Everyone’s a winner, isn’t that right Charlie?

For now I have resigned myself to a sort of defeat on the flights front.  I have not given up, and will not of course, but March brought with it an increase to the already silly prices.  I had been banking on Thomas Cook, but they have put their prices up, and even when they were lower, by the time you click-through to book and find that you need to add-on those optional extras like luggage allowance and in flight oxygen, they were not much different from everyone else, albeit direct.

So I’m playing the waiting game, holding my nerve until either I or the airlines blink.

I had one of those weeks that fly by in about two seconds, which means that I am busy and getting old.  No sooner had I got through the depressive state of Sunday night, than Monday melded into all the other days, and I was at Friday all over again.  In a way of course I like the fact that the working week whizzes by, but I do worry that I’ll be dead before I know it, and I wouldn’t mind not wishing every week away.

(PLUG ALERT) I wrote some on this topic on my new outlet for middle-aged ranting and meandering here (PLUG OVER)

On Thursday night I attended Rebecca’s parent’s evening.  I say evening, but it started at 4pm, and was over by 6pm.  Last time I looked that was afternoon, and as long as it suits the teacher’s to hold it at this time then of course that is cool.  The rest of us can just rearrange our lives to suit.  Rebecca is doing fine at school, with the main thing being that (almost) all her teachers are reporting good effort, even if she won’t be breaking any records in the grades department.  Later tonight we shall convene at the kitchen table to finally decide on her options for GCSE.  Sadly for Rebecca the list does not contain GCSE courses in texting, My Chemical Romance or “fit boys”.

Emily is nearing the end of her GCSE courses, and again, no doubt much like every other Year 11, isn’t doing enough revision, course work or stuff that doesn’t involve the things listed above in Rebecca’s GCSE course wish list. Ritually though we go through the motions of giving her a hard time about it, in the vain hope and belief that it makes the slightest difference.

In other non Williams news this week, it seems it is de rigeur to be coming spectacularly off the rails and in most cases straight into rehab.  Charlie Sheen, Demi Lovato and Dougie off of McFly all seem to be doing their best to take their privileged lives and piss them up against the nearest wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having never been rich and/or famous I cannot of course empathise with their plights, and it is very easy for someone who actually has a normal job to imagine why someone with more money than they will ever require, in jobs they presumably love, then proceed to try very hard to knacker it all up by drinking/drugging and Sheen’s case winning it all away.  Is it too simple to tell them to pull themselves together?  Perhaps we should place them into shock therapy, and transplant them until further notice into a regular life.  Take away their money, pay them an average wage and have them battle with normal issues, like paying the mortgage, and wondering if they can afford a holiday this year.  Once they have done a few weeks in a monotonous nine to five, and realised that it lacks glamour, interest or stimulation, it might make them realise that it is these folk, the professional worriers, that need the drink and drugs, and not they, as their lives should be cool enough without external stimulants.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Charlie Sheen, (I love Two and a Half Men) have tolerated Lovato on TV, and have been known to tap a toe to a McFly track, but I don’t have that much sympathy for them as they crash and burn into rehab or law suits.

Meanwhile I’ll see you all on the commute tomorrow, at the start of another week of work.   Mind you now that I have topped the 200 mark on Twitter followers, and write for another website, surely I qualify as famous now?  So, by Wednesday I’ll have overdosed on Costa Coffee, Millie’s Cookies and anything else they sell in the Lowry Outlet at Salford Quays (office is next door), and I’ll be tweeting absolute nonsense in a Sheen style.  Hmm, not much will have changed then.

Onwards to winning and not whinging!

Till the next time….