thirty three
Yes, the middle ages have truly arrived. Thirty three today. The unemployeds of Battersea are celebrating in style.. Poached egg for breakfast and maybe even a bottle of wine tonight. Truly budget breaking!
2 moments define this descent into middle age. First up were free tickets to see one of this years trendy new bands, Bloc Party. Clearly I'd have had no intention of paying to see them, especially having never heard any of the songs and thus not being able to sing along. But free tickets, and the chance to remind myself how trendy and relevant I still am, were too good to pass by.
So, the concert. Well, I'm sure Bloc Party were very ground-breaking etc etc, but I couldn't help feeling firstly that they could do with a bit more melody. Then I couldn't hear the lyrics properly. Obviously all the songs sounded the same. But the bit that was most enjoyable... well, Islington Academy is a new 'purpose-built' venue and the air conditioning was simply superb. What a relief that I'd remembered to bring a jumper.
The other middle aged moment was a stag night in Oxford. No St Tropez this time, a distinctly less posh crowd. But for the first time on one of these events, I was (almost anyway) nearer in age to the Dad's than the other stag attendees. In addition, I even had my shirt tucked into my trousers, further aligning me with the 'more mature' members of the party..
Anyway, in other news, the car is still parked in our parking space. Last week's final deadline passed with noone responding to our hallway notice. 2 days later, I managed to fit a visit to the policestation into the busy daytime schedule (in between games of internet backgammon...). The guy at the front desk didn't seem especially interested in the tale though. He conspicously failed to send armed response units flying down the road. In fact he didn't even want the car's registration number, instead imploring me to 'contact the council mate'. I stopped short of telling him my theory that the car had been dumped by a crack terrorist cell, thinking that might mark me out more as an overimaginative loser than a concerned citizen. So, 2 weeks on the car still sits there. Does it get anymore exciting? Tune in again soon to find out what happens with the council.
Jobswise the salient news is that neither of us have one yet. Both waiting on potential offers though. Mine with the big-chains-are-beautiful-and-for-godssake-how-am-i-going-to-get-this-one-past-middle-righton-brother-Starbucks. Watch this space..
And, yes, it's Ms Love's turn at the words wheel next time.
2 moments define this descent into middle age. First up were free tickets to see one of this years trendy new bands, Bloc Party. Clearly I'd have had no intention of paying to see them, especially having never heard any of the songs and thus not being able to sing along. But free tickets, and the chance to remind myself how trendy and relevant I still am, were too good to pass by.
So, the concert. Well, I'm sure Bloc Party were very ground-breaking etc etc, but I couldn't help feeling firstly that they could do with a bit more melody. Then I couldn't hear the lyrics properly. Obviously all the songs sounded the same. But the bit that was most enjoyable... well, Islington Academy is a new 'purpose-built' venue and the air conditioning was simply superb. What a relief that I'd remembered to bring a jumper.
The other middle aged moment was a stag night in Oxford. No St Tropez this time, a distinctly less posh crowd. But for the first time on one of these events, I was (almost anyway) nearer in age to the Dad's than the other stag attendees. In addition, I even had my shirt tucked into my trousers, further aligning me with the 'more mature' members of the party..
Anyway, in other news, the car is still parked in our parking space. Last week's final deadline passed with noone responding to our hallway notice. 2 days later, I managed to fit a visit to the policestation into the busy daytime schedule (in between games of internet backgammon...). The guy at the front desk didn't seem especially interested in the tale though. He conspicously failed to send armed response units flying down the road. In fact he didn't even want the car's registration number, instead imploring me to 'contact the council mate'. I stopped short of telling him my theory that the car had been dumped by a crack terrorist cell, thinking that might mark me out more as an overimaginative loser than a concerned citizen. So, 2 weeks on the car still sits there. Does it get anymore exciting? Tune in again soon to find out what happens with the council.
Jobswise the salient news is that neither of us have one yet. Both waiting on potential offers though. Mine with the big-chains-are-beautiful-and-for-godssake-how-am-i-going-to-get-this-one-past-middle-righton-brother-Starbucks. Watch this space..
And, yes, it's Ms Love's turn at the words wheel next time.
