I have wrestled with my conscience since waking this morning, and have come to the conclusion that not going to the gym today would be the better option. I feel absolutely knackered, not helped by my lovely daughter and her friend talking and giggling until almost 2am this morning. They were one giggle from me walking into their room, in naught but my underwear to tell them off. However, giggling in the dark is no real reason to inflict that level of mental scarring onto two young girls.
Once they finally went to sleep, the rest of us could follow, only to be woken up by them at 8am, with more of the same giggling and talking in whispered tones that could be heard next door. So I was up earlyish.
With a very busy last week at work looming, I know I will have little chance to visit the gym at lunch, as is my usual routine, so I really should go today. But to be honest the “can’t be arsed” factor has been victorious for once.
With Liverpool on the telly later, and Louise out shopping with her Mum, (she must be insane to do this through choice….the shopping bit I mean, not going out with her Mum!!), I have decided to have a day full of nothing.
We watched the X Factor last night, and I always do so with mixed emotions. Ever since I read Chart Idol by Ben Elton, my already cynical view of these shows, has moved to one of complete disdain.
I have enjoyed every Ben Elton book I have ever read, and he has a great knack of taking a current media phenom…phenomme…funom…craze, analysing it, and showing it for what it really is. A clever guy indeed.
So to last night’s show. I always seem to be out of step with public opinion, and through the years very few of the ones I think deserve it have won, all the way back to the classic Young vs Gates Pop Idol show. This year seems no different, as I am quite bewildered by the adulation of Olly. He is a half decent singer, who would make a good living in pubs and clubs, but a pop star he ain’t. I think the gulf in class showed last night, as he looked like an average karaoke version of Robbie.
As for the Buble, the man is incredible. I have an affinity for him, as there are so many similarities between him and I. Good looking, great singer, suave, charasmatic and from Bolton. Ok, I made the last one up.
George Michael has, in my eyes, long held the legend status, and he oozes class (not Class B drugs, although…), every time I see him.
So my mixed emotions are based on the following
1. I get frustrated that the wrong person usually wins (Leona and Alexander apart)
2. Simon Cowell keeps getting richer from it
3. I have some small sense of wishing I had made more of my brief daliance with pop stardom, which to be fair, peaked with an appearance on Key 103 in the early 90s, but still, it was my dream, and it was only a lack of drive, hair, dietary control and a big chunk of luck that thwarted my ambitions.
4. I also feel like I should rebel against the force feeding of this dumbed down TV fodder that we are being brain washed into accepting as the highlight of our week. There is a line in a Del Amitri song about people sleeping like doped white mice in a college lab, and I think we resemble this concept more and more. Keep the masses obsessed with this tat and they won’t think about anything else.
Anyway, that’s a bit deep for a Sunday morning.
I have housework to do now it seems, before the arrival of Emily’s boyfriend. He is a recent addition to our lives, and Emily’s first boyfriend. I always thought I would be the typical grouchy over bearing Dad, but to be honest, I find myself really liking him. Best laid plans and all that.
Till the next time…..