Number 84

The Excitement Continues Unabated

We bought a new living room carpet. We got it from the second carpet shop we went to.

Did you know that Car Park backwards is Krap Rac?

Why does the council have mini bin waggons that are essentially cages on wheels? Why are they lockable? Do they put things in there that can escape? Or are maybe violent or otherworldly?

I can't burn all my rubbish as I still have beetroots.

Remember, if you click 'Like' on Facebook, their advertising algorithm will find anything remotely related to that like and target you with it. So, if you 'like' bananas, then expect an influx of yellow crescent shapes and possibly even Simpsons Porn.

She sells seashells by the sea shore. Why? I mean it can't be a very lucrative business, can it? Oh shall we go and buy some seashells from that nice lady or just go and find our own on this long stretch of sandy, shell-covered beach. D'oh.

It's really 2.15.

Gingers are dying out, apparently. This is a uniquely bad thing in my humble opinion.

There is stuff I should do in the garden, especially as it isn't raining...

But I didn't and waited on some bread instead. It was a gamble that in many ways paid off.

The only time my wife ever sounds petulant is whenever she sees someone else in a Fiat Doblo.

I'm going to deliver a lawn mower tomorrow, to Daventry. That should generate a line or two of interesting copy or maybe I can invent a story about a magical journey to the place that is so nice they named it thrice - Daventry Daventry Daventry.

We were in the carpet shop and I said to the wife if someone comes up to us and asks if we're looking for anything in particular I'm going to say 'a very small panda with big claws that mews' or possibly 'some Jerusalem Artichokes'.

After A Comes B

Musically speaking, the As are done with. A couple of Aqualung albums finished it off and I was on B before you knew it. The opening salvo was quite lugubrious with a double barrel of Kate Bush. The Red Shoes isn't an album that I'm as familiar with as I am the older ones, because I think, like So by Peter Gabriel it came out at a time when I was very much into a different thing. It's better than 50 Words for Snow.

I'm going to have to take crucifixion for this, I think. Try as hard as I have, I really can't find that much to get excited about with Jeff Buckley; he kinda reminds me of Kevin Rowlands singing the blues and I have really tried hard to like Grace but, you know, it doesn't give me the raging horn like it does some people; in fact, I really can't see a period in my future where I'm sitting around and I think, 'you know, I think I'll put on some Jeff Buckley.' I know, I should be mortified with my own poor taste, especially as I'm arguably more likely to think, 'hm, I think I'll put some Enya on...' I also think Hallelujah isn't the greatest song ever written; in fact Leonard Cohen probably should have his toenails removed with a vicious hoover for writing it.

Sorry. I know that will upset more people than me hating: The Clash, The Smiths, Muse or someone else that I'm supposed to like but don't, but thems the breaks with someone with such a nonsensical music taste as me. It isn't going to start a war and no one will be injured (unless the CD explodes in the fireplace).

Fortunately for me, straight after Buckley comes Blow Up Hollywood (my alphabetising is a bit random at times) and that means Collections.