Album of the Day: Taylor Swift - 1989
Refused to listen. Not my shit.
⭐
The giant leylandii in the neighbour’s garden finally saw some action on Thursday morning. We’ve been trying to get it trimmed for a couple of years now.
It’s all been fairly friendly, if a little slow in progress. The legal advice is for 2m in height. The BEAST at the bottom of our garden is more like 10m.
OUCH.
A team of tree surgeons rocked up. I had a friendly chat. I tried to steer them towards the 2m height. The end result is around 4m.
Oh well. Life is a compromise.
Same again next year, fellas.
The Postman Delivers: Wreckless Eric’s Greatest Stiffs. I’ve been on the hunt for this for a few months now. I snaffled this up for a crowd pleasing £3.
Take the Cash, etc.
I was free mid-morning for a swim. I’ve let this lapse in recent weeks. I arrived at the pool, forgetting that it was aqua aerobics time.
Oh dear.
By pure chance, this was cancelled for once. This didn’t stop a walker from walking up and down in the fast lane. The stench of perfume was repulsive.
Cheers, Madam.
Afternoon work shifts were spent in the company of Part 2 of the HDIF ’84 mixtape.
We’re talking The Mighty Wah! TSC, Special AKA, DM’s Master and Servant, Flesh for Lulu, Lloyd Cole, Strawberry Switchblade, Psychedelic Furs, and yes, Mozza before he got cancelled.
1984 was such a bloody good year for slightly left field music. I can almost smell my trench coat flapping away as I shuffle along at the 6th form disco at Keyworth Squash Club.
Another pint of cherry brandy please.
Chin chin.
Essex Rebels emailed with news of a priority window for season ticket renewals. New for this year is that you get to choose your own seat. I can’t bloody wait.
Up the Rebs.
Out went the shout of: To the Tennis Club! …early evening. Thursday night is PICKLEBALL night, right?
The forecast begged to differed. There was a small hardcore of pickleballers. I was half expecting Sir bloody Cliff to turn up to keep us smiling during the drizzle.
My three layers of clothing just about held up. We all agreed that enough was enough after an hour or so. It was still great fun.
I cycled past a random wearing a bloody dry robe on the way home. When did dry robes become the new rain coats?
Thursday evening was spent shouting at the telly during various political bollocks, before enjoying England in the hit ‘n’ giggle. Alongside some BOOZE.
Chin chin.