Every morning I have a strict routine that starts with checking my emails, deleting all the penis extension ones and keeping a couple of porny ones. Then I'll diligently fart about on YouTube for a bit, then I might head over to funnyordie.co.uk to see what shite's on there today.
Then I'll probably nip out for a fag which will inexplicably set the gears in motion for a nice poo, which I will enjoy whilst reading the same article for the 50th time in the same newspaper that that's been folded up behind the basin for 4 months.
Then it's back to my office, the creative hub of all creation, where I'll sit back down and then realise that the 6 dirty coffee mugs on my desk are actually restricting my elbow room. So one short trip to the dishwasher later, I'm back in my office, feverishly-typing away as I create the next smash hit sitcom that will no doubt be adapted for US television, making me very rich and happy. Or I might be, if on the way back from the dishwasher I hadn't been distracted by Philip Schofield on This Morning doing an article about a cat that plays piano.