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Friday, 4 July 2014

Cutting about in the Shire.

I'm a master procrastinator.
Right now I have a number of things to do.
Just a small number, but it has loads of 0’s following it around, and instead of doing them I am sitting here tapping at the keys and wasting time by telling you about my day.
This is like a real blog post rather than one pretending to be an article on a big boys music website.
Sort of a male perspective on the Bridget Jones thing without the weight issues, boyfriend issues, the how much wine did I drink issues, and okay it’s nothing like Bridget Jones as my day exists in Kilmarnock and there’s a severe lack of lawyers and accountants hanging about wine bars around here.

You would have to go as far as, well I don’t know, maybe Prestwick if you want some of that action.

Initially my plan was to embark on a trip to Glasgow, but a serious bout of throwing up that felt like I had turned myself inside out and led to much tightness of my chest and problems breathing put a stop to that.
I suspect it may have something to do with the chest infection that I have.

(See how clever I am there.
I have a chest infection and as soon as I had some difficulty breathing I knew the two must be linked.
Now where’s my doctorate as with that degree of insightfulness I reckon I am ready to doctor up a storm?)

Anyway I decided that instead of wallowing in self pity I would brave the elements and get some exercise and fresh air with a trip into town.

It’s was a bit quiet today and I just wandered about a bit and dropped in on some of the charity shops.
The British Heart Foundation has apparently dropped the delusional opinion that it’s a high street outlet akin to HMV and clicked onto the fact that selling old for new doesn’t mean the cost reflects the original price when it was still in its wrapper.
Instead of three quid for East 17s Greatest Hit the price has tumbled to a mere 99p.
I suspect they are in a price war with Poundland who will re-brand themselves as 98pland in response to their opening salvo.
I left there with a DVD of Thin Lizzy’s Greatest Hits that carried the princely sum of £1.99 on its cover.
I’m quite happy with that.

A few minutes later I found myself reading, but not paying for, some magazines in WH Smiths.
If you haven’t heard of it then it’s like a library for magazines, but without anywhere to sit and you can’t take the magazines away with you unless you give them money.
Remember how Wetherspoons started as a no frills pub chain.
Well it’s like the library version of that.
It’s pretty basic, but alright if you don’t mind standing and reading.

While there a couple of young guys were standing next to me looking at some Top Gear shit.
Both were in their mid to late twenties, well dressed and had semi-cultured tones.
Probably trainee bank tellers or something like that on their lunch break.
One had a very loud conversational and while standing there he said to his mate at a decibel level that would carry to the back of building “I was pretty drunk and she shoved a cucumber up me”.
For a second I felt like saying “inside voice mate, use your inside voice”, but then he finished the sentence with “and I’ll not be going to any more of her parties.”
I am one hundred percent serious that this is what he said and at what volume.
I didn't mishear him.
So what sort of party was this?
The first part of it could have been a segment on a tv show like “Dates That Went Horribly Wrong”, but this was a party.
When he walked away he wasn't limping so I would hazard a guess that the party was held a few weeks ago.

Then when I left I seen a kid wearing stereotypical emo/skateboarding gear and a t-shirt with the legend “FUCK YOUR OPINIONS” emblazoned across his chest.
It must be pretty cool hanging about with him.
Your cup would be runneth over with scintillating conversations.
Can you imagine being his mum and responding to his question of what’s for lunch with “well it’s a sunny day so I was thinking about a salad” as he screamed back “I DIDN'T ASK WHAT YOU WERE THINKING. WHAT’S FOR LUNCH?”

On the way home I popped into Morrisons and this time I didn't have my “I want to be served by a person” stand off, but I did notice the Suns headline.
No, it’s not about Andy Coulson receiving an eighteen month sentence, nothing to do with Palestine or Israel, and I didn't notice anything about Iraq either.
Instead it’s about the English girl giving blow jobs for a drink in Magaluf.
Only as far as I was aware yesterday it was twenty chaps for a two quid drink and now filtered through the Suns truth capacitor it’s twenty four guys for a four quid cocktail.
Squeezing in the word cocktail is their obvious subliminal attempt to lay claim to a Cock Tale on the cover.
Look, we nearly said a dirty word, wink wink, nudge nudge.
Maybe deep down they want to be the Sunday Sport.

For a minute in Morrisons I also thought about going on a diet and losing a stone or even two, but then I seen fruit salad doughnuts and I have eaten two while writing this.
And that’s about as Bridget Jones as it’s getting.

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