A Diary of Daily Decline


Day 1: Up. Face like a murder of crows feet dancing on sand. Hair like a misplaced porn star’s merkin. Voice like I'm being 'ventriloquised' by Rod Hull. Morning.

Day 2: Up. Face like an overdone Creme Brûlée. Hair like Ken Dodd standing on a live electric cable. Voice like Minnie Mouse. Morning.

Day 3: Up. Face like a Hieronymus Bosch portrait. Hair like a crow-ravaged cornfield crop-dusted with Silvikrin. Voice like Joe Pasquale with his balls in a vice. Morning.

Day 4: Up. Face like the dark side of the moon. Hair like an unwashed combover of Charltons. Voice like Sammy Hagar gargling Castrol GTX. Morning.

Day 5: Up. Face like a mid-coital Quasimodo. Hair like a manky dreadlock of rat's tails. Voice like a doleful Plague warning bell. Morning.

Day 6: Up. Face like a well-slapped arse. Hair like its been permed by a combine harvester. Voice like the heavy, heavy monster sound. Morning.

Day 7: Up. Face like a blowtorched Kiss picture disc. Hair a taxidermist's refuse bin. Voice like a drunk Donald Duck. Morning.

Day 8: Up. Face like Giant Haystacks in a grapple choke-hold. Hair like Ozzy Osbourne's belly button fluff. Voice like Geddy Lee drowning. Morning.

Day 9: Up. Face AND hair like Marty Feldman in an unprecedented experimental G-Force test. Voice like the baby in 'Dinosaurs' on helium. Morning.

Day 10: Up. Face like a gargoyle viewed through a kaleidoscope. Hair like Ron Jeremy's damp chest wig. Voice like a morose Elizabeth Bott. Morning.

Day 11: Up. Face like a fire-damaged medicine ball. Hair like a burnt stash of Pot Noodle. Voice like Pee-Wee Herman gargling Vat 69. Morning.

Day 12: Up. Face like a dermatologist's carpet. Hair like the Hair Bear Bunch standing on a live cable. Voice like a hallucinating Sat-Nav Morning.

Day 13: Up. Face like the Turin Shroud dishcloth. Hair like the blockage in Joe Hart's shower drain. Voice like Steamboat Wullie's funnel. Morning.

Day 14: Up. Face like Michelangelo's David. Hair like Elvis Presley. Voice like Caruso. Morn...eh..!? Ach, bollocks...It was just a dream. Up..etc.

Day 15: Up. Face like a well-skelped arse. Hair like a 70s mullet sieved through a colander. Voice like the sound of dreams being crushed. Morning.

Day 16: Up. Face like Marty Feldman as the Turin Shroud. Hair like a topiary Mohawk. Voice like thin ice cracking under frightened hippos. Morning.

Day 17: Up. Face like a watermelon dropped from a tall building. Hair like mis-spelt Alphabetty Spaghetti. Voice like a buffalo farting. Morning.

Day 18: Up. Face like it's gone ten rounds with the Raving Bonkers. Hair like a Ker-Plunk circuit. Voice like a Buckaroo boot in the baws. Morning.

Day 19: Up. Face like a deep-fried haggis supper. Hair like a shredded wheat combover. Voice like an acid-infused Freddie 'Parrot-Face' Davies. Morning.

Day 20: Up. Face like a recently broken cuckoo clock. Hair like an Oliver Cromwell bell-shaped bob. Voice like a reluctant whoopee cushion. Morning.

Day 21: Up. Face like a melted welly. Hair like twelve toddlers have slept in it. Voice like I've been skelped in the baws by Thor. Morning.

Day 22: Up. Face like a scared Plug from the Bash Street Kids. Hair like the shredded tape from an unwound C90. Voice like a drunk budgie. Morning.

Day 23: Up. Face like an inside out, 90 year old scrotum. Hair like Wayne Rooney's flip top bin lid. Voice like a boiling kettle at 78rpm. Morning.

Day 24: Up. Face like a map of 51 sand-dancing crows feet. Hair like a '64 beatnik. Voice like a scunnered John Lennon. (Happy birthday) Morning.

Day 25: Up. Face, hair and voice like a constipated Buster Bloodvessel in the cludgie after a night on the VAT 69 and 4 Vindaloo 'chasers'. Morning.

Day 26: Up. Face like it was being squeezed through a wean's polo neck. Hair like crows were nesting in it. Voice like Milli Vanilli. Morning.
(This morning's 'Up' contained a reference to 80s pop fraudsters Milli Vanilli; a duo who famously couldn't sing but claimed credit for it.)

Day 27: Up. Face like a half-eaten meat pastie from Greggs. Hair like the frayed ends of a hippy's jeans. Voice like a fat belly rumbling. Morning.

Day 28: Up. Face like a Halloween pumpkin carved by Stevie Wonder. Hair like Kojak's chest wig. Voice like a Banshee stood on a rusty nail. Morning.

Day 29: Up. Face like that Moaning Lisa from next door. Hair like Silvikrin'd spaghetti. Voice like Prof. Stephen Hawking on low battery. Morning.

Day 30: Up. Face like an early blue period Picasso sketch. Hair like a homeless Billy Ray Cyrus. Voice like a flu-bound Emo Phillips. Morning.

Day 31: The mirror crack'd. All hope is now lost.



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