Buzzed: Lambeth approve application for the Country Show with four days to go – despite the Great Wall of Brockwell already in place around the park
Album of the Day: Orbital – Snivilisation
This makes more sense hearing it in a field rather than sat at home streaming through the AirPods. Even then I’d need some pretty strong drugs to get through this shit at 3am in the morning.
If it wasn’t for the GUSHING of the techno fan boys, this could quite easily be a mixtape from a dodgy early ’90s pirate station.
SUCCESS for Wednesday morning. The first app I opened up was for my bank. And there it was: an inbound payment of £1.50 from Royal Mail.
That wasn’t hard now, was it?
Oh Lordy. It’s only taken me eight half hour phone calls to get this refund. I still haven’t got a chuffing clue what the original item was that was sent without sufficient postage.
A thinks that it is a scam. This isn’t the first time the local sorting office has asked me for £1.50 and then failed to deliver. But who is the scammer? Surely not Royal Mail?
This is a moral victory for the power of OCD thinking when it comes to tight arse penny pinching. This is the happiest I have felt all year.
In Other Correspondence News: it appears that I need to buy a dressing gown for some personal business to attend to after the summer. I bloody hate dressing gowns. I’ve not worn one since a school Christmas Nativity play over 45 years ago.
The dressing gown will only need to be worn once. A suggested Primark. I’m thinkink eBay or a Sunny Colch charity shop. Or even a post on the local Facebook group asking if anyone can lend me one.
That will shake the stiffs up.
The Annoying Mow Man was doing his annoying mowing thing outside the house for most of the morning. Yeah, yeah. I get your No Mow May thing. The downside is that it takes you a full on day to cut all the crap that has grown. Some of us have wfh, fella.
I listed half a dozen reggae 12’s on eBay. They’re shit. That wasn’t part of the item description, but they are absolute rank.
I’m getting close to bundling up some 12’s and rocking up at Lion Vibes Selecta Thursday in Brixton Vill-aaage and playing a Thursday night set. A is urging caution. I feel it could be a turning point for me.
Mad Dogs and Jase go out in the bloody Estuary Wilds sun. My only free time for a run was at midday. I had miles in my legs and so plodded off along the estuary.
Phew, Wot a Scorcher, etc. It felt good. I became so over heated that my sweat self-evaporated. It’s quite a look, ladies.
I rinsed the new Baxter Dury album during the afternoon. My initial disappointment is starting to turn. The first five tracks are bangers. It then gets a little odd. The lyrics, the bass, the female backing – the fucking profanities. It’s all there.
A run of school publishing landed late afternoon. I smell an imminent visit from that nice Mr Ofsted.
TWO Forest pods dropped later in the day: Garibaldi Red and Forever Forest. Both covered similar ground with a review of the high and low points of the season.
It’s been a hellish season tbh. The lows far out number the highs. But when those highs did come along, then woh. Still buzzing from Palace away.
To Sunny Stockwell! …late in the day. I’ve got business back down in S Ldn over the next few days.
I could have done without the toilet conversation from a couple of Weird Wiv sorts who were also making the journey to LS. This was the most middle class chod bin talk over the phone ever.
It was centred around which level of poncey toilet they were going to have installed, and what benefits the high tech chod bin would bring.
I made a hasty exit at LS. It was pleasing to see a Hari Krishna fella rattling his little cymbal things and spreading some hippy shit throughout the City.
The Brompton didn’t feel right. Within the first couple of minutes I realised that the Brooks saddle was fucked. The master bolt that holds it all together had come loose. My mechanical skills can’t even stretch to fitting a new bicycle seat.
It made for a very uncomfortable ride back down to Sunny Stockwell. The only way to keep the seat on the pole was to ride with a clenched arse. I somehow made it to SW8. A quick tighten up in the flat and job’s a good ‘un.
Wednesday evening was spent reflecting on what wonderful decent human beings some West Ham fans are.