Dragged a comb across my head...

I had my ears lowered today, it feels a lot better. I went to our local version on Tony & Guy and had my hair cut by a young lady. Surprisingly she didn’t once mention holidays. She was pleasingly quiet, I’ll go back there. Barbers are no better, all they talk about is sodding motorbikes, at least in a hairdressers the person cutting your hair smells pleasant.

On the way home I called for some petrol for tomorrow’s road trip, more on that in a minute. I’m going to add to my list of how to be a productive member of society:

When there’s a line of cars at the petrol station so long it reminds you of a Soviet bread queue, just amble back to your car, adjust your seat, eat a pork pie maybe, then casually start your car, remembering to set the temperature of the climate control and the volume of the radio. Only when you’re good and ready must you pull off. Don’t for one single fucking minute give a monkey’s toss about the poor sod in the queue behind you. He or she will relish the opportunity to sit and do nothing whilst every other pump becomes free and all those in the queue behind him or her get their fuel first. It’s a fantastic opportunity for that person to ponder the deeper questions of life, like why we’re here and why Kenny Rodgers is still breathing while Lennon has been dead thirty years.

So, tomorrow we’re off to Melton Mowbray, home of the famous pork pie. It’s a good four and half hour drive so it’s an early start, breakfast on the road and lunch, obviously, will be pie related. I’ll spill the beans on the reason for the trip after I learn of the outcome.

Quesadillas for tea, homemade of course, and very tasty they were. What was less than tasty was the performance by the Blues at Liverpool. Not happy. Poor tactics from Bobby tonight, more than one eye on Saturday, but in my opinion that’s taking the piss out of Liverpool, and we paid a hefty price. Fair play to the scousers. If we play like that on Saturday our season’s over.