Another £30 parking ticket yesterday, to throw in the car boot with the other unpaid one. Hurrah. Failed to get to Kooks, despite having tickets for the sold out gig. We were at a thing called The Sesh, watching friends perform on stage. Was introduced to Hull's largest, or, rather, tallest, celebrity - Dan Bryan (you may be familiar with his work on Big Brother, his band iceHouse or, latterly, his compact disc spinning). He appeared delighted to meet me. Dan has a very firm handshake, I'll say that for him, and if you could make it in the entertainment world on the strength of your hands, he'd be right up there with the best. I wish him well. A silly young man knocked our drinks over last night, seconds after I'd battled through the crowds to place them on the table. He bought us some new ones, but, in these rohypnol-fuelled days, it didn't feel right to drink them. Well, I drank mine, obviously. Earlier in the day we ate messy sandwiches in Peaberries and, wowzers, to use a marvellous Charleneism*, I bought a suit for less than the price of a parking ticket.
Today, I have returned to my old job on the paper. The word dull springs to mind, simply because it's quicker to type than 'tedious fucking bore'. I need to re-form the escape committee. I have purchased new pants, suitable for some kind of draw-string soil dispersal system when the tunnel digging commences. If anyone could offer me a job that utilises more than 5% of my skills I'll accept immediately. Bricklaying, delivering milk, hell, even writing plays. Anything but this.
*I meant Chantelleism, as M points out in the comments. But, like every other journalist, I'm extremely fallible. Or is it flammable? Subs?
Reading: Shusaku Endo - Silence
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