Forget the budgerigar. I was in the pet shop today buying
bird seed and nuts, and noticed that budgies cost £15. I can get a litre of
scotch for that much!
‘That’s cheap,’ said the woman in the pet shop.
‘Cheep,’ confirmed a little blue budgie.
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The Christmas so-called music playing in the shops is
getting on my nerves. I could make a whole post about it, but why bother. All I’ll
say is that one shop I went into today was playing just about the worst rendition
of Auld Lang Syne that I think I’ve ever heard – some feeble voiced guy with a
girl backing group, a synthesised back beat playing at the right commercial frequency,
and a liberal sprinkling of trite grace notes to make it sound ‘professional.’
It was awful, so much so that for
once I had a moan to the shop assistant and gave her the
killing-of-music-and-worship-of-mediocrity speech, greatly truncated and
delivered in one sentence. I can well imagine the words she used to describe me
to her colleagues after I’d gone. And who can blame her?
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I kept catching sight of myself in shop windows today. Not
good. I think that was why I was in the mood to moan at the shop assistant.
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I’m wondering whether my reference to dressing gowns (robes)
intrigued anybody enough to warrant suspicions as to my desirability. I’m not
the only man who’s noticed, you know. A male actor of my acquaintance once reminisced
at some length on the subject. I think it might be time to put more distance between
myself and the female of the species.
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