We all have our days when we're absoutely fucking sick of stuff around us.
I'm in one of those moods now where I've had to go to and from Tesco to buy stuff to do my meal for tonight with, after not being able to take more than one mouthful of what everyone else had, made with the bastard of all utensils; a wok.
(No disrespect to Olly who put the effort into making it, I just don't like that sort of meal)
As soon as I get back, I'm asked if I want to go to see "Wicked" in London on Monday which fits in really nicely with my schedule because the Matt Bianco gig at Ronnie Scotts isn't until Wednesday, meaning I have to make two trips
to and from London within a week.
Not to mention that Dad has arranged this at the last minute and seems 50% sure that we may miss our booking due to him having an appointment less than two hours before we're meant to arrive.
Again, I've agreed to go as I don't want to upset Kate and Olly before they go to Uni, but if this had been arranged weeks earlier, I could have used the time to arrange a few possible booze-ups, I mean meet ups with people and spent 3 nights in London.
With so little time, what's the bleeding point?
Reality well and truly sucks balls.
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