While the ladies toiled in the shopping centre, the gentlemen relaxed on the golf course, (If you read this with the voice of Allan Wicker you’ll realise I’m correct again concerning this introduction)
This was pretty much what happened, Son and I really didn’t fancy shopping in a city far from us, a train ride away and so Footy practice, chat with the mums, and firm plans made to go to Nozstock in the next year; it’s got a secret disco through a door behind a grand piano for fucks sake, which is reason enough to consider with an aim to join in. My friend, lets call her Miss S for anonymity’s sake, went this year and noticed 3 things of which I see no problem and neither did she, it was merely an observation OK!
a) Hairy lady legs and armpits.
b) Lots of bare breasts on the dance floor.
c) A secret rave behind a tiny door behind a piano.
All these things are a bonus I think, plus there are only 5000 people, which we all know is still a huge number but not too huge to become an issue. My tent cannot be more than 10 minutes walk away. There’s a field where all the 20 year olds go which is right next to the stage, far too noisy, and then there’s a field slightly further away with room to walk about without having to shout to be able to communicate and where I could listen without interruption to test match special. OK I’m getting old and grumpy but I need a “Safety Zone”., just like the next late 40’s so called reveller. Believe me the following week will be a horrorshow:
Monday: Home, Clammy and too tired, impatiently waiting for the darkness to fall before it is deemed acceptable for an irresponsible possibly disgraced parent to go to bed, in front of ones children to create the illusion of the parent purely being a little tired.
Tuesday; The Fear. Paranoia is setting in, the skin seeps alcohol, the type you only have at festivals; the sticky sweet stuff and the bottle of red wine you mixed with a 2l bottle of coke on the Saturday morning when you woke up because you felt, on the whole, this time could well be the turning point between going home or having the best weekend of your life since the last time you did this and facing up to
Wednesday: Fear Royale; It’s getting worse, the space monkeys are starting to congregate in your head and as soon as you wake up you yearn for bed, you hope it’s not the school holidays, you hope your partner is not working at home today and you hope the boiler will not misfire when trying to run a restorative daytime bath.
Thursday: Pot Noodle Day; It seems the worst has gone, the sleep has done you good and now is the moment where a Spicy Curry Pot Noodle or, pushing the boat out, a “Bombay Bad Boy” might just fit the bill.
Friday: Work passes pretty quick, it’s P.O.E.T.S day any way and so the thought of popping into the local for a couple before supper springs to mind.
And the whole horrible cycle begins again, and then we die!
What else happened today? I got a Hole in one, on the pitch and putt and won a badge, then we came home and I had an afternoon snooze amongst the dogs, just like my Dad used to, while my son played on the computer.
A momentous and only just realised milestone for me; thus far this year I have written over 100,000 words of this drivel, so if you’ve been following, maybe there isn’t a cure and I can only apologise. I’ve enjoyed this tremendously and now, with this situation arising, and having not been told off by anybody I shall change absolutely nothing until i’m told to fuck off.
I’ll show you the badge tomorrow, iPhotos, problems, etc… blah blah.
Good night my warm blanket of word buddies, sleep well.