Nice

It's Bank Holiday weekend, and really, like everybody else in the UK, I should have been doing some DIY, or going away, or whatever, but instead I've just been relaxing. Part of my relaxation has involved staying up far too late, getting up far too late, and well, generally just being lazy. That's not to say I haven't thought about DIY (I even managed a trip to the DIY shop to look at some prices) and it's certainly not to say that I haven't done anything: on the contrary my lazy weekend has included two trips to the pub, including a smashing gig last night (with a smashing girly - hello Bumps!) but all these things have been managed without any form of stress or harassment or grief. Or excessive output of energy.

Even the two hours sitting through a double glazing saleswoman's hard sell on Saturday, despite her throwing everything into her "performance" including emotional blackmail, has failed to upset my calmness levels. The minor inconvenience of having to pop around to my brother's a couple of times a day to feed their cat has proved to be nothing more than a... well, minor inconvenience.

All in all, therefore, this weekend has been nice. Right, positive mind and all that, I'm now going to mow my lawns in a relaxed manner.

Shocking

When I was a child, electrical storms used to quite frighten me. As I got older, the fear disappeared, to the point that, some years ago now, I ran up and down the garden during a thunder storm holding up a big metal pole shouting "come and get me you bastard". Okay, that might actually have been the doing of drink and drugs, but you get the picture.

This evening though there has just been a storm here which has, I have to admit, slightly concerned me as - not just because of the effect it has had on my net connection - I don't think I have ever heard thunder so loud in my life. The final "blast" (I can't think of a better word) made my entire house shake violently. In fact, as soon as it's stopped torrentially raining, I suppose I'd better make sure my roof is still there...

RnB

What with xlgf being a distant memory, I have returned to that most marvelous of totally time wasting pastimes, the internet "dating" site.

Of course, this type of site, and the majority of those that use them, have as much to do with dating as cow dung has to do with salad. But this is not my point tonight. My point is music.

Now, you may be wondering how I am going to meander my way from dating sites to music? Well, it's simple. On the site that I use most, there is a field the user (we shall call them the "prospective shag") can complete entitled "favourite music". Almost invariably in the case of the women I have looked at, this field contains three letters: rnb. Or a variant thereof (they're not too good at spelling, some of these young ladies. Worryingly so in some cases...)

If "rnb" referred to the classic rhythm and blues of the past, the kind of stuff that everybody knows from the likes of the Blues Brothers, this would be a good thing. The Who, after all, initially billed themselves as "maximum R'n'B" and indeed they were pretty much just that.

Sadly of course, they don't mean that at all. No, what they actually mean is the sort of sub-Whitney Houston crap that is so beloved of chavs everywhere, because they don't have to think about it. When I was younger it was called "soul" music and the chief protagonists were Luther Vandross et al. Clearly, even the pillocks that market this stuff have had a moment of conscience and decided that as there is no soul whatsoever in their plastic computer generated pap they needed to change the name. But "r'n'b"? No.

R'n'B, for those that don't know, stands for rhythm and blues. Some wobbly voiced pouty lipped woman singing a dirge to a music-by-numbers manufactured "tune" is not rhythm and blues. Change the name. Please!

Muse

A quick word about the new album by Muse - it's great.

Pleasant

I've never been a fan of Tuesdays. Indeed I'm sure I've moaned about them before. But today, I've had a really pleasant day, despite it being a Tuesday and having to deal with some stressful stuff.

In fact today was such a pleasant day, I didn't even get too cross when I just spoke to an Indian call centre operator who didn't understand what I was saying and was on a line so poor I'd have been better off trying to use a megaphone. So pleasant a day, I'm almost in the mood to finally write something new for my website. Almost. That's on top of almost being in the mood to pick up my guitar (and play), almost being in the mood to do some house work and almost being in the mood to go for a quick stroll just for the sake of some fresh air and exercise. Marvellous.

Itch

Before I start this, can I just point out that I applied factor 60 sun cream to my head before the damage was done, and therefore, no I don't deserve it.

My head is itching due to it peeling owing to the sunburn. And this is just the start. I have my feet to come. I can now, almost, understand those individuals who choose to wear socks with sandals. Actually I can't. Give me sunburnt feet any time.

Holiday

I'm back from my holiday. I have sunburnt feet (and ankles, painfully) and, also due to sunburn, an itchy head.