As I get older, I find my tolerance levels are decreasing somewhat. For example, I caught myself shouting obscenities right into a girl guide’s face in Sainsbury’s the other day. In my defence, she put the shampoo in with the eggs and her brown owl shook her bucket at me. How can I avoid violent confrontation with benevolent children in future?
Have you ever considered trying to express your emotions through music and movement? All you need is a pair of plimsolls, Now That’s What I Call Music 5, and a willingness to leave your dignity behind you. Imagine you’re an enormous oak tree, blowing in the breeze to Kaleigh by Marillion. Stretch up high and reach the sky, then bend down low and wiggle your fingers in the imaginary grass. Watch out for Oliver French, because he’s on the mat next to you frantically channelling a decepticon. As you weave in and out, rustling your branches and letting your roots explore the ground, you’ll begin to abandon your rage, and by the time Slave to Love reaches its instrumental peak you’ll be photosynthesising with ecstasy. Just make sure you don’t get too relaxed and accidentally let off an eggy fart because thirty children in a gym hall rioting to China Crisis is not a pleasant sight.
Hope that helps!