Stewart is at T in the Park and is delighting in texting me every hour or so with news of the latest band he has seen and just how fabulous PJ Harvey, The Pixies and all are.
He knows this is making me very jealous, in fact it occurs to me that this may indeed be the point.
After two days of this I decide to mount a counter attack and start pointing out that whilst he may have the better entertainment, at the end of the night he’ll be grabbing a dodgy overpriced kebab, risking food-poisoning and heading back to sleep on the hard ground in his cold tent. I on the other hand will spend half an hour in the private pool working up an appetite for the gourmet dinner before curling up in my huge, luxurious, warm bed.
It seems to do the trick and as it turns out, apparently the tent was not only cold, but he was kept awake all night by a group of twats nearby singing “Have a Nice Day” ad nauseam.
Stereophonics in the wee small hours? Surely there should be a bye-law against that.
No comments:
Post a Comment