Hello. Yay, I’m back! – Sorry if you’re one of the seven people who’ve complained that I haven’t written any blogs lately, disregard all of the above if you’re not (and probably all of the below too).
Anyway, It’s all just been too bleak. Nobody wants bleak blogs so I didn’t bother.
My last post was in November when there were poppies and fireworks and such unseasonably mild weather that people were taking hot water bottles filled with ice cubes to bed with them just to feel appropriately seasonally acclimatised. What a time that was, the sun shined and anything seemed possible. My blog about all of that can be found somewhere, you find it, there’s probably a link on an Internet.
But then December happened, and that thing in Paris happened with all those arseholes with guns so that pretty much sucked all the joy out of life but hey, at least Christmas was just around the corner.
So then Christmas happened, and in time honoured fashion, the exhausting four month soundcheck proved to be a mere prelude to some fat guy falling on stage, farting in to the microphone and crawling off again. I was gonna do a blog about that but everybody else already had. Same time next year then.
So then New Year happened and people from British places were flooded out of their picturesque cottages in bizarre towns called things like ‘Bristall’ and ‘Edinbroog’. Kay Burley’s tears merely added to the apocalyptic deluge. God, it was all just so bleak.
Elsewhere in weather, a new initiative in storm awareness was unleashed upon us in which all the storms would suddenly now have names such as ‘Alfonso’ and ‘Beatrice’, so that when the roof gets ripped off your house and your children get sucked into a ravenous tornado, you can blame someone with a recognised Christian name as quickly as possible. “Damn you Claudia!”. There were lots of blogs about that. Bleak, bleak blogs.
So that was all pretty bleak but then everyone died. Earth from Earth, Wind & Palmer and the Emerson guy from Emerson, Lake & Fire, George Martin, Bowie, Rickman, Terry Wogan, The Eagles guy and Lemmy died and the whole thing started to stink of a missing verse from Billy Joel’s celebrated, up-tempo, arsonist themed / denial of any involvement in the crime, murder mystery song thing. I can never remember what it called. So anyway, then Lord Coe declared ‘competitive grieving’ an Olympic sport and I though Jesus, I can’t write a blog about this so I didn’t. On the upside though Billy Joel didn’t die, I wasn’t sure if that was ironic or un-ironic so I didn’t write a blog about that either.
So anyway, then February Happened and Denmark closed its borders to all immigrants, so that was fun, and then a lot of other hitherto tolerant nations did likewise and that was also fun, then shit loads of bombs killed some people and then some Russian fighter pilots started taking the same drugs their athletes take and accidentally flying into Turkish airspace so the Turks retaliated by calling all Russians “wankers”.
Was it Uptown Girl? … so anyway then Donald Trump and The Pope kicked off because The Pope said Trump shouldn’t be putting up walls to keep the Mexicans, Muslims and homos out, but then Trump pointed out that massive fucking wall around The Vatican clearly designed to keep all the paedos in. So then were millions of blogs basically saying that these two pricks deserve each other so what would be the point in me merely repeating that these two pricks deserve each other? These two pricks deserve each other.
Oh fucking hell, it’s all just been so unblogably bleak. I refuse to stir another man’s bleak porridge so how am I gonna wrap this shit up and leave you with a smile on your lips? – “Always try to make ’em laugh” my father and ex-funeral director often says.
So then to our only ray of light in an avalanche of misery and despair, turns out we have an actual British man from Britain out in space, literally floating in a tin can (no not him), I mean celebrity astronaut, a man with a novelty t-shirt for every occasion, a man who frankly spends more time on Twitter than I do, a man who’s already wasted about half a billion dollars on zero-gravity reenactments of Britney Spears videos, a man who was sorry he couldn’t be joining us at The Brits tonight, a man measuring six foot and three inches from Chichester in Sussex and who’s name sounds a bit like Twin Peaks, a man who needs no introduction at all. It wasn’t Uptown Girl. I think it was Tell Her About It.
I mean honestly, who would write a blog about all that bollocks?