I’m going to be brief. Mainly as I don’t have a great deal springing to mind to share with you, but sometimes, come this time on a Sunday I am not engulfed with the desire to blog. However, such is the drive of my minor OCD about completing things, not blogging on a Sunday may tip me over the edge of the compulsive cliff.
Not a great deal has happened this week, apart from working and enduring a little more trolling from the parts of the internet where idiots live. There has been no holiday planning progression, mainly as it has been planned to death already. I have been researching some golf courses but nothing has been booked as yet. I have to save some planning for closer to the time or I may have to do some work instead.
Oh, I tell a lie. We did sort out our transport to and from Manchester airport. I researched airport parking and my Dad looked into mini bus options. He popped in mid-week to let me know he’d found a reliable chap at a price the airport parking couldn’t compete with so we shall be driven there and back without the need to negotiate the M60 after twenty minutes sleep on our return home.
Right now, Rebecca is trying to fit the proverbial quart into the pint pot for her trip to Barcelona tomorrow. You may remember that was her surprise present for her birthday back in May. I don’t know why she is taking a quart with her, or indeed why she is carrying it in a pint, but Easyjet’s luggage rules have always confused me. She may only be going for four days but still it seems that half of our house is currently in her room vying for space in her postage stamp carry on.
The flight is very early tomorrow, so early I am just glad that I am not on drop off duty. Monday’s are bad enough without adding a 3am start on the front of one. Tom (her boyfriend) has talked his Mum into doing the honours. Both of the girls are of course seasoned flyers and travelers but it won’t stop me giving her a four-hour lecture on safety abroad before she goes. I know she is looking forward to it.
As I write this, I have the travesty which was Kanye West’s “performance” from last night on the iPlayer. I was certain I wouldn’t like it, but felt that I had to witness first hand the outrage that played out on my social media last night. By the Lord of autotune what a jumped up load of over hyped emperor’s new clothes this excuse for an artist is. Suddenly his marriage to the other vacuum of talent makes a whole load of sense. As much as he really is an arse for forcing this crass, talentless talking over music onto us, the bigger idiots are the ones buying it and making him the multi-gazillionaire he is.
I’ve added him to my list of rant inducing musical acts. It’s a long one, but includes the likes of Example, Coldplay, U2 and Diana Ross, the latter being solely for inflicting Chain Reaction on to the world. Her and Lulu’s “Weeeeeeeeeelllllll” at the start of Shout besmirch every wedding and family party in the western world and both make me want to take a steaming dump on the DJ’s equipment, and that’s not a euphemism.
I’ll confess that Mustard (the top North West covers band, perfect for your function, reasonable rates assured, that I play bass in) do perform a Coldplay track. I get through it for the greater good and I maintain that playing it is different to listening to it voluntarily anyway.
So much for being brief. I have to go now and set fire to the BBC iPlayer.
Till the next time…..