Evening all. I am writing this en route to London on the train to see The Stone Roses.
It is a glorious day and I can not wait for a beer in the sun with the husband.
The outlaws are looking after the ankle-biters and we’re off.
Our walk to the station was punctuated by my eyes nearly popping out of my head as I spotted various shock horrors and people that my mum would kindly refer to as a 3 M’er. The M’s that she refers to is Mates, Mirror, Mum.
Eg- the only reason she would have left the house looking like that is the 3 M’s- no mates, not mirror, no mum. Basically no one to pack her back upstairs saying- you look a show, now get your ass back up those stairs and get changed. (Obviously I always look polished and fantastic!)
So, now we are on the train and, following a refreshing slumber, I am people watching and listening.
In our carriage is a lad, of around 8 who has been collected from his ma by his dad. So far he has eaten a bag of crisps, a large bar of dairy milk and had a drink of Monster.
No fucking wonder the government is spending so much money on their Change for Life campaign.
The chocolate doesn’t even get divided into lines, just eaten straight from the modern (no satisfying nail through foil and break) packaging.
I hear a lot about this Change for Life initiative as Baby A’s nursery is taking part in the scheme so we regularly receive leaflets, fliers etc on the simple changes you can make to your diet.
I genuinely did not realise that there were people who were so dim that they needed telling that eating a truck load of chocolate whilst watching Britain’s Got Talent was not as good for them as strolling to the park, having a run around and then walking home chomping on an apple.
Tips actually include;
*Fill up on healthier food like fruit instead of food high in fat and sugar.
*Swap watching TV for doing an activity.
If you are so thick that these tips are genuine news to you then surely it would be a help to the rest of us if you do eat yourself into a coma?
Mr L’s friend put it very succinctly when he came over and noted me watching Gok Wan’s How to Look Good Naked.
How to look good naked?
Anyway, the gig at Finsbury Park is nothing short of immense.
There are all types of people there.
Stone Roses fans are their own breed, some look like they’ve been totally out of it since the infamous Spike Island gig and some look like they’ve moved into respectable suburbia but have got a pass for one night only back to their youth.
We stand somewhere near the back just in front of three bloody good bloke types who are so out of place they may as well be fish up a tree. One, I’ll call him Quentin, was overheard lamenting the fact that his bonds weren’t performing as well as he’d hoped. He sounded like an over privileged twat.
See other things that Quentin likes here.
As I am a few beers in I almost amble over to let him know that but then Ian comes on stage and saves the day.
His voice is shocking. He doesn’t sing a note in tune, the beers are extortionate, the queues for the toilets take hours and absolutely none of that matters. It is the best thing I’ve heard in years. Spending a whole 24 hours just me and the husband is a rare treat and reminds me that he’s a good egg! (Writing this as I am being forced to watch BGT live final. Loving the egg lady!)
PS- Slightly eating humble pie as the Change 4 Life leaflet does have some good recipes. Perhaps it isn’t totally like strapping money to a firework…