I can't blame the weather. Alright, I can blame a week in Dusseldorf for taking it easy on Saturday morning, although I had planned to ride over Woodmansterne way to meet Bon. We hadn't arranged anything, but I could have called him or left a text and that way I would have committed myself. But I didn't call or text. In fact, sitting here now, at 1838hrs on a Sunday evening, Kylie Minogue performing at Glastonbury - "Put your hand on your heart and tell me" - I'm feeling a bit ashamed of myself for doing absolutely no exercise. I've slobbed about, I've taken the car over to mum's, eaten cake and biscuits, then changed a pair of trousers in M&S and there's not much else I can remember about Saturday.
As for Sunday, I had a golden opportunity to go cycling, but decided that a planned drive into darkest Sussex took preference and, ultimately, I kept the bike under lock and key. Once I'd abandoned the proper ride, which would have been to meet Bon on Woodmansterne Green, all that was left was riding the Woodland Trek. Well, I sent Bon a text, but he'd had a rough night and didn't fancy it. I texted back to say that I had some driving to do so perhaps cycling was a bad idea. Let's meet next Saturday, that seemed like the best policy.
Suddenly I felt 'off the hook'. I mooched around the house, still considering the aforementioned Woodland Trek, but time was ticking, time was running out. I didn't go anywhere, other than deepest Sussex in the car. On the way back I was feeling sleepy and had to stop in huge Tesco store in Pulborough where the shelves were empty in places. I bought a bottle of mineral water and a Bounty and miraculously I was able to drive again. This happened once before; I was feeling sleepy so I ate a Bounty and was instantly revived. Anyway, I got home otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. Kylie's still on and, to be honest, she's putting in a pretty lame performance. Even when Nick Cave joined her on stage, it was underwhelming.
Reading a great book at the moment, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. Brilliant, but I'm only on Chapter Four so I'll keep you all posted. I'm also reading Another Fine Mess by Tim Moore, which is all about a journey across America, through Trump's America no less, in a Ford Model T.
What's happening in the world? The Tory party leadership battle continues with two contenders left in the race, the obese buffoon that is Boris Johnson and the slightly more palatable Jeremy Hunt. I don't want either to win, but if I had to make a choice it would be Hunt. Also in the news, a pregnant woman was stabbed and killed in Thornton Heath, near Croydon, Surrey. The baby is in a critical condition in hospital. I've mentioned Glastonbury. Last night's performance by the Killers was good, especially when the Pet Shop Boys and then Johnny Marr appeared, but I haven't really been watching it. Kylie is still on, getting emotional. Worse still, that awful Chris Martin has just joined her on stage. That bloke is always gate-crashing other people's acts and he's so boring, not very rock and roll is what I'm saying. Get off the stage, you cock! I can't stand him or Coldplay. One person we should all try to get out of heads and minds is Chris Martin, the cappuccino 'rocker', the skinny latte of establishment rock, the clean-cut nob cheese of popular music. Oh, I do hope Coldplay won't be performing, I really do.
Church bells are ringing out from the Glasto stage and Kylie's performance is now confirmed as absolute girly bollocks. Especially for you, I wanna let you know what I was going through...no!!! Anything but that song. I suppose Donovan will be waltzing on to the stage in a second, let's hope not. Look, I'm signing off, it's all too depressing.
As for Sunday, I had a golden opportunity to go cycling, but decided that a planned drive into darkest Sussex took preference and, ultimately, I kept the bike under lock and key. Once I'd abandoned the proper ride, which would have been to meet Bon on Woodmansterne Green, all that was left was riding the Woodland Trek. Well, I sent Bon a text, but he'd had a rough night and didn't fancy it. I texted back to say that I had some driving to do so perhaps cycling was a bad idea. Let's meet next Saturday, that seemed like the best policy.
Suddenly I felt 'off the hook'. I mooched around the house, still considering the aforementioned Woodland Trek, but time was ticking, time was running out. I didn't go anywhere, other than deepest Sussex in the car. On the way back I was feeling sleepy and had to stop in huge Tesco store in Pulborough where the shelves were empty in places. I bought a bottle of mineral water and a Bounty and miraculously I was able to drive again. This happened once before; I was feeling sleepy so I ate a Bounty and was instantly revived. Anyway, I got home otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. Kylie's still on and, to be honest, she's putting in a pretty lame performance. Even when Nick Cave joined her on stage, it was underwhelming.
Reading a great book at the moment, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. Brilliant, but I'm only on Chapter Four so I'll keep you all posted. I'm also reading Another Fine Mess by Tim Moore, which is all about a journey across America, through Trump's America no less, in a Ford Model T.
What's happening in the world? The Tory party leadership battle continues with two contenders left in the race, the obese buffoon that is Boris Johnson and the slightly more palatable Jeremy Hunt. I don't want either to win, but if I had to make a choice it would be Hunt. Also in the news, a pregnant woman was stabbed and killed in Thornton Heath, near Croydon, Surrey. The baby is in a critical condition in hospital. I've mentioned Glastonbury. Last night's performance by the Killers was good, especially when the Pet Shop Boys and then Johnny Marr appeared, but I haven't really been watching it. Kylie is still on, getting emotional. Worse still, that awful Chris Martin has just joined her on stage. That bloke is always gate-crashing other people's acts and he's so boring, not very rock and roll is what I'm saying. Get off the stage, you cock! I can't stand him or Coldplay. One person we should all try to get out of heads and minds is Chris Martin, the cappuccino 'rocker', the skinny latte of establishment rock, the clean-cut nob cheese of popular music. Oh, I do hope Coldplay won't be performing, I really do.
Church bells are ringing out from the Glasto stage and Kylie's performance is now confirmed as absolute girly bollocks. Especially for you, I wanna let you know what I was going through...no!!! Anything but that song. I suppose Donovan will be waltzing on to the stage in a second, let's hope not. Look, I'm signing off, it's all too depressing.
