It Goes Like This...
Just come back from a pleasant evening down the pub with Didcot, watching the mighty ‘ding kick some Geordie arse 1-0. And wouldn’t you know it, but it was my favourite ging who scored (step forward Dave Kitson!).
You may have gathered my mood has improved somewhat since Saturday night / Sunday morning, in keeping with my current manic disposition. Going to listen to some live music always revives me, and a first trip to Walthamstow folk club, to hear Nancy Kerr and James Fagan proved just the tonic. The duo were superb as always. And a lovely little venue. Perhaps because I was feeling delicate (but I’m pretty sure it was just the quality of music) a couple of the songs really hit me in the guts: “The Drover’s Boy”, an Australian song recording the ills of colonial racism through a tender little love story, and the mesmerising “Still is the Memory”, a song that seamlessly combines the themes of a nuclear holocaust and falling in love! As Nancy Kerr pointed out, the two don’t always feel too dissimilar....! I’ve been searching out the lyrics on the internet, with not much luck, so will have to get my hands on the CD, and do some force feeding to people!
I needed to be in a better mood as it happened. I’ve finally got round to booking my flights to Naz and Boo’s wedding (of which the joy of not getting a plus one on the invitation is still coursing through my veins) and on a whim decided to book flights to Belfast one day earlier, so I could spend a little time there. Why oh why do I do this? Assuming I have friends is the best way to prove I have none. Foolishly I asked Foe whether I could borrow a floor for the night, rather nonchalantly assuming that this would not be a problem, and that he might even quite like entertaining me for the evening. Nope. Apparently his moving house now (April) will mean he can’t lend me a floor in…. July. I asked Didcot’s opinion as to how I should react to this. He suggested resending the email with an insertion after “I won’t be offended if you can’t” to the order of [WHEN I SAID THIS I WAS ACTUALLY JOKING. I WILL BE OFFENDED!!]. Or perhaps just turning up at his house, and pretending I never read his email at all…. instead I shall just go along with being slightly morose, and wondering why I bothered.
If Foe does happen to read this, enjoy your new moustache. My being miffed is most probably a compliment. As I’m sure you’re aware blah blah blah etc.
You may have gathered my mood has improved somewhat since Saturday night / Sunday morning, in keeping with my current manic disposition. Going to listen to some live music always revives me, and a first trip to Walthamstow folk club, to hear Nancy Kerr and James Fagan proved just the tonic. The duo were superb as always. And a lovely little venue. Perhaps because I was feeling delicate (but I’m pretty sure it was just the quality of music) a couple of the songs really hit me in the guts: “The Drover’s Boy”, an Australian song recording the ills of colonial racism through a tender little love story, and the mesmerising “Still is the Memory”, a song that seamlessly combines the themes of a nuclear holocaust and falling in love! As Nancy Kerr pointed out, the two don’t always feel too dissimilar....! I’ve been searching out the lyrics on the internet, with not much luck, so will have to get my hands on the CD, and do some force feeding to people!
I needed to be in a better mood as it happened. I’ve finally got round to booking my flights to Naz and Boo’s wedding (of which the joy of not getting a plus one on the invitation is still coursing through my veins) and on a whim decided to book flights to Belfast one day earlier, so I could spend a little time there. Why oh why do I do this? Assuming I have friends is the best way to prove I have none. Foolishly I asked Foe whether I could borrow a floor for the night, rather nonchalantly assuming that this would not be a problem, and that he might even quite like entertaining me for the evening. Nope. Apparently his moving house now (April) will mean he can’t lend me a floor in…. July. I asked Didcot’s opinion as to how I should react to this. He suggested resending the email with an insertion after “I won’t be offended if you can’t” to the order of [WHEN I SAID THIS I WAS ACTUALLY JOKING. I WILL BE OFFENDED!!]. Or perhaps just turning up at his house, and pretending I never read his email at all…. instead I shall just go along with being slightly morose, and wondering why I bothered.
If Foe does happen to read this, enjoy your new moustache. My being miffed is most probably a compliment. As I’m sure you’re aware blah blah blah etc.
posted by TheMightyDing at 00:05
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