Time to catch up on some inanity before I load up on real work... sometimes though, you have to wonder which is harder.
Last week, I found I had a puncture in one of the tyres on the Saab. Not the first and probably won't be the last either, but it's certainly the first time I've ever been spiked by a drill bit! Damn thing is a good four inches long - pretty impressive if I say so myself. I don't recall driving on a dead tyre... sabotage? Could be!
Also this week, walking past a fishing tackle shop, there was this sign in the window. I keep meaning to find exactly where Kens Barber Shop is so as I could ask him what these rumours are all about, but so far it's eluded me. That's rumours in the plural. So there's more than one being spread! How exciting. What could Ken have possibly done that is so bad some people thought he was closing down? And what is his relationship with the guy that owns the tackle shop? Do they dig up worms together on a Sunday morning? Why must they inform us? What on earth could be so important that we have to know this information? Hasn't Ken seen my hair lately? If Ken's joint is such a haven of haircutting activity, how come I don't know where it is?
Too many questions for one man to answer that's for certain.
To wrap up the weeks peculiarities, on Friday I went to see Ellie perform in her school choir. The powers that be had organised a cross-bred English-French exchange for the day and so, half of te material was in English and half in French. Why is it that any nation in Europe can speak English much better than most of England? More importantly, why do all French songs sound like they didn't make the grade for a children's TV show?
From the programme of events I could see we were in for a treat by these children. Hotel California - a song about being so smacked out on heroin that you don't know if you're coming or going - was very odd, but not as odd as Smoke on the Water on a trombone. Man that sounds shit. Don't ever do it. The absolute pinnacle of Anglo-Francais relations however, has to be the - excuse my language - fucking killer rendition of AC/DC's Highway to Hell. When I saw it on there, I thought it may have been a mistake but they went for it - lock, stock and two smoking ones.
The decision to do this in itself was a bit of a rabbit punch, but nothing prepared me for the prettiest little French girl coming to the front to the deliver the killer lines:
Hey satan, payed my dues
Playing in a rocking band
Hey momma, look at me
Im on my way to the promised land
I really can't tell you enough how totally cool this was - so I took the liberty of taping it on my phone. It probably breaks the Geneva Convention somehow, but you can listen to the whole song here.
Right. Time for some work...
Currently reading: ah... editing own stuff. Shame, but necessary
Currently listening to: Our Lady Peace: Clumsy
Currently wondering: what the hell I'm going to do when Lost, 24, Supernatural and Fringe all finish this week. Get a life maybe...
