Good God, y'all, but I stand by what I have said many times before about bank holidays being a right royal pain in the arse. It has now taken me the guts of two hours to catch up on e-mails, articles for deletion, e-bay stuff and reading your incisive posts, all of which I missed as a consequence of being away from computers since Thursday. I appreciate for those of you who actually work for a living bank holidays are a thing of beauty but for the Matthews of this world such as myself, especially those of us without computers, they are grinding bore in which you can just feel the niggling things to be sorted out building up in your extended absence. I mean a Friday, a Monday and a Tuesday - the very definition of overkill!
As for the holidays themselves, well, thankfully I did manage to get a little bit of work done, although not nearly as much as I would have liked and the lack of any real physical activity, bar a few goes on the weights, conspired to make sleep virtually impossible so I am in something of a zombie-like state at the minute. Reading got in the way of boning up for the viva however as I spent too long getting stuck into de Nerval, as I expected I would, whilst I also took time to have a go at the copy of Françoise Sagan's Bonjour Tristesse
that has been lying around our house since the year dot. All very pleasant ways to spend an evening but not work and I just know that if I didn't have something pressing coming up I would probably not be bothered reading. Also managed to catch up on a bit of a backlog of music that had built up as well as revisiting a few old favourites. A copy of "Eleventeen" by Daisy Chainsaw, the thinking man's Transvision Vamp as it were, arrived just before the holidays and that provided a nifty diversion from the Niagara of rubbish that infested the telly. I also gave a more attentive listen to the Professor Longhair CD burkesworks
sent me ages ago than I did when I first received it and I must say that it is a belting piece of work and has inspired me to seek out more of the man's output. Other than that I was just chugging along until cabin fever became too much yesterday and I went into town to do some shopping. I finally checked out that new Victoria Square
development and, as I anticipated, was left singularly unimpressed by it all. Its covered walkways and overuse of metal vaguely reminded me of Chester but for the most part it was populated by expensive clothes shops that held no appeal whatsoever to a man like myself who is to fashion what Stephen Hawking is to Gladiators
. The HMV sale was equally poor, delivering nothing worth buying as it was dominated by slight reductions on albums by dull indie bands that no one really likes such as the Enemy. I wish that Virgin, or Zavvi or whatever they are called now would do another big clearing out the back rooms sale like the one a couple years back in which I touched for a ton of stuff for next to nowt. Although this time let’s have fewer Alistair Griffin albums getting in the way. Overall, the day’s booty was limited to some meat and a copy of this month’s World Soccer
which now must be read and thus provides another excuse for not working. Like I need one of those!
So in all, a build-up of three bank holidays stretched over a weekend is enough to drive you insane but boy does it feel good now that it is over and I can get back to reading all the great stuff that you lovely bunch of wrigglers have been up to. Nothing beats the sweetness of the mundane, folks.