Sunday, 27 January 2008

But on the other hand . . .

So far today we've had ersatz current affairs, Ice skating and now it's craft 'til you drop with three fat women giggling their way through demonstrations of card making. Having read all the papers I could stomach, my brain began to melt and | dived for the relative insanity of the infernal machine. Unfortunately there was no respite here as I've managed to schlepp through page after page of boring stuff and repeat questions about the same old stuff.


It's got to be Sundays; the most boring day of the week. I've always hated them even as a kid. Nothing to do in the 50's and 60's and Sunday trading hasn't really helped other than to give us yet another day to worship at the altar of consumerism. When I was kid Sundays meant a string of church and visits to relatives, most of whom I couldn't stand. I used to spend most of each Sunday sat in a corner practising being inconspicuous and honing my daydreaming skills. Other than my Uncle Arthur who only live round the corner, my other favourite was Uncle Harry who lived what seemed like hours away, but was only about a twenty minute drive (or two buses). We used to go fishing with him.


Nowadays the thought of visiting relatives throws me into a bit of a turmoil. Will they really want to have their free time interrupted by someone who is, after all, only connected to them by birth? Do we really have that much in common? Wouldn't they rather be doing something they liked instead of making cups of tea and small talk? I usually take the coward's way out and skip it, preferring the stigma of being 'a bit stand offish' to that of being a nuisance. I suppose the door swings both ways as they never come to visit me either, so I suppose it all evens out in the end.


Anyway, Frank's leads have been coming along pretty slowly as I've been having to bring work home and I've been generally knackered a lot of the time. Might be old age, but I think it's a lack of stimulation I can't watch telly all night and anything else tends to attract flak. Chris only watches a film once and then avoids it for about ten years before she's ready to watch it again, which rules out a programme of DVD watching. There're also a lot of genres of film she doesn't like, which makes choosing on a bit of a trial. When I don my headphones it's like shutting her out, so I might as well be out of the room. Again, this isn't too popular. Life's all decisions innit?


This year I've decided to take up a healthy eating option and scoff more fish. I 'm not a great fan of the stuff, but there are things that inhabit the sea and shoreline that I will eat. It now seems like we've had fish about ninety three times since New Year. We've had cod, sea bass, hake, some other bloody thing and something else. Chris is a great cook, so I imagine that they were very nice, but they were just bits of fish to me. And we had them with vegetables and stuff.


A couple of years ago we went to 'Live Bait' for Chris' birthday and it was my personal hell: nothing but soddin' fish on the menu. I don't know what I expected really, but I've never seen so much fish and sea food in my life. We had this huge pile of shell fish on a bed of ice langoustines, prawns, lobster, mussels, baby octopus and all sorts of shite. I managed to make all the right noises and chomp my way through a reasonable amount before I just gave up and ruined the lunch. the wine was nice though.

O.K., today's lead:


This boy is a Confederate gunner. I've got other types of figure, but I'm a lazy photographer . . . .

G.














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