newest older email

2005-03-30 - 11:47 p.m.

If there�s anything nicer than a two day week, then by George, I�d like to hear about it. OK, the phrases �one day week� and �no day week� spring to mind, but let�s not split hairs here.

And the reason for this pitiful amount of work hours? That handy Bank Holiday* combined with a home town parental visit, because there�s nothing that sees you through a depressing, heart-in-a-food-processor, ego-mangling break up than replaying the whole thing whilst having your entire being intimately scrutinised. My parents prospect for snippets of my private life like some oil-crazed goons who have just inherited some fancy drilling equipment. I know they mean well, but I just know that my mum will say at some point that �it might all work out�, just like she did for the ooooooooHALF DECADE following my last big break up. I think she still holds out for that one, actually. Probably sees this as the gateway break-up.

Other favourites warming up on the sidelines even as I type are: You�re Not Getting Any Younger, You Really Need To Think About Settling Down and my all time favourite, Don�t Leave It Too Late, like I�m filing my tax return at the last minute or something. To be fair, though, these beat the greats of visits past such as the almost boastful I Could Handle Anything�Apart From If You Told Me You Were Gay, which is just begging to be abused, really.

*I never really understood why we get Easter Monday off work. Jesus is already risen. He�s not doing anything special the day after, is he? Just chilling with his bitches and making sure his holes don�t seep too much, that kind of thing.

Anyway, family visits such as those to my grandmother, who is sporting rectal bleeding this season, should help maintain at least a bite-sized chunk of perspective.

By way of diversionary matters, I also have to write a best man�s speech for a wedding in two weeks. I had the whole thing planned, and it would have killed. There�s NOTHING like a recently broken-up, bitter and emotionally edgy best man to seal your special day, after all. Then I met the bride to be for the first time, and she dropped into conversation about her parents being blessed with religious fervour on a par with the ailing pontiff � and that mention of the groom and alcohol might bring on immediate stigmata or something. So that�s just 95 per cent of the material that I can�t use, then. Fabulous.

Kevin Spacey* works down the road from me and Bruce. We had never seen him, but that all changed last night. OK, it was whilst he was in a play that we had paid �20 to watch, but it still counts, I say.

*KS is in my all-time favourite urban myth:

A girl is next to him in a bar at a party. Overwhelmed, she says to him, �I can�t believe I�m in a bar next to Kevin Bacon.�

�It�s Spacey.�

�Yes, it IS, isn�t it?!�

That cannot be true.

And another * - I think it�s the perfect name for the follow up to Morrissey�s song �Roy�s Keane�. �Kevin�s Pacey�. Except it�s not the same. OK, forget that.

Back
hosted by DiaryLand.com