Recently…
The Missus had some time off work, so we used the time wisely by going to the pub and enjoying the last warm pre-Autumn afternoons. Ahhh, The Plume of Feathers…what mysteries lie within? Will there be cider? Will there be sausages? Will there be a case of diarrheoa the following day? That’s the alcohol-fuelled game we play at the Plume. The quality declines…I blame the management. It’s a woman, who is frankly useless. The previous manager was great; everything was clean (even the seating area outside, as he would often sweep it himself) they would organise charity events and there was pub quizzes and stuff. Despite refurbishment, the place is grubby, the food random and the cider poor…plus she can’t pour a pint. She makes sure the cider finishes about two centimetres below the lip of the glass. Moan, moan, moan…but why complain? It’s staggering distance from home and it’s nowhere near as chavtastic as The Clydesdale or The Gunmaker’s Arms, where one wrong look could get you sampling hospital food and a woman’s fertility is measured by how many tatoos she’s got. Me – a snob? Nah, I came from the gutter with my arse hanging out my trousers. I just resent being made to feel scared by the underclass.
Ahhh, the underclass. You know what I mean.
So anyway, I realised that it would be better for me to remain permanently bladdered. Drinking becomes a fine art when you get older. Too much and you get tired and want a lay down, too little and you don’t feel any effect at all. I managed to find the ideal level the other day. It’s around the five/six pints of cider mark. I start to feel warm and glowy like the Ready Brek man and the world just makes more sense. If only I could stay like that forever. Unfortunately, the problem with getting slightly sozzled is being sober because that’s when you get the headache, the sore tummy and the vow never to drink again. Ho hum. Of course, it is a load of BS. But the side effects get worse as you get older. Not fair, Mr Barman.
So what to write about in this blog? I don’t know. I was considering stopping the blog and writing anonymously. Why? Well a week or so ago, I applied for a local job that I actually really wanted and by looking that the records, I noticed they visited here (and so did the guy I had entrusted as a referee on my CV). They visited twice on two separate occasions. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the job (I very rarely do, you know) and now I am paranoid that it was this blog that scuppered my chances. Maybe I should be like the others and assume a pseudonym? It’s probably too late, no?
There’s loads of other stuff I could blather on about but it is deeply personal and deeply boring and so I shall just fill the space with my usual inanities because that’s what my regular reader wants.
In the post: I received the Steve Hackett remasters last week. Very nice. I’d waited fifteen years for these and it was worth the wait, so when we were travelling around in the car, we had Hackett blasting on the radio. Oh yeah, some of those prog guitar epics make for good driving music.
Today, I received a gizmo for my PSP that will charge it using solar energy. Fuel prices are rising and so I am doing my bit to save the world. OK, it is a small bit, but it is a bit nonetheless. I also discovered that my theory about the PSP being region-free was baloney. It seems that only Spider-Man 2 is region-free. Whoopsie doodle.
Meanwhile, I am looking around at all this stuff, at all these musical instruments, at all these CDs and the gear and the gizmos and all the money I’ve pissed up the wall and I am feeling like I should convert to Bhuddism and sell my belongings and live in a cave. Sometimes I worry that the lack of human contact is sending me a little ga-ga.
Ooooohhhh…I get it. It’s writing stuff like that in my blog that ruins my chances of getting a job, right? 🙂

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