After last night's chilli con carne and beer we had a bad night's sleep. We were frequently awoken by one of us parping very loudly. We would then argue groggily about who was the culprit. It was more often than not Andy who had let off but we won't say any more about it. All very amusing and our bedroom smelt like a greek sauna by the morning.
Did anyone see the Brit Awards last night? I remember when it seemed to mean something and I am saddened by it's demise. We ended up turning over to a documentary about hypochondria for some proper entertainment. The Brits wasn't a programme about music talent but just a giant drinking competition. Most of the champagne-soaked guests made Amy Winehouse look remarkably sober. I found myself relieved to see Take That up on the stage. "Oh at last- some really nice chaps on the Brits for once instead of some arrogant pissheads..." I thought in my increasingly middle-aged way, and then Jason Orange slavvered into the mic like some sort of lairy bloke at a stag do and made absolutely no sense at all (not that I was that interested in what the chiselled jawed bore had to say anyway). God only knows what strength bubbly they were plying the celebs with but it seemed the whole place was pickled.
Finding it hard to write anything this week. Every time I sit down to try I get thoughts about the school's Book Week into my head, which I'm writing and reading out some children's poems for. I've already prepared three but it's like my brain has entered ga-ga land and I can't write anything decent anymore unless it involves fluffy small animals. I obviously can't multi-task with my creativity. My blog, for one, has lost it's irreverent edge I feel. I'm supposed to be creating a ten minute play for a competition in a fortnight (sounds easier than it is) and I need to get some more articles sold but it's gone to pot until book week is done and dusted. One thing at a time so apologies for lack of entertaining posts until then.
Oh oh- the Slapton ghost is back- he just put the radio on...oh no- he's put on a CD which is even more bizarre. And god he seems to like KT Tunstall.
Soundtrack: Suede-Everything will flow
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4 comments:
You can't mention the word Brits without using the word debacle in close proximity nowadays.
You can tell when Jason Orange is drunk because he goes much camper...
He was a bit like a camp person on an 18-30s holiday or something. And I thought they were such nice boys..
What is is it with the Mockney accents of the likes of Kate Nash? And how can Mark Ronson win best male? He does not sing. The Brits makes me feel old but gladly so!
I know I do feel ancient watching them- I don't know who most of the acts are now, and the ones I do I'm twice their age, and obviously have twice their alcohol tolerance it seems.
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