Every man would love to have a volleyball as a friend

Today marks the last day I will be sitting at this desk at work, the desk from which I've written most of this rubbish. I've been sat here since December 1998 (not all the time, I do go home in the evening and at weekends), and clearing out my drawer (and all the other cupboards I've filled with my rubbish) has revealed that I may be a magpie.
I've found about twenty copies of NME and Melody Maker, dating back to 1999. I'll keep the copies of Melody Maker as it was the superior of the music weeklies, and these copies will be worth whole pence in fifty years time. Especially the SEX issue, which reveals what turns Danny McNamara on. I've filled up a whole recycle paper bin with old courses, doodle sheets and business plans.
I'm moving six desks along, where I'll be sat at Neil Pike's old desk. Neil was the colleague of mine who was tragically killed on New Year's Eve 2003 in South Africa. It'll be weird for a day or two to be sat at that desk, and I've already had the rather morbid thought of how freaky it'll be to breath in some of his remnants from the dust on the desk. I can be a bit odd sometimes; I'm sure most people don't think like that.
This desk move has coincided with the return to work of the boss, after a couple of months absence with a mysterious virus.
Great.
I'll have to wait and see what the score is but there may be little blogging from next week. The problem I have is that the new seating plans sees me sat right next to the guy. Ballsacks!
The big boss chap is also moving up here. He is, to quote William Shakespeare, a "fucking cunt". We've only ever exchanged words once, and that was enough for me. He complained that I didn't work enough hours.
The baldy carrot-crunching twat.
As he has a reputation of running a strict ship, we can see a lot of change around here. Pub trips will have to be kept to a minimum (we're going every day this week to make up for it), and he'll probably notice that I take rather long lunchtimes. It's going to be an ever-increasing bundle of fucking joy working here, I'll tell thee.

The Tears album is really good, it sounds like early Suede with shedloads of strings added on top. I am most enjoying it. However, the lyrics of Brett Anderson often make you wince.
Here are some examples of the nonsense he comes up with…

"Europe has moving statelines but Africa has winter sunshine"

"We'll go where the crowds don't stare and no one hates us for our hair"

"I want your language to be appalling, I want to play with your hair in the morning"

I could go on, yet there is one song that sticks out. The song 'Apollo 13' is a nice little number, but contains the following …

"Like Apollo, like Apollo we'll fly to the moon
Yes if you follow me I will follow you into the unknown
Like Apollo, like Apollo 13 we'll explode
Yes if you follow me I will follow you into the unknown
Oh like Apollo, like Apollo we'll sink like a stone"

Now, there are some factual errors there, and I feel that some fans of the band will come to have the wrong idea about the ill-fated journey of Apollo 13 into space.
Apollo 13 did fly to the moon, so that is correct, even though it didn't land there. Actually, Brett doesn't say 'Apollo 13' there, he says 'Apollo'. I'm guessing he still means Apollo 13, because it is after all the name of the song. Otherwise, the song should be called 'Apollo 13, but containing references to the other Apollo missions launched by the American space agency'. Not catchy, but more descriptive.
Anyway, the thing that caught my attention was the statement about Apollo 13 exploding. You see, I've seen Tom Hanks, Bill Paxton and Kevin Bacon in films made later, so it can't have exploded. How could Tom Hanks have been stranded for 4 years with Wilson the volleyball if he had exploded in Apollo 13? I guess he also wouldn't have been able to travel back in time to 1944 to die in World War 2 either, if he'd sunk like a stone. Another lie.
So come on Brett, do some research into what you report as fact from now on.
I may write to him.