I’ve found my spiritual home - Evesham

Okay, so I’ve got no idea what that means. And even if it does mean something like what I think it means it certainly isn’t true. I just thought it would make a change to have a nice title for one of my blog posts. Some of my past efforts, including ‘CUNT’, ‘Fuck me, I run like a cunt’, and ‘Tanni Grey-Thompson’, are just ugly, ugly, and ugly.

Not that I’m saying that I think Dame Tanni is ugly, you understand.

In fact, I’m sure I remember watching the Olympics or a marathon one time, when I was much younger, and feeling a little attracted to a young Tanni. Erm, actually, thinking about it, I was probably a bit too young to have fancied her but I definitely felt something.

Pity? Perhaps.

Or maybe I was just gagging for a go on her ‘little bicycle thing’. But, either way, I was far from repulsed by Tanni Grey-Thompson back in her hayday and, as far as female athletes go, if she could stand, she would definitely have been up there with them. Literally.

What the fuck am I on about? This is not what this post is supposed to be about at all. But, while I’m on the subject, I might as well tell you that, back in my marathon-watching days, I was also partial to a bit of Paula Radcliffe (only OBE btw?). When I was that age, the London marathon was just a 7hr porno as far as I was concerned. Ahh, to be eight again…

Zwei words for you Joanne Pavey, nein danke.

FML, who am I kidding? I love you Jo. And your socks.

After deciding that factor 50 sun block was, let’s say, a little too safe for my tanning needs, I made the trek into Evesham town centre in search of something less sensible. The only thing steeper than the price of the bus fares into town here, I’ve discovered, are the hills the bus has to climb to get there. So you get what you pay for, I suppose, fuck walking it.

£3.90 though? Come on, really?

I got into Evesham and the first thing I noticed was that the place was full of birds. Women, I mean, town was swarming with them… Brilliant.

And butterflies as well (actual butterflies), there were millions of them.

Yep.

I’d say that they were pretty much my only two noteworthy observations of Evesham town centre but, quite frankly, what more do you need to know? Nice women AND butterflies. In the Midlands. Who knew?

I snapped up some factor 25 on ‘buy one, get one free’ in boots, window-shopped an iphone and got the bus back home through the mountains. I added the newly acquired sun block to the already unnecessarily large collection I’d started two days earlier on the kitchen side and sat and waited for it to stop raining!

And waited. And waited. And waited.

Today is the last day of my little ‘holiday’ in the country and I’d say there’s been an average of one hour of sun a day. At an average time of 7.30pm on the night. All four bottles of sun block have remained untouched and I haven’t bothered to sit out in the garden at all. My skin is still as white as the snow that rests on the garden this morning. (Okay, okay, I’ve exaggerated there…it’s just frost.) Seriously, though, I’ve been so unlucky with the weather and it’s been by far the second most depressing thing about this ‘holiday’.

The most depressing thing about the ‘holiday’ (which, despite how I come across, I’ve really enjoyed by the way) was the book I decided to read on Friday while I sat and waited for the sun to come out. My dad and his lovely partner have an impressive collection of books here in the house and I had a lot of greats to choose from. There’s some Conan-Doyle up there, a bit of Tolkien. There’s even some Dickens I could have opted for. But what does this bright spark decide would make a suitable Friday afternoon holiday read?

The Diary of Anne Frank.

Great choice, son. I was pretty much in tears from about page four onwards. It really affected me. I read it all in one sitting and I was still not feeling myself come Saturday afternoon. It reminded me of watching Titanic years ago. Except Titanic wasn’t a book. And is completely different, but you know what I mean. Relentlessly fucking depressing.

Luckily, I found ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days’ on DVD late Saturday afternoon and I laughed my bollocks off watching that so I’m back to normal again now. But it was touch and go as to whether I would ever smile, or even enjoy anything, ever again for a while.

If you know someone that’s going on holiday any time soon and fancy playing a little practical joke on them to completely ruin their fun, buy them a copy of Annie F for the plane. IT WILL FUCK THEM UP. But you’ll probably all laugh about it in years to come.

It’s looking more and more like I’ve really got nothing to say in this post actually, this is just blogging for the sake of blogging so I’ll bring this weirdness to an end. But I might as well take the chance to wish Keysie good luck on day 5 and beyond in the main event in Vegas. He in the money and still has a stack to do some damage with.

So run good, mate.