Removing your blogger navbar is like replacing your toyota harrier badge with a lexus rx300 one.

I wish I lived in television terms. In a Channel 8 drama-type diegetic world.

Not for the artifice of the plastic sets or wonky props, but for the brevity and significance of daily events. With incisive editing, anything that happens happens for a reason. Everything else is cut, cut, cut. Life unfolds fat-free.

No mundane in-betweens like shitting, travelling, sitting through tedious workweeks and dog day afternoons. If they do occur, they occur offscreen. Wherever that may be in the universe. Who knows? Who cares?

Fade in. Work, fade out and then home. No need to finish (or so much as touch) the fake food on the table as long as I keep talking. Talking? Not a breath is wasted. It’s meaningful conversation after meaningful conversation, as long as it drives the story of my life.

Clock face. Elliptical transition. I’ve shed my office wear, I’m in my pyjamas, and though I’ve seemed to have forgotten to wash the gel off my hair it doesn’t matter. I half-rest my bed of hair on my pillow so as to not mess it up too much. I kiss my still heavily made-up wife goodnight. We turn off the lamp, but of course there remains enough light in the room to prevent an underexposed shot on the camera.

The next morning I'm speeding recklessly on Arcadia Road and swerve to avoid hitting an oncoming car (you know as I do that I’ve a lot of things on my troubled mind) and quite surreptitiously, doubtless aided by camera closeup trickery, my Lexus is transformed into a beat-up Corolla stuntcar (so it might better cushion my crash into the lamppost.)

Incidentally, Zoe Tay is driving the oncoming car I tried to avoid. Coincidence? Of course! Believe in the splittings and mergings of destinies, and that life is nothing but a series of miracles and disasters packed into 60 minute blocks. It's television!