Writer's bollock

Hi guys! So look, here’s the deal. I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with something good to write. It’s been hard going.

There’s always the failsafe formula: a drawn-out diatribe about the increasingly un-mighty Arsenal.

Scribing something with genuine insight and originality is rare, but knocking out the kind of throwaway tat you’d think twice about using to wipe your arse is as easy as… well… wiping your arse.

It’s the journalistic equivalent of heading down the pub with the lads, sinking ten pints and putting the brain on autopilot. I wonder what percentage of pub-based interactions begin with the hook: so, did you see the match? It’s a straightforward icebreaker. It puts men at ease because there’s just always more worthless drivel you can spout about football.

Sadly, however, there is only so much one can read, which is why I am attempting to free myself from the stifling embrace of football chatter. But it’s hard. I feel lost and emasculated. I’m kicking frantically but I’m barely able to keep my head above water.

Death is hastened by the downward thrusts of those kicking alongside me. Natural selection at its cruel best. To make matters worse, some make it look easy. Effortlessly they rise, their winged silhouettes just visible against the brilliant sunlight. Every beat lifts them further from the dead and dying.

Fjhdeoffeujdefwui9j pujrgfujro9ujre ujwqu9y549uf. What the… Oh… I’m sorry. It appears I stopped writing for a second and involuntarily started beating myself about the head with my keyboard. Where was I? Ah, yes, writing.

I don’t know why, but I do sometimes find it really difficult write. It’s not that I have difficulty finding the words to express myself, I just don’t think I have anything worth saying. Perhaps I’m being harsh on myself – or perhaps I do in fact lead a life so boring that I can’t even be bothered to fin…