Trumpets .. Bloody Sunday and all that jazz. The Blokey is already being sorely missed even though he only left here around an hour and a half ago. I am now the proud owner of the *cough* Busted *cough* CD, the new Manics CD, Lipstick Traces, and the first Simon Clark novel that I ever had the joy to read, Blood Crazy. ‘Tis a superb book by a very talented British author. I’ve always been into the apocolyptic scene. I imagine that that’s because as a teenager I was astoundingly morbid and melodramatic. Even to the extent that as part of my English Language GCSE I tended to write depressing poems and beginnings of novels. I really should endeavour to find out where Mother Dearest has placed these and laugh at my own sense of doom. A sense of Doom is a wonderful trait to possess at an early age … it makes adulthood so much easier.
I played my favourite track from Lipstick Traces in the car yesterday. It was most embarrassing because I almost started crying. Their cover of Bright Eyes was released back in ’96 at around the same time as my paternal nana died and so it reminds me of her to an extent. She was a fabulous woman, despite the need for giving us baked beans with peas, and ensuring that I wouldn’t get thirsty on a day trip to London by making my orange squash in a large brown medicine bottle. Not that I minded at the time. I was barely seven years old and as long as I was getting to see St Pauls, where Charles married Di just the week before, I wasn’t too bothered where my orange squash was poured from.
Gosh, it’s almost time for Six Feet Under. I must grab a mandarin yoghurt and settle down now that I’ve wasted some of my precious life online.
God Bless Bright Eyes xxx Elsabeth