This is what happened on Tuesday 15th June 2010
I must have stayed up too late last night. Well I did stay up too late last night, listening to Megadeth over and over! Hilarious. I slept long, nae surfacing till noon. Didn’t feel at all rested though, just weary. I think I might have shell shock.
Holidays man. I’m getting nothing done. What normally takes one person now takes two: we play pass the baby, everything takes so long…..the house needs a major clean, it’s fucking filthy, and don’t mention the garden: war zone.
Yeah, well. Surfaced long enough to be awake and we both have to go out and take McMonster for his usual afternoon stroll he has a routine, and the routine must be adhered to religiously. We debate for a while about the route. As usual the wifes will prevails: we need to go by a post box to send off her package of shite to get analysed. Neat. We go up and along northern road where there is a post box by the little paper shop.
I get a copy of the Times to read and a black clipper lighter.
The newspaper, as always gets a vaguely strange look in the shop- they must only get a few copies of real newspapers in that shop, I reckon most folk round woodside read the sun or the like. “copy of the sun and a lottery ticket issit, that’s fit I like to see sir”.
The clipper was essential, I lost or broke my last lighter, and even though we could share it simply disnae work. Wheres my lighter? in my coat pocket? oh fuck sake, etc…
We tooter round with the bairn, along and through ICELAND, and round the park by SCHMU fm. Then home, I park the buggy in the garden and read a bit of the Times. Theres a wee article about the finishing up of the Bloody Sunday enquiry, which has taken twelve years to state the obvious somebody fucked up, and a lot of innocent people were killed. I thought the whole thing sounded vaguely familiar, turns out I had caught and episode on radio four of the dramatisation of the enquiry. It’s all a bit complicated, which- having studied a wee bit of Irelands history and the “troubles” is a fairly big understatement. I still don’t really see the dividing line between some soldiers under a lot of pressure shooting the wrong people and car bombs, assassinations, punishment beatings etc. In the end people die. It’s all pretty ugly. I suppose this enquiry is about “closure”, a term that makes me vomit but yeah hopefully this will draw a line under things and let people move on.
Anyway, the afternoon rolled on. I buggered about with me guitars upstairs.
Lindseys sister came round for a visit about five, I went upstairs. I came down later on and she was on the laptop and looked a bit guilty. Turns out she had committed an unspeakable act of “Facebook Rape”, which I didn’t really figure out till later.
Just so things are 100% clear I do not think that Sonia from Eastenders (or whatever her name is the actress) is hot, I actually wish that she would just fuck off….I cant really describe the disgust that I feel when I see her- she reminds me of one of those plasticine Nick Park creatures: Like Wallace and Gromit or the creature comfort stuff.
Aye, so I still feel a bit violated.
The day dragged on, baby fed and bathed, screaming etc. I went to bed at ten. Woke up at half three, couldn’t sleep. Wrote this.