2004-06-15 - 12:55 a.m.

I went to a wedding on Saturday. The reception was held in a hotel restaurant in the countryside. The restaurant's decor included, inscribed onto the walls, various supposedly-humourous quotes about alcohol. You know the kind of thing -"If a man can take a drink, then he can take a train," (Oscar Wilde) or, "There are only two things certain in this life, that the sun will rise in the east and that I like drinking loads of booze and that until I spew." (George Bernard Shaw), or "Make me choose between a woman and a whiskey and I'll choose a whiskey, but make me choose between a woman and some cheese and I'll probably choose the woman, as I'm not very keen on cheese. Although on reflection I can't really foresee the circumstances in which I'd be obliged to make either of the above choices. My little chickadee." (W. C. Fields).

Yes, all right, I can't remember the real quotes. But you know the stuff I mean. They're usually painted on the walls of Oirish theme pubs, near the toilet doors that say 'Fnh' and 'Mha' or something that supposedly means Men and Women in Gaelic, although since everyone who drinks in that pub is about as Irish as Kunta Kinte they could just as easily mean 'worm gymkhana' and 'mincey mincey helmet' and no-one would be any the wiser. You know, those quotes. The ones painted between the wall-mounted glass cases of faux-Gaelic memorabilia like little harps and shamrocks and horseshoes and James Joyce's actual bell-end preserved in aspic that obviously all actually come from the same joyless factory unit on some industrial estate in Telford that churns out old cricket prints, antique golf balls and stoneware tankards for rural boozers with an unerring feel for the corporate-bucolic. Yes, those quotes.

Look, stop interrupting.

One quote caught my eye. I can't remember anything about it except the first word, which was 'I'm'. Except they'd written it: Im'. I swear to God. Im'. That's I, then M, then the apostrophe. Im'.

How in the good name of Beverley Callard is it possible to mis-punctuate a two-letter word? And remember, this wasn't something hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper. This was painstakingly inscribed on a restaurant wall. Surely when the educationally sub-normal calligrapher had completed his work, someone had to approve it? Surely he showed it to the restaurant manager? Surely staff were passing as he worked? Apparently not. SOMEONE PAINTED IM' ON A WALL AND NO-ONE NOTICED IT WAS WRONG! Oh my God, why have you forsaken me?

So today I sought solace in the sports pages of the Sportling Life website and came across a piece claiming that in the dying minutes of last night's match, the England team had self-capitulated. We live in a world, you and I, in which someone is paid to write this. Can we bear the shame?

Oh, Iv'e had enough. Im' off to bed. Maybe 'Ill wake up in the morning and itl'l a'llv'e been a dream,

Profilage - Previosity - Nextitude