full moon fever

It’s the full moon; I’ve just worked it out, why didn’t I notice this before? Up to, during, but seldom just after, Cunt is at his worst. Last night was no exception when he opened his ‘set’ at 11.00pm with a soundcheck. He actually said ‘one two one two, thank you’. There was no one there. Just him.

I pounded the heel my foot into the floor and it went quiet for about 15 minutes. Then the front door went and something unemployed and disgusting appeared out of the gloom. This creature reckoned it could play the harmonica, which wasn’t the problem; it was Cunt shouting someone’s lyrics tonelessly, tunelessly in the wrong order. Myfwt slept through the din while I seethed in the dark, I was compromised by my desire to go downstairs and slam hard on his door/face or remain impassive so as not to wake her up. I opted for the latter, I’m exhausted, she slept like a doll.

Up until then last night was rather nice, despite the fact I didn’t drink. I made salmon and stir fry with Piqued’s Pepper sauce *winks* and we watched Grand Designs on More4. Downstairs the hairy extension was screaming the place down, I’ve no idea where its mother was or what the fuck was going on, but at some point it went to afford the occurrences mentioned at the beginning of the post, or it died.

We watched Curb Your Enthusiasm in bed, Myfwt reluctant at first, apparently Larry David reminds her of me and this is apparently ‘irritating’, but it was such a beautifully crafted episode she couldn’t resist. The Mr. Jew line nearly killed me; really, you should’ve been there. Actually I’m glad you weren’t or I would’ve been forced to call the authorities.

It’s gorgeous day so far, winter sunlight is always the most sublime because it has that air of serendipity about it, and following my night off I have two days of mild socialising. I’ll probably take Thursday off too in order to prepare my liver for Friday, Gee and I are going to Brixton to see Korn which will probably involve our having to be social and shit.

Despite still being in the month of January I can see the end of it, February isn’t much better but at least it’s a moth closer to the start of the motor sport season, which, for me, means Spring and is imbued with misty, happy recollections of my childhood; TV after Sunday lunch with Murray Walker screaming his head off and my dad complaining at his inability to coherently express factual information about drivers and their cars…

Right, I need to get on, it’s busy here.

This is lovely, great video too…