I am at a total loose end. My better half is out this evening. My kids are asleep. I have done every pressing art job I had, to clear the decks ready for the mammoth 20-page plus script that is supposed to be imminent. I tried watching the telly. It's shit. I tried the PS2. I'm shit at it. The computer version of Aston Villa are just as shit as the real one! I'm currently listening to the radio. That's shit as well. (Kerrang FM, if you're interested. If you like the Chilis, the Foos or The Killers, it's great. I don't.) I was going to take a picture of myself in a toilet, as that appears to be a new fad amongst some., but my other half took the camera, and you don't really want to see what I do in a toilet. I tried to think of something amusing to blog about, but I can't.
So I thought I'd ask some questions that bother me, to see if my five readers out in Blog-land could answer them.
1) Why do you never see brand-new ice cream vans ? They're always battered wrecks (it might be just here in Birmingham that it is the case.) Where do you buy ice-cream vans from anyway?
Actually, this reminds me of the ice-cream van that used to serve the street I used to live on in the peaceful, leafy vale of Perry Common, Erdington. The ice-cream man was called Clive and if you only had 10p, he would give you what was called 'froth'. You'd give him a bowl and he'd fill it with unwhipped creamy fluid that was either going to be ice-cream, or had been in its youth. Anyway, not only was Clive a purveyor of frozen ices, 99s and crushed nuts, he was the local loan-shark. So you'd stand there waiting your turn in the queue, behind a crying alcoholic asking to be 'let off' that week, as he'd pissed his giro up the wall. Very strange. But I digress.
2) Why do you never see baby pigeons? Are they hatched as adults? We have a 'pigeon park' here in Brum, where thousands of the lice-infested shit-machines congregate. Every time I've been there, I've never seen a baby one.
Digression time again, though not entirely unrelated: Today I spent an afternoon in Cannon Hill Park, where there seemed to be a violent bout of stomach illness going through the local goose population. Their shite isn't like other birdshit. It's not just a white mess, they produce what can only be called turds. These turds look like miniature pints of Guinness, black with a white top. It was everywhere.
3) Who is responsible for the pile of bollocks that is How do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? I bet Graham Norton spends every day regretting the day he signed that contract with the Beeb. At least he isn't Kate Thornton. I watched it today for ten minutes. I'll never get those six hundred whole seconds back again.
Anyway, I'm going to pack up now. I'm bored of this now. It's shit.