Sunday, August 19, 2007

Bread, rain and blood...

Big Brother 8: It's all about bread and arguments about bread. And/or toast. And try as I might, and even after all these weeks, I still can't understand a single word that those two twins utter in unison. Nor, for that matter, anything that comes out of Brian's mouth. Kara-Louise's hair freaks me out (did she used to be in Flock of Seagulls?). OAP boybander Ziggy's surely in his mid-40s, if the truth be told. Liam is a walking, talking north-east stereotype - everything in Liam's world is "canny" or, on the odd occasion it isn't, he divn't give a hoot, like. Carole is under the impression that she is running a care home, albeit one in which she regularly breaks down in tears in front of those she cares for and, oddly for someone who used to be a peace protestor, loves a fucking big scrap about absolutely nothing (or, as is usually the case, bread). Jonty is everyone's slightly disturbed and estranged Uncle. Tracey, well, she's a vacuous pile of nothingness - or, as these people are prone to say, she's simply being real - who has a limited vocabulary that consists of "phat" and "sorted". How on earth do you pick a winner out of this lot? Quite simply, you don't. Here's a twist - just let them out, give them a load of bread each and lock the house up, giving it all up as a bad job until next year. There, I've blogged about it. It was inevitable - my life is so shallow.

Rain stopped play today. We were going to Hull's Grassroot's festival but, in the end, couldn't be arsed to amble across town in the wet weather. But not before we'd filled a huge rucksack with sandwiches. So we had a picnic for our evening meal at the dining table. Nice bit of father-son bonding today - as the rain fell down outside we sat and watched Korean gore-thriller Into The Mirror. Son appeared a bit disappointed that the body count was nowhere close to his fave slice of Asian extreme Battle Royale but did come away something of a Sung-ho Kim fan, I feel.

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