I'm feeling slightly delicate so I'll endeavour to keep this short. The reason for this is that it was my youngest brother's kinda sorta 21st last night. His actual birthday was back in November, but we were unable to celebrate it back then as he was busy running around the countryside, covered in mud and leaves attempting to defeat imaginary enemies (Just to clarify, this was in his capacity as a guardsman in the Scots Guards, not an escaped mental patient). The back room of the local pub was rented and invites sent to all relevant friends and family. Unfortunately of the fortyish people we were expecting only about a dozen showed up, which was a bit of a shitter, but I've always been of the opinion that if you need the fingers of two hands to count the people who are important to you then you're exceptionally blessed. It also meant that the buffet was essentially untouched. So if anyone's in the mood for 150 slightly stale sausage roles, pop round mine and I'll hit you up.
Her majesty's finest eventually left for the more substantial delights of nearby Newcastle, where by all accounts a good time was had until two of our kid's mates decided to start knocking lumps off one another. The reason we were given for this was that one lad fell over, so the other tried to help him up and got a fist in the face for his efforts. I'll admit that doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, so I think a better explanation would be that some people are arseholes when they've had a skinful, While me and the missus were lost in the blissful ignorance of sleep, my sister had to deal with the fall out when everyone returned home, spending an hour and a half in the local A & E with the fight's loser, waiting to get his lips sewn back onto his face. I came down this morning to find me dad's doorstep splattered in vomit and blood, while his kitchen floor was covered in slowly defrosting peas (because to the drunken mind Peas = Medicine). Happily everybody was friends again, although the young lad who'd had his 'tache slapped looked in a sorry state.
Went to see The Lake Poets earlier in the week. Unfortunately we had to leave early so we only caught a couple of songs, not enough were I could really formulate an opinion. However he (despite the plural in the name, The Lake Poets consists of one guy) seems good in a sort of Damien Rice-y type way. He was certainly leagues ahead of the two support acts, who were both shite.
Also at the top and bottom of the post you have Christmas doodlage. Tis the season and all that..
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
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