I sure know how to live...

I have spent the past weekend doing useful things, like fixing my bike up for winter, buying household essentials, watching lots of most excellent sport on TV (England beating the whinging Aussies ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, Lewis Hamilton not beating the Spanish Twatador Alonso booooooo, and the Mighty 'Ding beating an entirely useless Derby 1-0 woo-hoo), together with taking in re-runs of "Who Do You Think You Are". I simply love these programmes. I never thought I'd find myself crying in sympathy with Carol Vorderman, or indeed Jeremy Paxman (I have now cried three times at his episode...and find myself loving the Sally Army more than I thought possible) but it really gets you in the guts.

I only roused myself once for socialising, by taking a trip down to the Folk Club with Shaggy and Mr. Shaggy to see a "classical banjo" player. It was a slightly odd instrument, that produced a sound not dissimilar to something you might hear in the court of King Henry VIII. Most of the tunes were turn-of-the-century ragtime stuff though, so it was a odd but quite compelling combo ... found myself getting a little dreamy as usual. Live music always makes me feel uber-happy / uber-nostalgic / uber-lonely all at once. We sat next to a smelly old man who kept trying to crush Mr Shaggy with his electric wheelchair, and whose carer appeared to fall into a coma about half way through the gig. Whilst I hope I don't become a smelly old person, if I have to, I hope I become a smelly old person that still goes out, and has a bit of fun....