Purple haze

"January. Sick and tired, you've been hanging on me." Ok, new year, new you. Give up everything. Blow your credit card on brown sludge in a plastic bottle you can shake as you leave the gym. I'm so hard you won't notice that I'm four foot tall and bald. Look at my guns. They're eleven times the size of my head. 

God, I need a drink to leave the world unseen. But sometimes your body tells you that enough is enough and man cannot live off reduced Christmas pudding alone. Maybe my brain will work if I do actually eat real food and achieve the aim of consuming five fruit and veg a day? And thank someone for science. What's this stuff? Ah, kalettes. It's broccoli meets sprouts in Hackney. Green is good, but what about purple? The colour of spiritual shops in Montsegur. Of gems and josticks, wind chimes and crosses, of delusion, of comfort. And why not? We all need something to cling to. What else is there? Celeb gossip and nutri bars? Well, if you can't beat them, eat your purple, bang down a mango, and before you know it will be Spring, and suddenly everything will be beautiful.