Glenn need haircut. Me mushroom head.

Wahey! For a few weeks I’ve been sat on some work which has to be done by the end of this week. I've repeatedly put it off until the very last minute in an effort to put some excitement and pressure into work. It was probably going to be futile, as nothing I ever do here could be called exciting. Anyway it all seems pointless as I might not have to do it at all. Bah!
So I’m going to sit here and put on pixellated paper what I did this weekend.
For some reason BAe move our August bank holiday to May, yesterday in fact, so I've been off work for four days.
On Friday night, my brother and sister in-law came to visit the house (for only the second time in three years). They took us out for a curry, which was nice. The plan was to then spend the rest of the evening on the pop but I felt so full and bloated that we headed home. It was the start of big brother for another series so we watched that to see what sort of people were going to be all over the tv and newspapers for the next nine weeks.
Saturday started with a run around the park. This also didn't go to plan. My leg is still hurting from last weeks football so it turned into an amble rather than what the Americans call a "jog". After wasting several hours doing nothing, something we are both highly skilled in, we travelled into town where our special guest star was a Mr. John Hudson. I didn't buy anything of note, well not that I can remember anyway. Did I buy anything? Hmm, can't think.
Hee hee, John was mischievous, in attempting to get us invites to a party we wouldn't be seen dead at. Well, at least it's cool that we are blacklisted from parties attended by the Preston elite-intelligentsia. Several hours of ego stroking and going on about how intelligent you all are is not my idea of fun. Is it some sort of mantra? Something to keep chanting so eventually you'll believe it yourself. It seems a rather depressing way to live your life, for everything to come down to how intelligent and superior you feel. People are obviously going to react negatively when they suspect somebody is trying to prove their intellectual worth in a way to gain some sort of superiority. Respect my brain! Look, I know big words! If I repeatedly go on about how intelligent I am, you'll agree with me won't you? You'll respect my brain and hey maybe I’ll respect yours. What's the point in thinking you're some sort of hyper-intelligent human being when all it'll do is make you lonely? Okay, it's quite possibly true, you very well might be really intelligent, it just gets a little bit boring when you feel the need to tell everybody all the time. And base your personality upon it. I guess my WHOLE point is that actions speak louder than words. That is all. Then when you have the actions to back it up, feel as smug and superior as you like.
Jesus, where am I going? I've deviated off the opinion motorway and ended up down a dark alley just off Wittering Avenue. Come back before you piss yourself off. Come back Glenn. Please?
The midwife has a lot to answer for, for starving me of oxygen when I was born. She thought I was some sort of human-squid creature so tried to smother me with her breasts. I think this led to mild brain damage. And a fear of zeppelins.
Anyway...
On Saturday night we were joined by a new special guest star, a Mr. Nigel Booth. This was because we were going to the Tmesis bar in Manchester to watch some music. We were going to see Jeffrey Lewis but as usual he was joined by several other acts; Herman Dune, Schwervon and Mistys Big Adventure. I remember seeing Mistys Big Adventure in Birmingham. We only caught the tail end of their set and the music seemed secondary to the fact that they had a guy on stage wearing a boiler suit with rubber gloves attached. He was dancing. Just dancing. Anyway I really enjoyed their set, they seem to have some strong songs, which is surely what it's all about. You can be as arrogant, cocky or image conscious as you want but if your songs are rubbish, then I’m afraid you're shit!
Schwervon seemed to be a mix of the Pixies and the Breeders, maybe down to the vocals of the female drummer. I thought she looked a bit like Molly Ringwald, Nige thought Major Matt Mason looked like a young Dan Ackroyd. Pleasant enough anyway but I decided to use their set to put some extra effort into drinking booze.
Herman Dune followed and when I saw two bearded blokes get up onto the stage I thought they were going to be rubbish. And they proved me wrong. They were very very good, I'm listening to their CD now as I type this and they're excellent.
Jeffrey Lewis followed and was good though about halfway through his set, I realised I couldn't focus properly and decided to end my drinking for a while.
We then went to get the train, something the departure boards in Preston promised us would leave at 11:36. We got there in time but the station was shut. So we wandered to Manchester Piccadilly, McDonalds in hand (and all over Nige's shirt) and wobbly in legs. Where we waited till 1:24. Time passed quite quickly at first but then I started to sober up. When I sober up I become really lucid and it always makes me kind of uneasy. So I had to do this surrounded by people who'd just got out of a Less Than Jake concert. It was a bit strange anyhow.
Nige left on Sunday morning and after an aerobics/swimming failure, we were left with a free and empty afternoon. Which we spent doing absolutely nothing. Such a talent should be rewarded more in society. We just about managed to drag ourselves off the sofa to go and watch the new Matrix film on Sunday night. Warners had some cheese for the nachos so I enjoyed them. Yom! The film itself was good in a mindless sort of way. I thought it got itself a bit confused, trying to squeeze in too many ideas along with special effects and got itself into a bit of a muddle. I made a conscious decision to abandon it as having any sort of intellectual resonance and to just enjoy the spectacle. I think it works better as that, seems a waste of time to look for anything deep and meaningful in it. I think its the film equivalent of waking up on a Saturday morning filled with great ideas of how to spend the day productively, but then wasting it sat on the sofa eating jaffa cakes and watching jackass videos.
On Monday, we had a dilemma. Sit on the sofa and eat jaffa cakes or make the garden look less like a jungle. So in the end we mowed the garden and planted some green things. It looks better but the back garden needs so much more work on it. I have a couple of things I’d like to do with the garden but I’ll have to wait and see if they ever come to fruition. Probably not, it'll all have to remain as a pretty picture in my head.
We then travelled to Fleetwood, taking some of John H's stuff back and visiting my ma and da. Nothing really to report there but we got back in time to watch 28 Days Later. Now I’ve had it for a week almost and bar teasing myself by watching bits of the extras and my favourite scenes from the film, I hadn't actually watched it all. I love that film! I really do. There are loads of things I wish they'd done with it, and several scenes that don’t work as well as they could but I love the feel and premise of it all. It's so obviously British but for a British film, so well made and performed. It leaves so many thoughts in my head after watching it and involves me in it so much, that it's inhabiting my brain long after the film has finished.
Tuesday morning was spent watching the extras on the 28 Days Later DVD including the commentary, which was honest and interesting. Then we went into town to get some picture frames. Oooh, and we bought something else which I’m not revealing here as it'll spoil some potential surprises.
Tuesday evening I went swimming again. Sadly, the new swimming confidence I gained last time sort of vanished as I got really panicky whilst out of depth. Marie bought me new goggygogs as well so I thought I’d use them to look under water. Which just brought out my fear of deep water. I tried to calm down and stayed in about 45 minutes but I guess my water-based confidence has all but evaporated again. Sigh.
I think I'd better write to nivea and tell them that their face wash reacts badly with chlorinated water. Showering after swimming, the nivea stuff I use turns to paste on your face and there’s a horrible burning sensation. If I hadn't have washed it off quickly, I think I may have recreated that bit from the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark.
So, I’m back at work now. My stomach hurts from Marie's lovely but radioactive curry she made last night, and the Nimrod software has gone tits-up, but at least it'll be Saturday again soon. I look forward to the jaffa cakes and my sofa.