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Apparently, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. So says my fellow Sister Act fan. So I gave myself a day off yesterday (which is one more than the rota did) and was thoroughly unproductive, managing only to dress myself and go to Wireless festival.

Some people in my position might have bemoaned the inevitable sting of ageing and felt miserable for being so out of touch. Not so moi. Much to the merriment of you younger types I spent the day saying things like “I don’t know who any of these people are,” “I thought it was pronounced deadmaufive” and “I’ve just realised Jessie J and Katy Perry are not the same thing.” I have turned into one of those people who thinks kids today have the most appalling taste in music. I’m quite comfortable with that.

What I’m less comfortable with is all that mud. Some of you crazy kids apparently weren’t expecting mud, judging by your choice of shoe (why anything other than wellies for goodness sake?!). I, on the other hand, can’t help being a little suspicious of it. Festival mud doesn’t smell like normal mud. It has its own peculiar stench. No doubt due in no small way to its composition of 2 parts cider to 1 part human excreta. And yet you kids of today were loving it. Sitting in it, rolling around in it, smearing it on your faces. A potent lesson to anyone with OCD is the fact that it didn’t do anyone any harm. No one lost an eye or succumbed to a bacteraemia, at least as far as I noticed.

Noticing things doesn’t seem to be something I’m good at. Since my phone had no signal from the moment I stepped through the gates I had to wander around aimlessly hoping someone would spot me. My spotting skills are so inadequate I knew I’d have to rely on the skills of others and maybe increase my noticability by putting my hood up to the driving rain and hunching forward so that my face couldn’t be seen. Surprisingly my tactics worked rather well. I walked straight past a bunch of my ladyfriends without having any idea of their presence until I heard them squealing my name. What luck! I was by that time preparing to enjoy myself with the first group of strangers that would take pity on me.

Of course, this needn’t have been the case had T-Mobile been doing their job properly. My phone is a strange little thing. So far I have worked out that if the signal bars are showing and if they are green then I have a usable signal and if there are no bars then I have no signal. However, there is some mysical limbo-like state where there are signal bars but they are white and this somehow means that I have no usable signal. “But how can this be?” I find myself muttering as I attempt to make a call. There are bars, that means I have a signal. So why can’t I call anyone? Why are those white bars there at all? What are they trying to tell me? I can’t work it out. It feels like something that should be whipping up a bit of a rage, but I’m currently lacking the motivation. Maybe after a little more caffeine I’ll be able to muster something more than that most detestable of all opinions: “meh.”

That reminds me, how did I get so drunk? I didn’t notice the finale fireworks until someone turned me round the right way to face them. My text messages on my way home were positively incoherent. I don’t remember much of my third and final bus journey. All I had to drink were 4 cans of those premixed vodka and gin things and two and a half pints of cider. Must have been the fact that I didn’t have any dinner. Yes, that was it.

CRPs for writing this instead of doing a presentation for class on Wednesday: -1

FrienPs for seeing the rain and the poor music and choosing not to bail: +1

FitnePs for still nothing: -2 (maybe tomorrow…)

Total so far…

  • Karma: +19
  • FRP: +123.1
  • Relationships: +4
  • Family: +10
  • Friends: +14 [Supplementary PPs: +2]
  • Career: +10
  • Fitness: -3
  • General: +2
  • Hospitality: +2
Lyric of the Week: Like I’m the only girl in the world.
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