When we mop floors, all sorts of complex emotions occur: what has our life become and why do things move in circles and this moment pretty much sums it up, this pretty much says it all.
Call me Doug. Not Douglas. Call me. Look me up. Combatting xenophobia. They wear speaker cones for hats in China. They eat rice with their hands like a JCB shifts dirt into a skip. They play some snooker too, to feed their families.
You off-shore, you wishbone, oh sleepy Gestapo. The tide was against us when you suggested a dip. Oh slipstream, oh yielding, oh off-duty lifeguard. I expected the stairwell to be the first place they'd look.
We are nothing like ants. First off, ants don't read magazines or suffer from depression. One ant is pretty much the same as the next ant. Even the ones with wings are not hugely distinct.