So the clocks went forward last night, which is the direction I thought they always went in. It often concerns me a lot more when they go backwards. How will they know when to stop? What if they keep going backwards for years, reversing the ageing process and making such films as the Case of Benjamin Button a documentary instead of a fiction? This would be bad not only because it would mess with our heads but also because that’s a massively boring shit film. Luckily, last night’s clock situation just propelled us one hour into the future, both heralding the Spring and stealing sleep. As a result I truly feel the consequences of dream burglary and were there some sort of sleep police I would definitely record my loss. Of course I could have just slept more to compensate but today such things cannot be done.
Layla and I are about to head to Leamington to watch her niece’s dance performance, which could be nice, fun or deathly rubbish. Layla’s niece won’t be, she’ll be ace, but I fear that we will have to sit through hours of other kids prancing around to current pop hits for hours, while being completely unable to heckle or throw things. I’m being horribly mean as the only other time I’ve ever witnessed such an event was when I went to see my cousin’s Ceri and Devon do their dance show years and years ago and while they were both brilliant, there was also a section involving 5-6 year olds dressed as dogs and falling over their own feet that was possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. They all stumbled on in line, several of their costumes being too big for them and therefore causing instant difficulty. The tiny dog people then spent the whole time being out of time and being too distracted by waving to their parents to do the actual dance. Trust me, it would’ve been youtube gold. I can only hope for such small child dog costume based antics today.
So keeping it brief, as I need to get ready to go. Just to say, had the loveliest gig in Croydon last night at the Old Whitgiftians RFC. Several people from my old Uni were there, none of whom I remembered and which I felt fairly guilty about. They all knew me, and I didn’t know them. Terrible. And yet at the same time I shall be horribly smug and pretend that I’m memorable rather than it clearly being because everyone remembers ‘the one with the stupid name/beard/face’.
That’s all for today, expect a full dancing show critique on the morrow peoples.
