and laughter for a brief while, and now I'm getting fat through lack of physical exercise, watching daytime TV with my leg propped up on the pillows.

Ah tis a sad life for one who had fallen so far from grace. Then again, I was never that close to grace to begin with. Satan's had a room booked for me since the day I was born, there's nowhere for me to fall.

Except for off the sofa, where I am invariably going when I make the attempt to reach the kitchen and kick some sense into the spluttering coffee maker.