Monday, February 20, 2006
I Never Know What I Want But I Know When I’m Low That I Need To Be In The Town Where They Know What I’m Like And Don’t Mind
Me and Girlfriend saw Elbow on Saturday. Again. Yeah, yeah, I know - but it’s only an obsession if you try to kill them. We’re just enthusiastic fans.
There’s something about them that hits the spot in a way few other things do for me. I guess you either get it or you don’t.
Sometimes Guy Garvey sat down - ooh, open tuning - and sometimes he stood up.
We also met up briefly with Juggling Protégé, who was there treating his mate to a surprise birthday present. Juggling Protégé is ace and we love him.
Today I mentioned to Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, that I’ve only received one pay rise in five years, and even that was nothing to shout about. She seemed genuinely shocked. It’s appraisal time coming up and she’s going to try and fight my corner a little bit with them upstairs.
“Bloody hell, Tim. I didn’t realise it was as bad as that. How do you keep so calm about it?”
I said that in the evenings I exact my revenge by making puppets of everybody at work who deserves to be ridiculed, and I make them dance about and say stupid things, re-enacting the events of the day in a manner that suits my own purposes.
“That sounds like fun,” she said, and at that moment Neil, my former team leader, slid across the car park on a tea tray at 85 mph and totalled Death’s Mitsubishi Arse Pump.
Miraculously, he caused himself no harm whatsoever, other than a little light public humiliation, which is nothing new to him anyway, and nobody even batted an eyelid.
There’s something about them that hits the spot in a way few other things do for me. I guess you either get it or you don’t.
Sometimes Guy Garvey sat down - ooh, open tuning - and sometimes he stood up.
We also met up briefly with Juggling Protégé, who was there treating his mate to a surprise birthday present. Juggling Protégé is ace and we love him.
Today I mentioned to Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, that I’ve only received one pay rise in five years, and even that was nothing to shout about. She seemed genuinely shocked. It’s appraisal time coming up and she’s going to try and fight my corner a little bit with them upstairs.
“Bloody hell, Tim. I didn’t realise it was as bad as that. How do you keep so calm about it?”
I said that in the evenings I exact my revenge by making puppets of everybody at work who deserves to be ridiculed, and I make them dance about and say stupid things, re-enacting the events of the day in a manner that suits my own purposes.
“That sounds like fun,” she said, and at that moment Neil, my former team leader, slid across the car park on a tea tray at 85 mph and totalled Death’s Mitsubishi Arse Pump.
Miraculously, he caused himself no harm whatsoever, other than a little light public humiliation, which is nothing new to him anyway, and nobody even batted an eyelid.

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