Quite a productive weekend for me, all in all. Normally I like to sit on my fat, lazy arse at the weekend and do absolutely fuck all.
Saturday saw me rise quite early and nip into town. I needed the bank and some gentlemen's toiletries, so thought I'd give the great unwashed a swerve and go in early. Got home and thought I'd erect one of my purchases, my latest toy, namely a deluxe birdfeeder. I know, I know, calm yourselves, it's not all thrash metal and Bacardi Breezers at chez Ambassador you know. I'm not one given much for pets, I can never see the point of them, especially sodding cats, but I do derive some pleasure by watching small birds gorge themselves at my expense. While I was in the garden I packed away the garden furniture. That's a job I hate because it means the summer's finally gone, not that we had much of one this year. I'm a BST person, not a GMT person. Anyway, there's a small orchard on the other side of my back fence and I get a slow but steady supply of wind-blown Pippin apples at this time of year. Food tastes better when it's free, no?
Managed to get a big chunk of my book read on Saturday afternoon. I've been wrestling with Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain since the beginning of August, and I've only just reached the chapter on the 1984 miner's strike. I'm left with the impression, after getting this far into the book, that since 1945, Britain's been run by a bunch of clueless fuckwits. I'm surprised we're still here at all. It may turn me into a Thatcherite yet. Anyway, I'm trying to hurry it up now, I need to finish it because I read an excerpt of Frank Skinner's new book yesterday and I'd like to read the whole thing.
Saturday night was spent at the Odeon watching How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It's based on Toby Young's book of the same name. I don't know much about Young, but I gather he's an odious little turd. I only really know him from his appearance on Come Dine With Me, and I quite liked him. And his house.
The problem I had with the film is that they had to put a romantic element into it. Why do that? To get women in I suppose, because we all know that women walk around all daydreaming about romance and chocolate, don't we? Not a bad film, could've been better.
What bugged me though was that it was stated to start at 18.10. What time did it start? 18.40, that's what time. That was after we'd had to sit through 30 minutes of ads for Radio1, mobile phones, Scotland, Stella Artois etc. Then, after they'd finished we had to sit through trailers for a load of shit-looking films I don't want to see. And why are films so loud these days? I know cinemas want to show off their sound systems, but really.
Finished the night at somewhere called Ultimate Burger. Don't know whether it's a chain or not, but let me tell you, they don't serve the 'ultimate burger'. Any ultimate burger to me involves lashings of brown sauce. Ultimate Burger don't serve brown sauce.
Yesterday saw me pottering around doing minor DIY jobs. I say minor because when you're in Homebase buying a hose for a shower and some other small bits, and someone passes with a large trolley groaning under the weight of internal doors, long planks of wood and a lethal-looking power tool still in it's box, you know what you're doing is small fry. Still, even the smallest of DIY jobs gives me satisfaction, especially if I've managed to do it without getting mad or trapping a finger.
Yesterday afternoon I took my car down to the jet wash. Normally I wouldn't mention this, but some bastard had been there before me with a car that must have been caked in mud. Which he'd left all over the floor. I then spent the next ten minutes gamely trying not to slip over in the mud. I've noticed that just lately, I've started talking to myself. I found myself cursing the owner of the previous vehicle by saying, what I thought was quite quietly, "The dirty fucking bastards". Obviously it wasn't quiet enough because I attracted the attention of an elderly couple looking round some second-hand cars. Oops.
Went home, had to put my jeans straight in the washing machine. When I emptied the washer, after its cycle, I found my wallet in there, such was my haste to get the jeans in. Cash, credit cards, debit cards, AA membership cards, the lot. And it ruined my 100% leather wallet. And all because of that bastard with the caked-up motor. Bah!
Anyway, managed to get some stuff watched off the PVR. Saw Friday's Jools Holland and found a new group I liked called TV on the Radio. Then started filling up at the denouement of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I didn't cry though, I'm a man
Went back to work today for a rest.
Saturday saw me rise quite early and nip into town. I needed the bank and some gentlemen's toiletries, so thought I'd give the great unwashed a swerve and go in early. Got home and thought I'd erect one of my purchases, my latest toy, namely a deluxe birdfeeder. I know, I know, calm yourselves, it's not all thrash metal and Bacardi Breezers at chez Ambassador you know. I'm not one given much for pets, I can never see the point of them, especially sodding cats, but I do derive some pleasure by watching small birds gorge themselves at my expense. While I was in the garden I packed away the garden furniture. That's a job I hate because it means the summer's finally gone, not that we had much of one this year. I'm a BST person, not a GMT person. Anyway, there's a small orchard on the other side of my back fence and I get a slow but steady supply of wind-blown Pippin apples at this time of year. Food tastes better when it's free, no?
Managed to get a big chunk of my book read on Saturday afternoon. I've been wrestling with Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain since the beginning of August, and I've only just reached the chapter on the 1984 miner's strike. I'm left with the impression, after getting this far into the book, that since 1945, Britain's been run by a bunch of clueless fuckwits. I'm surprised we're still here at all. It may turn me into a Thatcherite yet. Anyway, I'm trying to hurry it up now, I need to finish it because I read an excerpt of Frank Skinner's new book yesterday and I'd like to read the whole thing.
Saturday night was spent at the Odeon watching How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It's based on Toby Young's book of the same name. I don't know much about Young, but I gather he's an odious little turd. I only really know him from his appearance on Come Dine With Me, and I quite liked him. And his house.
The problem I had with the film is that they had to put a romantic element into it. Why do that? To get women in I suppose, because we all know that women walk around all daydreaming about romance and chocolate, don't we? Not a bad film, could've been better.
What bugged me though was that it was stated to start at 18.10. What time did it start? 18.40, that's what time. That was after we'd had to sit through 30 minutes of ads for Radio1, mobile phones, Scotland, Stella Artois etc. Then, after they'd finished we had to sit through trailers for a load of shit-looking films I don't want to see. And why are films so loud these days? I know cinemas want to show off their sound systems, but really.
Finished the night at somewhere called Ultimate Burger. Don't know whether it's a chain or not, but let me tell you, they don't serve the 'ultimate burger'. Any ultimate burger to me involves lashings of brown sauce. Ultimate Burger don't serve brown sauce.
Yesterday saw me pottering around doing minor DIY jobs. I say minor because when you're in Homebase buying a hose for a shower and some other small bits, and someone passes with a large trolley groaning under the weight of internal doors, long planks of wood and a lethal-looking power tool still in it's box, you know what you're doing is small fry. Still, even the smallest of DIY jobs gives me satisfaction, especially if I've managed to do it without getting mad or trapping a finger.
Yesterday afternoon I took my car down to the jet wash. Normally I wouldn't mention this, but some bastard had been there before me with a car that must have been caked in mud. Which he'd left all over the floor. I then spent the next ten minutes gamely trying not to slip over in the mud. I've noticed that just lately, I've started talking to myself. I found myself cursing the owner of the previous vehicle by saying, what I thought was quite quietly, "The dirty fucking bastards". Obviously it wasn't quiet enough because I attracted the attention of an elderly couple looking round some second-hand cars. Oops.
Went home, had to put my jeans straight in the washing machine. When I emptied the washer, after its cycle, I found my wallet in there, such was my haste to get the jeans in. Cash, credit cards, debit cards, AA membership cards, the lot. And it ruined my 100% leather wallet. And all because of that bastard with the caked-up motor. Bah!
Anyway, managed to get some stuff watched off the PVR. Saw Friday's Jools Holland and found a new group I liked called TV on the Radio. Then started filling up at the denouement of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I didn't cry though, I'm a man
Went back to work today for a rest.
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