Not Over Yet

Hello. Remember me?

Apologies for the silence for the past couple of weeks; as I’m sure most of you worked out, my beautiful old laptop finally gave up the ghost last week, refusing to get beyond the start-up stage, leaving me dangling looking at the buffering circle of doom as it thought about starting properly, before suggesting I turned it off and on again to resolve the issue. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum.

My parents came to visit last weekend; we went out for lunch and when they asked me for my news and I broke the horror of my computerised predicament to them, my Dad nodded sagely: “That explains why we’ve had no Sunday Morning Coming Down for two weeks then.” This was enough to secure a loan from The Bank of Mum & Dad, and so here I am, new laptop currently uploading all of my tuneage to iTunes.

So firstly, thanks to my folks for helping me out. This will get paid back. Honest.

Planet Perfecto feat. Grace – Not Over Yet (Matt Darey remix)

Fortuitously, it’s been a quiet couple of weeks since I last posted anything. Very little of note has happened.

*Flicks through daily redtop*

Oh wait: we have a new Prime Minister.

There’s no need for me to go into what I think of Liz Truss, you already know. And I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for me to have a rant about her in the coming months. I mean, I could mention that she has previously called the UK workforce “lazy”, but pretty much her first act as PM (after she had green-lit fracking starting up again) was to give her and all MPs ten days off to mourn and grieve, whilst the rest of us get feck all. But I won’t.

Grieve what….? Ummm…..

Oh yes. You may have missed it, but The Queen has only gone and bloody died. Paul Burrell is backing his Transit van up to Buck House as we speak.

(I must say that I was impressed that my blogging peers resisted the temptation to post a certain Smiths song on Thursday evening. Had I been up and running, I’m not sure I could have resisted the temptation.)

Now. I know you know I’m not exactly the biggest fan of the Royal family. Give me the Royle Family, any day. But I’m not about to trash the recently deceased. I’m sure that amongst you there are many who are genuinely upset by the passing of Lizzie Mk 2. Me – not so much. If I’m honest, I was more annoyed that the BBC broke into Bargain Hunt to tell me she was ill, never to return. I have no idea whether the blues or the reds won, or whether either Bargain Buy was fruitful, and now I cannot rest.

One of the reasons I’m supposed to be sad is that, so I’ve read, as Elizabeth II was on the throne for so long, I’ve never experienced a world without her in that position. Well, I’d never known a world without Rick Parfitt chugging away in The Quo either, but he didn’t get a state funeral, did he? (Probably because alcohol is flammable, but whetever.)

Apparently, the world is going to be very different now Charles is the monarch, but other than the logistics (new money, stamps, etc) is it really? The only real difference I can see is that when he is referred to as King Charles III, I keep expecting the word ‘Spaniel’ to feature somewhere, and no I don’t mean Camilla.

What I’m trying to say is this: Each to their own, that’s my motto. I may not respect your opinion, but I respect your right to hold it. Even if you’re wrong.

Blue Aeroplanes – Tolerance

More soon.

Here’s Where The Story Doesn’t End

I went to see I, Tonya this evening.

This post was going to be about how much I enjoyed it (I did, it was funny. moving, shocking, dazzling), to confirm that Allison Janney is incredible in it and wins my vote for the Best Supporting Actress award at the forthcoming Oscars, and to post a couple of songs that featured on the soundtrack (which was packed with some really great tunes, so I probably will do that at some point).

And then, about ten minutes before the end, something happened. Suddenly, just as the film was about to reach it’s climax, as Margot Robbie (as the titular Tonya Harding) is having the laces on her skates tied up before heading off to compete against nemesis Nancy Kerrigan, the screen went blank.

The dialogue continued.

Everyone in the cinema sat there for a moment or two; I spoke to some of them afterwards and they all seemed to be thinking the same as me: having the screen go black at such a crucial moment, as if Harding had blacked out and could only hear, is one hell of a ballsy move.

After about a minute or two, it became clear (from the sound, which was still continuing) that something had gone wrong. A couple of girls sitting across the aisle from me ran out to notify the staff (not about anything I’d done, I promise), and shortly afterwards, the lights came on (soundtrack still playing) and someone came in to announce that the projector was broken.

I toyed with the idea of staying so I could at least hear the end of the film, but people began to leave, so I figured I may as well go too. Besides, people had started to talk about getting something for free as compensation, and I was bang up for that.

At the bottom of the aisle, a family of three were asking one of the members of staff what they were going to offer us to make up for our nights being ruined.

“Free entry to another film of your choice?” the put upon usher suggested.

“That’s no good to us,” the mother of the family said, “we’re Gold Card members, so we already get free entry. More free entry is no good to us.”

I’m only a Black Card Member, but this was a conversation I wanted in on. Besides, I know a bloody good negotiator when I see one, and this woman was brilliant. I decided to loiter alongside them.

“Erm….” said the usher, unsure of what else he could offer. He looked at me, almost in hope that I might be able to help him out.

“I’m in the same boat as them,” I said.

“That’s four of us who do not want what you have offered to make up for our ruined evening,” the woman continued. “Try again. What can you offer us?”

“Um…free food from our counter….?”

The woman looked at me. I gave her my best “Sounds good to me” acquiescing nod.

“Then it’s agreed. You will give us vouchers now,” she said.

We were led to the food counter, where we were given a voucher. It says: Next time you visit, hand in this voucher and all of your snacks are on us.

They’re going to regret that, for I am a fat bastard and I can carry a lot of snacks.

Here’s a song. It’s not on the I, Tonya soundtrack, but it struck me as being appropriate, if a tad more Trance Trousers than the kind of thing I usually post here:


Grace – Not Over Yet (Perfecto Mix)

More soon.