Cream of the Crap

OK, so I can say with alarming clarity that God does actually exist and the fucker totally hates me. How do I know? Well, 'twas on a Sunday morning that the Divine allowed His presence to be felt by guiding my clown shoe like feet to stamp on my spectacles. They were lying on the floor of my parent's spare bedroom where I had spent the night. 'Oh Flip!' said I, as I saw that the lens had come out and the ear branch was all askance. How did this come about that my glasses were on the floor of my parent's spare bedroom? Well, sit back and I shall tell thee.

Flipping Crumbs!

I had travelled down to Nottingham on Friday night to see Mr McKibbin and Miss Lee in their new house. In fact the house is pretty much owned by Alix and Craig is just mooching off her, as he has done with me all the time I've known him. Thank God, I managed to get rid of him onto her. Anyway, their new place is in the middle of Little Beirut in Nottingham and I got stabbed three times between getting out of the car and going in their front door. We piled the furniture back up against the door and had a good old fashioned catch up as IEDs went off outside.

'Yeah, just park it anywhere.'

I was also there to break up the journey I was making to Birmingham for a day of lectures and presentations as decreed by my MA. And what a day it was. I was sitting there, listening to Gary Sheffield talking about the First World War, thinking 'I fucking love this! This is the best thing I've done in ages. Why can't everyday be like this?'

FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!

The way back to York was broken up with a stop over at my folk's house in Rotherham, which nicely coincided with a gig by Goatleaf. I haven't seen them play for over six months, so it was about time I went back gave them my support. It was like stepping back in time, however, as there was a bunch of folks there I hadn't seen for years. The 'Leaf were on top form as ever, with Mr Deveaux dancing around like bear on a hot plate. The support came from 6 Needles, who were shambolic but fucking ace as well. Their flyer tells you pretty much all you need to know about them:

Anyway, I succeeded in getting drunk and even finding a taxi to get me home. Everything was going well until the next morning when I stamped on the specs. I tell you, Karma is a bitch. I had set Sunday aside for working on an essay, but fate intervened and robbed me of all opportunity to do any work at all. I called down to the Rotherham branch of Specsavers to see if they could do anything about my lunettes. Thankfully I had my work glasses in my bag, but these are so badly scratched that looking through them is like wearing a Medieval stained glass window. I sat in the opticians for an hour while they hammered away at my glasses to no avail. They thought I would have better luck at the York branch, as they have an anvil and forge set up for such occasions, so I finally made it back up north and into town. The place was heaving with desperate shoppers trying to find toys and trinkets for nephew Tarquin and niece Tallulah, as there is ONLY THREE WEEKS UNTIL CHRIST'S MASS so I bravely fought my way to Specsavers, where a callow ginger haired youth tried to help me with my predicament. Again to no avail. This resulted in a new eyetest for me and new glasses, to the tune of nearly three hundred quid. The only good thing to come out of it was the woman who fitted my new glasses was smoking hot, I joked with her as I handed over the money that the kids wouldn't be getting any presents this year. But that, dear reader, is how to put the ultimate dampener on what had been until then, a good weekend.