I have some level of self awareness you know. It’s vaguely possible that I may well have faults just like anyone else – potentially a propensity for butting in, faintly illegible handwriting (it’s not at all that I despise it when people read over my shoulder and scribble away earnestly in order to ward off such behaviour), rarely being able to round off lists in a suitably comedic fashion. However, I really do find it hard to believe that anyone would be sufficiently motivated to try and bump me off.
It takes quite a level of feeling to indulge in a round of murdering, you don’t go off on a spree of a quiet Tuesday afternoon just for the sake of having something to so (you know, unless you have We Need to Talk About Kevin style problems. I may not have seen the film but we all know the variety of deal occurring there).
Perhaps this is the precise reason why the police haven’t yet quite managed to summon up the effort required to carry out my murder. They really can’t honestly have taken my recent threats agains the Prime Minister seriously – that was just idle speculation about the nutritional value of our glorious leader. And possibly the best way of eliminating a political figure without being left with a corpse to deal with. Perhaps the police have a point.
And why, may I ask, are they opting for a pillow for heaven’s sake? That;s hardly the traditional wheelhouse of the constabulary. It smacks of recreational abuse of resources and I’m not sure we can be having that. Why not stick to the firing squad or a nice old fashioned bludgeoning. We’re always hearing about police brutality but as the linen swathed feather stuffed rectangle descends over my face I’m not so convinced.