Lashed.

The day didn’t begin well I’ve got to admit. My daughter woke me up at 3;30 am with sore eyes, turns out her eyelash extensions have aggravated her eyelids, making them swell up and aggravated me by making her look like some fucking porn star. She doesnt need this, she’s 17 in a couple of months and is going to college next week, swolen dirty bitch eyes are not a good look. The nose pierce is class, the lashes less so. Getting lashed is a figure of speech I would be more likely to associate with getting on the beer, and since this Blog is all about me and the shenanigans I get up to then lets leave the Lashes out of this, except to say that she’s dosed up on anti histamine and allergy eye drops, a weekend of fun for the sickly child, of which she definitely ain’t.

This is a life lesson for her I hope, she’s missed out on £30 wages from not being able to go into work today, and I suspect, what ever the eyelashes cost to fit, is lost too. So £60 maybe and a day of misery sitting on the sofa with her brother calling her an Emo goth and myself feeling sorry for her and wishing the lashes would never return, she’s my little girl and I understand she’s growing and I also understand this as being a rite of passage but eyelash extensions? Please flush my head down the toilet and tell me that you love me.

Its also Record Store Day, a day traditionally when grown men queue outside record shops to buy limited edition vinyl and then some of them put them immediately on e-bay at vastly inflated prices. This is called flipping and is ethically in a very deep dark maw of revolting behaviour. Taking the, relatively speaking, affordable record stock and shrinking the actual number of these records at this price available to the real fans. These people have no wish to listen to the music, merely to profiteer like carrion hungry Vultures with their head in the bloody carcass, wanting it all, the liver, the kidneys, all of it, chewing the lungs to suffocate the fanatical record buying public into submission, bending over pulling their trousers down and asking the flippers to fuck them up the arse. Fortunately the Twitter-sphere I inhabit has some genuinely nice folk who are willing to offer advice and head counts of where particular stock is and in what quantities.

So at 6pm, I have to buy a record on line, at 7pm I will be taking my daughter to have her fake eyelashes removed and the glitch in the Shrawley time continuum will be back on an even keel. Never forget the fact I was meant to be going to a party tonight, which involved camping, yuk, and putting up a tent yuk, and possibly drinking until dawn. At this stage in the lock down, nearly 6 months in, I don’t feel like I would be able to handle without completely breaking down and running around the field screaming, not a sight i’d like my boy to see. So best get on, stuff outlined above to do.

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