A Quality Family Exchange

Scene: Myself, Uncle D, Aunt S, Andy and Gran are all sitting in the living room observing Manchester United vs Manchester City on Sky Sports 1

Uncle D: *chuckles* "That was never a free kick."
Andrew: "It was like. He tackled him from behind."
Uncle D: "Bah." *waves hand* "They just fall over at nowt these days."

Uncle D shifts in his seat while Andrew sips a drink of his warm cup of tea.

Gran: "Who's playing in this one?"
Me: "Man U and Man City. It's a Manchester derby."

Gran nods and leans back on her chair.
(The current score is 3-2 to Man Utd with five minutes of normal time to go)

Me: "Man City are going to score another one I reckon."
Andrew: "Aye. I reckon they are an all."
Aunt S: "Is Michael Owen on yet?"
Uncle D: "Aye. They've just brought him on."
Me: "For Berbatov."
Aunt S: "Ohh right."
Gran: "Doc Martin has got a lovechild you know?"
Everyone: "What?"
Gran: "It said so in the TV mag."
Everyone: "..."

Confused glances are exchanged between all parties expect Gran who keeps her observation the television.

Aunt S: (mouths in my direction) What is she talking about?
Me: *shrugs* Gran? You mean the bloke on the tele?
Gran: Yes. The TVmag says he has a child. I never liked him. He has a weird ilk.
Me: Me dad watches it.
Gran: *shakes her head* No. I don't like it.
Uncle D: What's this got to do with the football? *turning to me* What's she saying?
Me: The bloke off the tele. Martin Clunes. The Doc Martin thing is back on tonight.
Uncle D: Oh. I thought you were talking about the shoes.
Gran: What?
Uncle D: Nothing mother. Doesn't matter.

Who doesn't love a decent conversation about football being interrupted by some grandma discussing whether or not a character on tv portrayed by Martin Clunes has a secret lovechild.

Glimmers

Well more like tiny shafts of light shining into this dank and dark pit of life. It's true that I still don't have a job, and my application to work in the Northumbria University library was unsuccessful. I am still undeniably very much on the poor side so I haven't bought any new clothes in about two months or had a haircut since March. My only source of relief from this pretty dull existence is my friends (what a bunch of nice people, putting up with me all the time), some choice cuts of television joy, the library and Sky Movies.

My weeks have consisted of sit, eat, sleep, sit, eat, quiz, sleep, sit, eat, quiz, sleep, sit, eat, work, sit, sleep............... I think you get the picture from that small example.

But some joy is starting to emerge from my stale existence. I have learned a couple of my friends from university are in fact staying 'oop North' despite the shitty job prospects for graduates, meaning i have more people to bum around with when other mates are at work. A few friends who I lost touch with after the end of high school have got back in touch, cueing some weird and wonderful meetings and discussions about life in general not to mention the juicy gossip that is being swapped between us all. It has been a very pleasent experience to see how old friends have grown and changed for the better.

On a more shallow footing, House is back for a new series which means for the next six months my Sky+ will be busy busy recording every episode. And here is me hoping that it will be better than series 5, which was a bit too morbid and depressing for my liking, and the show will gain back some of it's snarky joy that was in the earlier series.

But I am sitting and smirking for once instead of bemoaning everything around me, from the shitty cup coasters to the semi-nude gardening neighbour. Good times.

Possible Joy

The world is a better place now with the announcement by Phil Collins, declaring he will never drum again. I want to say a big thank you to that bald headed, twerpish, arrogant bellend of a man, who's unfortunate music career since the mid-70s has never failed to intertwine my intestines to create some sort of organic balloon amimal within my abdomen, for quitting now instead of extending his already pointless career. Hopefully this is just the start and in a few months time he will announce his retirement from a sentient life and become a unconscious slab of humanoid cells which will eventually become mulch in the back garden of his ludicrously over-sized Switzerland estate.

Please Phil, do it. Think of the children.

In other random thoughts, who in the name of Will Ferrell's hairy belly is Speech Debelle? I sense another case of the Mercury panel choosing someone obscure and random so they can appear hip and 'down' with the underground music scene. My vote would have went to Two Suns by Bat For Lashes. A weird, wonderful and downright exquisite album that was definitely one of my favourites of the past year. Silly Mercury music panel.