Tag: <span>FUCKING</span>

It’s a revelation to me as well, so I’ll pause to let you digest that juicy title.

*pauses*

OK, so it’s stretching the truth a bit, well a lot, well it’s entirely possible that it’s downright lie but let us move on lest I lose all self-esteem and realise just how far I am from being cool.

Dammit. Too late. Well I guess it’s fair to say that I’m about as cool as a volcano spewing molten lava and ash into the air.

And yes, not only am I not cool but I’m also never ever topical.

So I should really work in some obscure World Cup reference I guess, comparing my innate lack of cool to the composure shown by most English football players when asked to kick the ball 12 yards.

Regardless, let us step back a few hours to the moment my revelation was unveiled to me by one of those printed things you can buy in shops these days. You know the ones, lots and lots of adverts printed on glossy pages, stapled or glued together but which lack any cover of merit. I am, in a most roundabout way, referring to a magazine. Specifically one that I used to buy quite often and which, as I found myself wandering past said magazines, caught my eye once more.

The magazine in question is that veritable tome of music knowledge, Q.

Why not, I thought, and ohh look, it has a free CD of “most exciting new acts” (15 of them, and they are “on the planet” too, which is lucky).

I didn’t really look at much else, as I was running a little late, so I paid for and left with said magazine safely tucked under my arm.

When I got home I had a quick look at the attached CD and it does indeed have 15 tracks from 15 bands that are on this planet but I’m not quite sure they are the most exciting new acts… not anymore at least.

It was at this point I (thought I) realised how cool I am.

Why?

Because of the 15 bands, I’ve got (and have had for several months in most cases) albums by 7 of them, and have seen 2 of them live.

I’m THAT FRICKIN’ COOL!!

The bubble was soon burst though, as the front cover of said magazine was questioning who would ‘win’ at Glastonbury, Muse or U2.

Oh. Right. Published last month then.

And, of course, Q magazine was never, and will never, be cool.

Do you know why?

Because everytime I buy a copy, there is always, ALWAYS, some interview of snippet or other random piece of information about JON BON FUCKING JOVI!!!

Which, and I’m sure you’ll all agree, is really not fucking cool at all.

Media

I have a ritual on mornings like this. I wake up with a level of excitement, take a deep breath to steady myself, get up and walk calmly to the window.

I throw open the curtains, don’t worry I don’t ALWAYS sleep naked so the chances of my dangling bits being on show are minimal, and as my my pupils dilate as they adjust to the sudden change of light, I peer out into the street below.

Typically there isn’t much going on. I might see our cat heading off for another adventure, or the local squirrel foraging for the last nuts of the year (remember I’m usually clothed, and anyway he isn’t allowed into the house), or perhaps one of the neighbours is out walking their dog. Basically take your own suburban scenario, the run of the mill morning activities of fetching in the milk, or going to buy a paper, that is what is playing outside of my window. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing different, nothing new.

This ritual of mine only occurs on two days of the year, and I’ve long past the point where I’m surprised by what I see.

The simple fact is that I enjoy this silly little ritual, for most rituals are silly, aren’t they, when you step back from them they are a series of utterly pointless actions but, as a whole they recognise that the entire point of the ritual is important to you (which also allows for the rituals to be based around silly and pointless things themselves). This applies to the ‘superstitious’ sportswomen who must always put on her left sock before her right, or the businessman pausing to inhale his coffee before taking that first sip of the morning. Both are ritualistic and in their own way rather silly, but to the person who has initiated the ritual they are important and have far deeper a meaning than is obvious to the observer.

I mention all of this as a way to deflect from the true nature of what I was going to say, in short, I digress.

This very morning I followed the same pattern as I always do on this day of the year. I woke up and, upon realising the day, I smiled to myself and levered myself into a sitting position. I took a deep breath and got up. I walked slowly and calmly to the window, reached up and took hold of the curtains. Another deep breath was taken and as my lungs reached maximum capacity (this is an important detail of this ritual), I flung the curtains open, and looked down and out into the street.

And, once more, for the 36th year running, THERE WAS NO FUCKING FERRARI SITTING IN THE DRIVE!!!

I exhaled noisily and go back bed.

Happy fuckin birthday to me.

Life

I’m in a very good mood today. Woke up, opened the curtains, and quickly shut them again at the subtle request of my darling wife (AARRGHHH SHUT THE FUCKING CURTAINS!!). Once she got up I opened them again and marveled at the morning sky. Not a cloud in sight, a brushing of frost across every surface, and the sun creeping up over the horizon, fiery orange blending to pale blue. Gorgeous.

I love mornings like these. Crisp and cold, fresh and dry. Lovely. My wife likes them too, once she gets rid of the babbling idiot who, in the short journey to the station, points out every little joy of a crisp winter’s morning.

My mood was further enhanced by the acquisition of my new laptop at work. Sitting on my desk waiting for me, all shiny and widescreen-y.

Which is just as well as I’d had to endure the fawning, pawing couple opposite me on the train who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were on a train full of hacked-off thirty somethings on their way to another day at the grindstone. Nauseous is not even close when it comes to describing them. Well him more than her to be fair. She seemed at least aware that the three people sitting opposite were all holding their papers a little higher than is normal. HE was a sap. Fawning over her, kissing her neck, cuddling into her, talking in a silly voice, the whole shebang.

Now I’ve done that, I still do that but in the privacy of my own home (and with the understanding that ‘experience’ brings, namely that it is leading somewhere, or at least I hope it does.. and I’m not undervaluing snuggling, I realise full well the bonus points you can score with a little ‘no pressure for sex’ snuggling. See us men aren’t ALL daft… where was I?).

Oh yes. When did I get old? I’m 30. I’ve know Louise for half my life, so I guess that’s part of it. We’ve done the whole ‘holding hands, snogging at every opportunity’ bit. We got over it when we were 17 (not the greatest way to impress when you are sitting in the pub with your mates….). We both enjoy sitting in, watching a movie, a bottle of wine, or visiting friends, sitting in, chatting. Or dinner, wine, chatting.

When did I turn into my Dad? Just curious really as I can’t pinpoint it, it’s such a creeping process, slowly your mannerisms alter, your opinions are moulded and you realise that you clear your throat the same way he does, have the same tastes, and generally realise that a lot of the things he does, you have inherited.

I could do a lot worse (although I could do without the waking at 4 am every morning, something where I’m hoping inheriting my Mum’s sleeping habits will come in to play).

My name is Gordon, and I’m a 40-something, 30-something. I quite like that.

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GRRRRRR
“Dear Sir,
To receive your new computer you will have to take a day off work, sit at home and wait for us to deliver it. I’m afraid we can’t give you an approximate time, or even an a.m./p.m. expectation as our drivers obviously don’t plan their route until they are actually on the road. Ohhh and if we don’t deliver it by 6pm please let us know.”

So I did. At 5:50 p.m. I was told the that drivers finished at 6 p.m. and had had a ‘big load’ today (so get a bigger fuckin van!). However as the drivers were finished and the depot was closed by the time I got an answer (at about 6:05 p.m.) I didn’t even have the option of driving the 3 miles to the depot to collect it myself.

Tell me, if you have a delivery to make and it’s all of 10-15 minutes away, do you think you would put on your route for the day? And as their online tracking system shows that it has been sitting in their Bothwell depot since Saturday, don’t you think they might’ve planned to deliver it today as they, themselves, stated? Apparently not. Apparently the courier was very busy dealing with deliveries that were within a 2 mile radius. So if we were still staying at our old flat I would be joyously typing an entry from a shiny, new PC.

But I’m not.

Ohh and to cap it off, if I phone back tomorrow at 9 a.m. they will try and give me an ‘ETA’. Isn’t that good of them, I should really be very grateful that they are being so helpful. Especially as the only reason I have to phone back tomorrow is because they didn’t deliver my new PC today!!

Excuse me for a second, kiddies, some gratutitous swearing is coming up, please avert your eyes.

FUCKING FUCKITY FUCKERS!!!!!

Ahem. Maybe I should try and calm down before I go to bed.

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