Driving Thoughts

After driving 260 miles this morning, I now have three hours at home before heading off to drive another 60 miles to Cambridge. I’ll be honest, I want to do nothing more with my three hours than sleep, so let it be known, this blog is written with slight resentment. It’s all self resentment, don’t worry, but resentment it is. So, here, very quickly, are some thoughts before I watch Doctor Who and have a snooze:

– London Marathon

It was the London Marathon today and I fully and utterly respect everyone doing it. Except maybe Gordon Ramsey. That’s not anything to do with his marathon running though. Everytime I hear about the marathon a small thought bounces round my brain that it’s something I should do at some point. Then, very quickly, the thought that follows it round is the reality of how much it would hurt, how much I hate running and how much I can’t be arsed. Its sad that that’s the case. I used to always say that because of my diabetes I couldn’t do it, but then some utter utter 92 year old diabetic fuckhead ran it. What a total arsehole. Not only did he prove that diabetics could run it, but also that really really old ones could, so me, being a young one of them had no excuse. Except I do, and its laziness and boredom. I reckon, with severe training, I could do the running bit. What I could handle is the extreme boredom of running for that long. I’d wander off and look at stuff, buy an ice cream and eventually forget where I was and have a sit down. The only way I think I could go for the whole event is if someone got a bus to drive along side, just slightly faster and someone persuaded me I had to catch it. Every so often it could slow down so I could bang on the doors angrily, the driver could flip the bird at me, which would drive me nuts, and would spur me on to chase after him as he sped up again. Bit elaborate, but I’d like it.

So anyone that’s running it without any of that deserves mention. Especially Terry Saunders and Wendy Wason as I know them. I haven’t sponsored either of them yet, because I’ve been broke, but at some point I will. Unless they didn’t make it, then they can sod off.

– Lazy Horses

On the motorway these last two days, there have been a lot of cars/4x4s/vans pulling trailers with horses in. I can’t help but feel those are the laziest horses around. Sure, times have changed and that. Not everyone goes around on horse back now, especially as they’ve transferred horse power to cars. Still not sure how they did that, as cars run on petrol and not glue. But surely horses are gonna get fat doing that aren’t they? If someone wants to get a horse from one place to the next, then they should ride it there. It’d be environmentally friendly (except when they fart) and much better for everyone involved. Except maybe the horse. Of course, it could just be natural evolution. Back in the day, everyone walked places, then we used horses, then trains and cars and planes. Whereas horses used to walk, then carry us, now they go in cars. Possibly in a few years all horse races will involve a small jeep pulling the horses around in a truck.

– Gigs

Last night’s gig was odd. I’ll admit, I wasn’t on top form thanks to having slight car head from drivingness. But I will still do the lazy thing and partly blame the audience. The crowd, while nice, didn’t want to show you they were nice. They smiled, nodded and occasionally actually guffawed, but only occasionally. A table at the back talked all the way through, until noticed by any of the acts, at which point they would be quiet and then wait till we started again to carry on talking. A man approached me in the interval to say he’d really enjoyed my set, but noted that the crowd were quiet and that people were chatty at the back, before saying ‘I don’t understand why people do that’. Neither do I. But I have thought about it a lot. I’m guessing its some sort of psychological disease that means you can only talk when its really inappropriate. I assume these people are unable to converse at any sort of social event, but get them in a library and they go bonkers with chat a-go-go. Jobs interviews are squirmed through with little input and are often failed, yet quiet carriage on a train and its like speaker’s corner for dickheads. After the first section the gig got much nicer and the crowd warmed up a bit due to the compereing skills of Dan Nightingale. Sadly, I was on first and so spent the rest of the gig eating crisps and staring at the chatters, hoping that if I did it enough they’d realise I drove 250 miles just so they could talk through me and hopefully that would cause their heads to explode. During the second interval the woman in the group collapsed and they all had to leave. Proof of my Jedi skills.

– Mini Jedi

Speaking of Jedi skills, before I left yesterday, I saw a small boy on my road, dressed entirely in proper Jedi robes. I was seriously impressed and, I must say, a bit jealous. Then I noticed an older boy sitting on the pavement next to him, fixing his bike. Hand back those robes. You are no Jedi if others have to fix things for you. I expect next time I see that boy, for him to be fixing all the bike bits together using simply his mind or I will brand him a fake.

– Vocoder

If I ruled everything, I would put an immediate ban on any music artist ever using a vocoder again. If they wanted to, they would have to fill out a form, play me the track and explain exactly what benefit it would having them sound like a really shit robot. If they could not justify it, a man called Baz would smash their vocoder with a stick and they would be told to start again. That is all.

Off to Cambridge tonight, where my entire drive will consist of me shouting how much I hate being in my car. Thanks.

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