Time of the Year

I started this post at 5.45pm (according to that little time clock thing below this box) and since I was in a miserable, self-absorbed, "I've spent the afternoon in my own miserable company and my life is completely fucked" mood, it was going to be about how much I hate this time of year... it being the anniversary of my dad's death, his (would have been) birthday and the beginning of football finals (which my team haven't made in over 10 years) within a very very short space of time. All excellent reasons, you must agree, for being in a shitty mood.

But as I was contemplating my opening sentence, Flatmate B walked in the front door and suggested going to our local for their famous Rose Burger. Since I was hungry and in need of a bevvy and there was no alcohol in our house apart from one slightly dodgy bottle of pink port purchased by Former Flatmate "My visa expired and they kicked me out of the country but its ok cos I'm now back in the UK working for the Edinburgh Film Festival meeting people like Ewen McGregor - ha ha" (aka Former Flatmate KP), I naturally needed no arm twisting. Five reds and a Rose burger later I was stumbling back through the front door with Flatmate B and her boyfriend, lamenting the fact that Flatmate A hadn't come with us to dinner, and making plans to set her up with a mate of Flatmate B's boyfriend. Christ. I don't even have a boyfriend, yet I'm perfectly willing to set Flatmate A (an extremely shy retiring type) up with someone I've never met. Charity begins at home M... get your own bloody boyfriend first before you start setting up your flatmate with a complete stranger...

Any takers?

Anyhooooo... Flatmate B & I then got into a discussion about forming our own rock band, wherein I almost stacked it down the back stairs to our garage in search of my dad's keyboard (one of the highlights of the will, along with an antique piano, a first edition Catcher In The Rye, a few original Elvis 78s and the entire Neil Diamond back catalogue. On vinyl. Ta Pops... you were the coolest.

So I end up at 11.30pm in an impromptu jam session with Flatmate B in our back room doing (wait for it...) Spandau Ballet and Wang Chung tracks. Hands up who remembers Wang Chung. Flatmate B doesn't, but she's only in her mid-20s. She vaguely remembers the songs but would never be able to pick the artists. I bloody loved Wang Chung. Highly under-rated 80s pop group. Between Wang Chung, Spandau Ballet, OMD and Motley Crue, I was never at a loss for a song to sing or an air guitar (or saxophone in the case of Spandau... cue swooning for Steve Norman) to play.

And no... my childhood didn't suck. It was actually not that bad people. Apart from the rotten time I had being teased at school, I kinda enjoyed it. And the music was ace.

About midnight we decided to play trivial pursuit. And open up the bottle of pink port.

Ouch.

So its 1am and I'm smashed (aforementioned bottle of pink port is now empty...) and I'm off to bed.

Sweet dreams all.

xox