If Bob Geldof was my dad

‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ by the Boomtown Rats is one of all my all-time favourite songs. That swirling piano intro, the yell-along chorus and the brilliant lyrics that I memorised back in 1979 thanks to Smash Hits magazine. Of course this was back in the day when gun wielding students had the decency not to shoot themselves after going on a killing spree and at least Brenda Ann Spencer had some excuse for it. I accept that not liking Mondays isn’t really the best defence, but who hasn’t occasionally harboured a few murderous thoughts on a Monday morning? Continue reading “If Bob Geldof was my dad”

Sweating for dummies

I’m a hypocrite. The things I mock and show the greatest disdain for, are usually the things I most want to do myself. This was true 8 years when I finished a marathon, a goal I had previously described as pointless and idiotic. There’s also falling in love at first sight (naive and irresponsible), writing a solo show (self-indulgent) and clipping out coupons (might as well be on food stamps). Given that I have now succumbed to all of the above, I fear it’s only a matter of time before I start playing golf, download a Willie Nelson song and buy an appliqued holiday cardigan. Continue reading “Sweating for dummies”