I suppose what is true is that I'm a sole worker, doing a job no-one cares much about, and mostly doing it quite badly. Here I sit, process fifteen tedious graphics, fiddle with a style sheet till it stops going wrong, briefly run the spellchecker over the page and woo! woo.
Forget about it. Instead, report: How the new management of the Port Mahon has brought sofas (with cream slip covers!), friendly aussie bar-staff and a pile of charity shop board games. When I arrived, a couple of the regular fixtures were being coaxed (with some success!) through a round of Trivial Pursuit by the barman, and the beer had a suspiciously clean taste. Even more astonishingly, upstairs, someone had opened the windows of the Stuffiest Venue in Town.
It's just not the same as it was back when it was the way that it was back then.
It was a [band for your mother's wedding] pretty nice [kind of a mates-only gig] evening, I thought, [square-dancey version of Pretty Vacant] even though the batteries [punk maypole using police aware tape, hazard tape?] in my camera [ref: Four Tet's morris dancing videos] gave up two shots in [facing my fear of the Country Dancing] and when [Brown Owl provides access to children] I got home [inadvertantly revealed that I had been police checked] I went and sat [possibly a heritage project?] outside under the cherry tree [intergenerational appeal] listening to the crickets [possible bring in some costume-making?] and thinking about [some form of accreditation could help] how even though it shouldn't have worked at all [minimum number for a decent maypole? 16? 20? could be tricky] how great that Depeche mode cover [revise: square-dance mosh, stylised?] Los Diablos played earlier [meh, probably too close to the fetish morris dancers] had been. [forget about it]
Not altogether autumn yet then.
Incidentally: Gunther von Hagens to plastinate the Colossal Squid. Nice to know it's in good hands. [ref]