I most certainly have a hangover today but its a rather nice one, I feel a little bit wasted without feeling ravaged, I feel at one with the universe and its sublime contents.
Morning. It’s a beautiful day.
Last night I met with my brother in a pub. For once he was there before me but before I get on to all that I must mention the sunset over Clapham Common, it was fucking gorgeous, a proper blood orange fellow between the trees that was glowing darkly enough for one to gaze upon without fear of ones eyes popping and melting down ones fucking rosy cheeks. It gave me quite a lift actually and I was even aware of feeling vaguely, well, ‘happy’. This emotion may have had as much to do with the fact I was marching to the pub on an early spring evening to see my brother…
So, there we were. The conversation ranged as usual between the trite, serious and hilarious, the ‘serious’ part was indeed quite serious and revolved around another conversation I had earlier with a close friend (with tits). It was extremely helpful and set me up nicely for the rest of the evening, as did 3 Grolsch and a large Makers Mark ‘n Coke. I zipped back on the Northern Line, which was unusually full for that time of day and cause for mild concern frankly. Were all these people working past 8pm? What twats.
I hurried home in time for Grand Designs, that’s right, I actually quickened my pace so as to not miss the start. It was quite a disappointing one for the simple reason that the project wasn’t complete by the time the programme ended, it was also set on the restoration of a barge thing and the male protagonist was a obtuse miserly git. I couldn’t be arsed to cook so I grabbed a handful of crackers a large dollop of the fucking expensive duck pate and a lump of Parmesan… lets quickly pause to consider this, I think it’s one of the best bastard things I’ve even eaten in my life, I was actually punching the air as I masticated, even thinking about this now I’m having to swallow back to prevent shorting the office electrics.
By this time I’d eaten I was feeling extremely relaxed and fancied a shot of reality, nothing much to report on the 10 o clock news save one item that got me thinking. Blue Peter (well respected kids programme on the BBC, been running now for 40 odd years) was caught fraudulently appointing a competition winner after the phone-in system collapsed. Essentially, on discovering that the phone system had collapsed putting whole competition in jeopardy, they grabbed a kid passing the studio, advised him of the answer, got him to phone in from a nearby studio and then declared him the winner.
Sensibly the media haven’t supplied any information/images on the kid that was embroiled in the scandal, but imagine being in his or her shoes? How the fuck are they supposed to react to this? Do they feel guilty or responsible, perhaps it’s the reverse and they’re feeling the first blushes of celebrity frustratingly out of reach by the very system that caught them up in the first place… This bugged the shit out of me for some time. I wonder how many kids are claiming to be the Blue Peter Fake Winner? Lets face it, it would make a bloody good t-Shirt, imagine being the actual Blue Peter Fake Winner and someone walks past wearing the Blue Peter Fake Winner t-shirt? It made my blood boil just thinking about the injustice of it.
You see, this is what happens when you mix Parmesan and pate on a Wednesday night. The drinks, subsequent wine and horrifically strong skunk had nothing to do with it.
The T-Shirts are £19.99 btw including P&P
