Sleepless in Oblivion

The fan has a wobble.

At the lowest speed, the wobble is a hula-hoop kind of wobble.

At medium speed, the wobble turns into a stripper trying to get her tassels swinging in time with "Sweet Georgia Brown".

At the highest speed, it is no longer a wobble, but an orgy in full frenzy complete with rhythmic thump.

This is very disconcerting to me. Since entering the Sahara Desert of love, the ever-present reminder of the heartbeat of sex is beginning to depress me.

I lie there.

I read. "Ignore it," I say to myself.

If I can't sleep, I get out of bed, pick up my bow and practice my draw with an imaginary arrow - I'm Cupid shooting blanks. I have also found that if I put on The Clash and dance through "Lost in the Supermarket" and "Should I Stay or Should I Go" I'm usually too tired to pay much attention to the seductive throb of the fan.

If you ask me, this is a silly way to live.