Sunday, 29 June 2014

There's not much time

And I have a lot on my mind. I haven't blogged for ages and so I have all sorts of detritus clogging my brain. It needs to be expunged. Therefore the following is likely to make little sense and seem convoluted and pointless. Much like most of the conference calls I've had this week.

Metallica though. It started badly. Hetfield bears more than a passing resemblance to a post op Mickey Rourke which is pretty disturbing. I used to fancy him. Actually I used to fancy both of them. Never fancied Lars though. He still looks like Gollum.

I couldn't give a shite about the whole Glasto thing. From what I can tell, every single time it's on people are bitching about the headliners. I gather Metallica are the first 'metal' band to headline. Apparently some people think they're against the ethos of Glastonbury. They're money grubbing humourless power hungry businessmen so I would have thought they'd slot right in.

As they played Sad But True, One and Master of Puppets I couldn't help but be drawn in. I was back at school, hanging out in the park, hearing people who knew about music and fags and shit talk about how the Black album was a sell out and that Metallica were over. Now it's remembered as their heyday. Funny old world. Bit like Kirk's hair.

Anyway. Still sad about Rik Mayall. Watched all of The Young Ones, Filthy, Rich and Catflap and Bottom over the last week. Bloody brilliant.

Anyway, I've watched none of the World Cup and yet somehow, thanks to social bloody media I know everything there is to know about it. Well, I know that we were shit and have come out with the worst performance since the 1950s (three lions on a shirt... ), Rooney looks like a fat chav and someone called Suarez is clearly mentally ill. And for this Masterchef is relegated to once a week? Really? And Twitter, stop trying to make the World Cup happen, yeah? I keep telling you I'm not interested and yet you keep suggesting I join in. I don't join things. Fuck off.

Anyway, humble bragging on Facebook is getting on my tits. It's extremely transparent so just stop it. Stop now. Yes. You.

Anyway, my novel is slow, work is much,  pay is remarkable by its continued absence and I really really want some fun. Any suggestions?


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