Good morrow! And what a glorious and jocular morning it is! The sun dawned bright and golden over the A45 and I took a brisk and bracing stroll across the road to the BP garage for a bag of razor blades and a noose.
Here is an interesting factoid for today:
Do you have any idea how many people commit suicide in Travel Lodges?
Well?
Have a guess.
No?
Go on then I’ll tell you.
All of them.
OK not all of them, but enough of them for Travel Lodge to write it into their terms and conditions.
Last night in a particularly black mood, I googled “Travel Lodge suicide” and learned that it is actually quite popular among the terminally depressed to check into a Travel Lodge, say on the A45, and quietly and anonymously, do away with oneself. This poses a problem for hotels who are responsible for the health and safety of their guests, hence the terms and conditions. It also kind of explains why they make you pay in advance.
I’m not entirely sure where they stand on death caused by suffocation in a plastic bag while wanking with an orange in your mouth though. Cause let me tell you, if it turns out I’m mortal, that’s how I want to go. Still, I got to lie awake wondering how many people had died in my room.
Work remains utterly mind numbing and I’m thinking of reskilling as a hooker. Maybe on the A45. At least I’ll be able to dress up once in a while.
