Mon, 7 February 2011
The Crapcast is so named because I am in one of the dingiest hotel rooms I have ever been in. In isn't even entertainingly bad, which would be something, just like being dressed in clothes from Marks and Spencer and being trapped inside a grey cardboard box listening to Keane's greatest hits. Anyhow, the shower was really good, and I can forgive almost any other atrocity in a hotel room, as long as the shower is hot and the pressure is good. Anyhow, I am abandoning the Hotel of Beige for a friend's house tonight, and then tootling back up to Edinburgh tomorrow evening to see my nice lady again. It makes a bit of change for me to be away on business instead of her, so I can go back and gloat about being a mover and a shaker… until she puts me firmly back in my place my reminding me that when she goes away it is to China and New York and Australia, not just a long weekend in London. And yes, I do refer to a bit of 'verbal writing' in this. Don't judge me too harshly. I was wrecked. 01. Billy Bragg - The Saturday Boy (00.56) |
