nunoncastors

Because I’m being a bit lazy at the moment.

Lazy like a fox.

I don’t usually watch the Eurovision Song Contest as it is, by and large, dross. Indeed I have spent more gratifying hours hungover in damp fields (this happens more than you would think) or being violently ill. Some people might consider alcohol induced debilitation and thunderous pain to be a bad thing. It is. However when compared to the discomfort caused by the warblings of an Albanian shepherd I know which I usually prefer.

On Saturday however, rather than lying in a damp field I shunned Terry Wogan’s dulcet tones for this chap. I don’t know how many people remember Fist of Fun or This Morning with Richard not Judy but he’s one half of the duo responsible for those comedy gems. I heartily recommend catching his live show in Edinburgh this year as it promises to be splendid. He’s never offended a Catholic. Apparently it’s the last thing he’d want to do.

But that was the old me; a man ignorant of the world and blinkered in my opinions, a man narrow of mind and shy of experience. That was before I saw this.

You should know by now that I’m not one to play around with hyperbole, perish the thought, but that is easily the best Eurovision Song Contest entry that anyone has ever seen. Ever. It is certainly better than this shite.

Actually, shite isn’t a strong enough word to use to describe the illiterate fuck. For a start the teachers never used to ask what you learnt at school today, they taught you, they knew. That’s not counting the slightly paedophilic thing he’s got going off. Bloody embarrassment.

I’m sure he’s a lovely bloke and all, but jesus christ, what was he thinking?

I don’t have much of an ego. Well, I don’t think I have much of an ego but I could be wrong. I doubt I am because I’m so incredibly, awesomely, amazing. But I could be. You just never know do you? I mean I don’t know everything do I?

Yes. Yes I do. Anyone who says otherwise is probably a murderer or a fiendish deviant.

Anyway, my tiny ego aside*, I can spot a blatant lie from a distance of just over there. Ergo I do not have a sexy voice. Four times this week I’ve been told that I have, I haven’t. The people saying so are disingenuous devils and are gradually making me a little paranoid. Are they mocking me, do they mean it, what’s their game?

I know what my voice sounds like; I’ve heard it on answer phone messages and been appalled. It isn’t booming or resonant, there’s no hint of suave assurance or quiet confidence. My voice sounds like the voice of a man who is perennially bored with the tediousness of everything. I emit a “been there, done that, wasn’t impressed” air of can’t you just go away. This is how it is and always will be. It tends to be how I feel.

This, I’m sure you’ll agree, is not sexy. It is nice of people to lie though.

* This is not a euphemism.

I don’t care about anything at the moment. I don’t care about the war, governmental sleaze, poverty, AIDS, the cup final, bills, sex, feminism, gay rights, how you feel, what you’re doing or where you are. I don’t care because it’s sunny and warm and I’m having a lovely time down by the river where the grass is green, the ladies are (mostly) lovely and the ambience is smoooooth. I’m listening to awesome music, reading an enlightening book and kicking way, waaaaay back. I had a barbeque last weekend; I’m going to another one this weekend and I’ve been out on my bike every day this week. All my dials are turned up to eleven.

Don’t take this personally but you don’t matter at the moment and nor does anything else.

Special dispensation has of course been made for my loyal readers. You do matter but only so long as you rock. Do you rock? Are you rocking right now? Good. Then we’re all cool. Get yourself to some wide open places and enjoy. Better still, have a party or a barbeque or a lounge in the park.

Make the most of it, who knows how long it’ll last.

I am prone to sudden and bewildering bouts of stupidity. Personally I don’t know why this happens though I am reliably informed that it is because I am a man. This is a fact often overlooked by some of my friends and their insistence that I’m “only a pair of ovaries away from being a woman” but there you go. Oddly enough, it is these same friends that claim my bouts of idiocy are due to my being a chap. I’ve pressed them on the matter but the best answer I can get is some mutterings about the duality of man’s condition and the inner struggle to not wear makeup and look “fabulous”.

Sometimes I dislike my friends.

Anyway, it was one of these bouts of idiocy that resulted in my acquiescing to a suggestion along the lines of “why don’t we have a lad’s night out?” I say acquiesce, it was my idea but I hardly think that’s pertinent. Either way, Saturday saw a select group of people descend upon the Stratford Haven in West Bridgford for beers and, you know, stuff. It was a good start to the evening, measured, calm, paced. No one was going to embarrass themselves at this rate.

We moved on to town, someone bought vodka shots for everybody. It may have been me, I’m going to pretend I don’t recall. Someone bought some more shots, then some more and finally, more still.

We had around six each which, coupled with the beer chasers we were indulging in, was rather silly. We should have stopped. Instead more people joined us. More people who bought more drinks. Pitchers of drink in fact. We drank them, it was all good. People discussed lesbian sex and playing squash and a dozen other unrelated things. I had to reiterate that “I’m single as far as I’m aware thank-you-very-much” on around twenty-ish different occasions. No one climbed onto a bar as far as I recall though they may have. You know, the usual.

To give an idea of just what I managed to do to myself here is a rough list of what I drank.

7 pints of lager/bitter
6 Vodka shots
1 Glass of weird green shit that cost £18 for 4
½ a pitcher of some whisky/chocolate hybrid thing
Anything placed in front of me

Fortunately I have two livers.

It was all rather unreal and I take a childish glee in the following. I left my house at 7:30 in the evening and returned at 6:30 the following morning. Certain parts of the evening are a barren wasteland devoid of memory. Paul had the good sense to go home when he was no longer able to see straight. Gareth and Duncan were stupid enough to go to the casino (Duncan only vaguely recalls this happening.) Lucy had her shoes stolen and placed on a beam in the roof. Dave from Dave’s Bar chatted up Jenny. JJ informed the world that her breasts are soundproof. Gordon shouted “WOO! HIGH-FIVE!” at least a million times. I thoroughly enjoyed myself (I hope everyone did.) and am never drinking again. It is a stupid and idiotic thing to do. I should know better.

BBQ at my place, Saturday. Bring food and booze. Town afterwards, beds available.

You have been warned.