Lots and lots of wasted time. Opted to go to the airport to see off my Aunty Jan, (lucky lady's going to Vancouver for a while ... travelling all these places courtesy of Uncle Wong!! (But I would too)) which meant I couldn't take my sister for induction at Chessington. When she inquired as to why, I told her I preferred the concept of eating a Burger King at the aiport over having to drive her to work and come home to cook for myself.
Learnt a Jamie Cullum and Katie Melua piece, so that's half the petrol money earnt back. Yay! My dad started reading my key text for the 1960s module, titled The Sixties, strangely enough, and pronounced it dull and unreadable. This is coming from a man who was a teenager in the 1960s. The incentive to read the damn key text has therefore suitably diminished.
Also, some fucking chav in a clapped out, one-step-away-from-scrapheap-material Vauxhall Nova almost hit me as I drove to the video rental store. We have rented Bulletproof Monk on DVD, and so far it looks naff. The beautiful wire-work is wasted on Western audiences. If I had a penny for every time some dickhead in the audience of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon shouted "people can't do that ... I'm outta here", I find it very convenient on his part that he is inevitably overlooking the almost certain fact he chose to believe Superman, or X-Men, or Street Fighter, or whatever. Anyway. I'm tired.
It started off so well; you said we made the perfect plan. I clothed myself in your glory and your love, how I loved you, how I cried. Years of carrying all my fears, are nothing but a sham, it seems. Years belie the truth tonight, I'll love you till I die.
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