Someone sang that to me in a dream last night. And I woke up struggling for breath and had to write it down. Then I went back to sleep and woke up this morning to find that phrase written on the piece of paper in handwriting totally unlike mine. Not just sleepy-me handwriting, but someone else’s neat and well-formed letters instead of my normal scrawl (“I think he writes too fast so he can get all his ideas out” my teacher said when I was 7, and it stuck in my head, because she then went on to say that it was better to lose some of the ideas and write down only what you could write neatly, which I thought was most odd in a 7 year old way and seemed to quite defeat the object of being in a place that was supposed to make you cleverer).
Freaky, deaky banana-brain. Anyway, if you type 2 disparate words into Google Image search, you sometimes get a nice surprise.
And now I remember that school teacher confusing me I also remember that the self same teacher was in charge of who was going to “go up” each year. Going up was a strange construct in which the chosen two, one boy and one girl, from each school year would jump up into the class of the kids a year older than them for half of the school year. Me and Sarah Golding it was every f–king year. It was like punishment for being clever. Everyone of your own age decided that you thought you were better than them and everyone in the class you were joining thought you were a baby from the year below. Pure torture it was and me and little Sarah stuck together like glue. Oh, and to top it all, on the first day of the second time it happened I was introduced to my new scarily older classmates and then asked whether I would like to hold the class hamster? Well, yes I bloody did as I thought maybe that will make me one of the gang. It didn’t, as no sooner had I picked up the equally terrified rodent, than the little bugger went and snuffed it right there, right in my hands, right in front of my new class mates. My least favourite teacher then panicked and said it was probably because I was breathing on it. Fan-effing-tastic. She then decided that we had to go through a funeral for this doomed critter and that I should be the one to dig the hole and drop in the flaccid fluffy corpse and “say a few words”. This I miserably did while my new best mates mouthed “murderer” at me behind her back. You know those people who end up going on a shotgun rampage through small town shopping centres? It’s nothing short of miraculous that I didn’t end up doing that in later life.
Sorry about that. It all just came back to me and, well, this is stress relief for me as much as anything.
Anyway, deep breath. I Went and saw Lara Fisher-Jones at Stopgap just the other day to try to get some well paid, low responsibility temp work in Market Research so as to get a much needed pre-Christmas cash injection. She was very nice and the interview was straight forward in the way that only interviews for a job you can do, standing on your head, one arm tied behind your back, can be. She sounded very hopeful and was apologetic that the day rate was low in comparison to my previous salary. I had to point out that in comparison to my CURRENT salary, it was pretty good.
Oh yeah, and who was the lady in the picture in the last post? Corinne from Swing Out Sister, that’s who. Swing Out Sister not only still exist, but are also ace. You don’t believe me do you? I saw them on Friday night and grinned from ear to ear all the way through. Buy this if you want to make your ears very happy…
