Sunday, December 05, 2004

We headed to a farm shop to purchase vegetables. The only difference between buying them from this place in the middle of a field and getting them from the usual supermarket veg section was, I reckoned, all that shit they were covered in. Potatoes and carrots looked incredibly grim and had so much soil attached that it must have had a bearing on the final weigh-in at the check-out. Yet we seemed to get a lot for our money. And even I'm amazed to have to admit that, when we got round to eating a selection later, they actually tasted better. So, wax jacket and welly boot wearing rural organic-lovin' bastards that we are, we'll be back.

Yesterday was a rigamorole (sp? come on, Hard Spell kids, help me out!) due to having to wait for my spare car keys to be delivered. I had to take three kids on dirty, smelly public transport. Bus drivers in Hull are nasty people who assume you have memorised the tarrifs and timetables and react with disdain when you ask them where the bus stops and how much all this sub-standard journeying is going to cost you. If I'm to be expected to give up my car and use public transport regularly for the sake of the environment, some fucker's going to have to make some major improvements. Despite all those soddin' bus lanes everywhere, bus travel takes so long and involves quite a bit of walking - all bus stops appear to be positioned at least several miles from where you actually want to be. Next weekend we're heading to London - I can hardly wait to clamber aboard the tube.

The kids did two things this weekend. They either played Sims 2, or they argued. Actually, at several points they probably did both at the same time. I see them for precious little time as it is, and I'd rather not exert my fatherly authority unless it's strictly necessary, cos, as I reminded them when they headed back to their weekly residence, life's too short for all that. It was either that or push them out of a moving car before heading back here. That was a joke, NSPCC and social services surfers.

Reading: High Society, the real voices of club culture Listening: The Killers - Hot Fuss

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