I am doing a morning jog now, which makes me incredibly aware of how horrendously unfit I am every day. It's like a cheery put-down from a spouse going "Aren't you FAT, eh?" every morning when I wake up. I've also decided to fix my handwriting, try and get to a stage where my guitar skills go from "Pitiful" to "Tolerably average", and I intend to try and remember how to draw things (I swear I used to be able to do it, and the comprehensive lack of supporting evidence is merely misfortune). I've also written another joke! You can see this dream of a pun in action.
"I saw this fish selling seats at a concert the other day, and I thought "Must be a ticket trout"."
I never said it was good, merely that it was technically a joke.
Other than those things, I'm also getting a tan in the preposterous sun (I look like a bronzed adonis, provided you think beetroot red is an acceptable colour for bronze) and plotting the downfall of capitalism (If it's good enough for Lenin and Marx, it's good enough for me).
Time for that section where I lie repeatedly after doing the truthful thing.
I am training a dolphin to do dressage with me. I am clamouring for the Queen to wear Tom Daley as a hat at the next formal function she attends. I am supporting Andy Murray in Wimbledon, but not because I like him, only because I'm a fervent supporter of scrappy beards. I'm demanding the government allocate more money to anti-ninja defences (They're coming, and we can never be too careful), and finally, I am writing a screenplay about Trevor McDonald's life called "Bong!: From Trinidad to Television".