Prom Season

Tomorrow (Monday) is my father's 51st, and so this weekend, my brother came down from Nottingham and my sister and I drove up to Surrey, to where he has recently moved. It was a lovely weekend but that is irrelevant to my point.

On the drive to Surrey on Friday (which consisted largely of sitting on the M25 - 4 and 1/2 hours to do a journey that should tak 1 1/2), I counted 9 limos. 9. I know it is prom season, but every time I see a limo, I groan. Limos are overdone, entirely impractical on the roads, and I expect every one to smell of alcohol, vomit, and other bodily fluids which I would rather not mention. Hen nights and so on.

Why do otherwise perfectly normal and respectable people feel the need to clog up the UK's roads with vehicles like this. I'm guessing it's not just to spite me.

So, I don't like limos. Just take a car and spend the money on another day, or on a real car, or if your feeling really weird, give it to charity! Just please, please don't rent a limo. Please. They're crap.

CHARGE!

It turns out that just running is quite dull. I forgot to charge up my mp3 player, and so all I had to amuse myself was me, which isn't too bad, but exercise would have been a much more pleasant experience if I had had the sweet, dulcet tones of David Bowie blasting through my ears at the time. Never mind; I shall tonight plug in the blasted machine, and tomorrow will be accompanied by a musical performance worthy of only those with tin ears.

Hooray.

Not a Moan, as such.

I don't intend to say anything more, just look at the following:

Imagine who would have such taste and live in such opulence?
An American Billionaire?
A Saudi Prince?
Louis XIV of France ?
Savour the pictures then scroll to the bottom of the page to see who owns this
amazing work of art.

(please excuse the external link...)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28006567@N03/2611048373/

(from 1 to 13)

This Mansion is in Harare and belongs to:
The President of Zimbabwe
Robert Mugabe
A maniac, mass-murderer whose people are starving
while he siphons millions into his own pockets.
The World stands by and watches,
including closest neighbour
South Africa .

Exercise = Hell

Help. I think I might be ill.

For some reason, I have got it into my head that, with lots of spare time on my hands, I should try to get fit. I don't know why I think this, as I have managed to live 16 years so far getting by on as little as possible.

Also, it's not as if I am unable to have sudden bursts of sheer physical wonder when necessary - Alex can vouch for that.

And so, although, frankly, whenever I think of voluntary exercise my knees quiver a little, tomorrow I shall be waking up at 8 o'clock and going for a jog, before helping my grandmother teach her dog to swim (for the love of Pete, please don't ask).

As I said earlier: help. I think I might be ill.

Isn't it ironic?

No. It bloody well isn't. Alanis Morissette, you're an idiot.

"A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break." - where's the irony, please tell me.

"It's meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife." - again, where is the irony?

If you can't write anything sensible then, for the sake of humanity as a whole and my patience specifically, please do one of two things:

1) http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/irony

2) Sod off back to Canada.

That will be all.

Sadness isn't sadness, but happiness in a black jacket.

Bollocks is it. It's sadness.

To begin my tirade of grumpy moans, I feel I should attack, not specifically Paul McCartney (who wrote the detritus that is the title for this post), but all the poncy pillocks who go about making the stupid statements such as that. "All you need is love." Yes, very noble, but you do need food, shelter, warmth etc. Love doesn't actually serve a tangible purpose.

In conclusion, if you're thinking of writing some inspirational speech that will guide people in their moments of dilemma, causing them to realise that the world is much simpler when looked at through a telescope from 15,000 feet whilst dancing with Mike Tyson, please, pause for a moment, then go and shut your head in a door.

Good day.