Resting

The problem being "between jobs" at this time of year is the shit weather.
Sometimes I think, I might as well be sheltering in someone else's office using their central heating.
If it was June or July, this enforced leisure period would be much more enjoyable.
But dems da breaks.
Jeff O'Boyle was compering Red Raw at The Stand on Monday.
He informed the audience that there would be a "prize draw".
There is always a prize draw, and the existing convention is that on hearing this news, the audience make an excitable
"woooooooooo!" sound.
Interestingly, I was the only person in the club that night who made an excitable (and very loud) "woooooooooo!' sound.
It was very funny.
You had to be there.
I've always thought of myself as having a relaxed, informal Bohemian style when it comes to dress sense and appearance.
This is a look I've assiduously cultivated through the years.
However, my self-image took a bit of a knock on Monday when I was compared to a "tramp" by two separate individuals of my aquaintance.
I assume the remarks were borne primarily out of jealously, as the accusers themselves are highly unlikely to find themselves in the shortlist for "Best Dressed Person 2009".
Nevertheless, I don't want to be complacent, and am going to buy some new clothes this weekend.
I've now gone 7 weeks without a cigarette, and feel good.
My lungs are cock-a-hoop, but my liver is a bit pissed off at the additional workload that has come its way as a consequence of my decision to bid farewell to Mr Nicotine.
I got through the "Beechers Brook" of the no fags regime ok (ie doing a Thurs/Fri/Sat run at The Stand without succumbing to the temptation of the ritual pre and post-gig cigs).
However, this is just a warm up for the "Festive Period" ; very much the Helmand Province tour for the ex-smoking fraternity.
I was trying to get parked near Causewayside in Edinburgh yesterday without much success.
Then suddenly I came across a street with loads and loads of free "pay and display" spaces.
Something didn't seem right.
Anyway, I parked and approached the meter to buy my 30 minutes of parking time (more than enough, but sensibly buying a little extra in case I got delayed).
So anyway, it turns out you have to buy AT LEAST 3 hours of parking time...for £3.
No wonder the street was empty.
Whose idea was that?
I reluctantly paid the £3 then found out that the sports shop that I was told was a good place to buy trainers, doesn't exist any more.
I just want a bog standard pair of trainers, without lights on them, or big padded heels, or stupid colours, that have astro turf studs on them...but apparently this is impossible.
It's an injustice, it is.