I know. I know. I bloody know, alright?! I’ve neglected this poor blog like a small child left in a box as a practical joke, I still haven’t updated the name or the graphic at the top, and there’s probably some other nitpicking you miserable sods can do as well. But the most important thing is that I am back blogging, and I know you’re all ecstatic about that.
I can’t even remember when my last entry was, and definitely can’t be bothered checking because I’ll probably be overcome with shame and go into a huge depression spiral, so I’ll just summarise what I’ve done in the last couple of weeks and anything I’ve missed out will have to be consigned to the great bin of wonder. I’ve done lots, and yet absolutely nothing at all.
I’ve discovered that a lot of people can’t adequately pronounce my username (KevsXe). I sort of knew this anyway thanks to some fairly shambolic attempts from broadcasters who’d read out my tweets/forum posts, mostly during motorsport events (I think I’ve had mentions on MotoGP, F1, DTM and Le Mans coverage now) and none of them got it right. So, for the record, because it’s highly likely you’ll need to say it out loud at some point, it’s “Kev-ess-ex-ee”. Not “Kev’s-ex-ee” (I don’t own any xenon), and definitely not “Kev-sexy”. There’s at least four things wrong with that last one.
Which does bring me neatly to my next point, vanity. Despite the bare-faced lies that are told to me, I am hideous. I’m now on (yet another) diet, which admittedly has started badly since Sadie decided what was needed yesterday was a ton of chocolate chip cupcakes and cookies, but at the same time I’m making an effort by eating carrot sticks, checking fat levels in food I eat and slathering everything in sweet chilli sauce. Virtually fat-free, albeit in no way sugar-free. But after some soul-searching, I think I’d rather end up diabetic and skinny than fat and diabetes-free. These are the things that go through my mind day-to-day.
I went to Blackpool a week ago. It’s hard to explain how this came about, Katy somehow came to the conclusion she needed some rock. We came home with no rock, but with cheap easter eggs and toffee dummies. And with, beyond a shadow of doubt, my favourite picture of me from the last two years.
Yes, that's me inside a kid's Postman Pat ride
I’ve been out. In Preston. At night. Faithful old Where’s Mavis, back in the day a staple, has bounced around a few venues and ended up upstairs in Roper Hall. Which sounds appalling. Upstairs in Roper is possibly, 53 Degrees aside, the worst place to get served in Preston. Possibly all of Lancashire. But despite me having to queue for upwards of 10 minutes for one J2O, and also despite me looking like a natural disaster, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. Even if I have devolved to the level of a handbag with a conscience that Sadie calls at the last minute when she realises she’ll have no sober company otherwise.
Football’s going well. I’ve been bricking it over Wolves’ relegation plight over the last few weeks, but we’ve won the last two games 3-1, and now safety is in our own hands, which is all we could hope for really. I’ll be absolutely made up if we pull it off. I think the Wolves tattoo I threw together the other week might have to be inked sometime over summer. I’m itching to get a new tat, and/or my labret (re)pierced. I’ve got my old collection of horns and spikes to plonk on it sitting forlornly on my shelf. I don’t have the heart to let them go unused.
Oh, and I almost forgot. Today is Eurovision. I know it’s probably the least goth thing in the known universe, but I’ve got even more into it than usual. God help me, I do love televoting. I watched both semis, while tweeting incessantly and working my way through some Sweet Chilli Sensations (Tuesday’s semi) and carrot sticks with sweet chilli dip (Thursday). Still haven’t decided what to go for tonight, but there’s half the carrot sticks still left, along with some BBQ salsa. May have to get something else though. Breadsticks could work.
I’ve just remembered this little ditty from the 2007 edition. I think it’s an appropriate point to end this entry.
I wish I was in Düsseldorf
Kev
Out of Step With the World 