Govanhill wants me be a better person. Jesus does too, probably.
Make the change, be the change, spare some change.
Be less like myself, that’s what to do.
I could cut back on things, that’s always a good start.
Drinking? Grow up. Smoking? Aye, right. Internet? No way. Swearing? Push off. Blogging? You wish. Women? I wish.
Doesn’t leave much, does it. That’s all my bad habits right there.
Need to start somewhere, I suppose. I could promise not to hang wet clothes on traffic lights. Try not to wear slippers made out of pet hamsters. Stop injecting crystal meth into my eyeballs.
But I’ve never done any of those things so it would be too easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. I could stop shooting fish in a barrel.
I should take up new hobbies, that’s it. Drink more wine perhaps, red wine, tonic wine, or a classy drink, like sherry.
Discover the new me, a fresh I, a rip-roaring, revved-up re-imagined me on an ever-improving quest for non-stop perfection, a glittering, hollow-eyed example to the rest of the universe, yeah?
Aye. Let you know, Govanhill.