There is no food in the fridge, the flat is a mess, my girlfriend is in Prague till Sunday and I have a stinking hangover, what do I do now? Erm, I’ll lie in bed and starve whilst ignoring the sounds from my stomach and the ache in my head by using facebook/bebo to distract me. Its genius, what could go wrong?

I should probably explain my hangover. I was gigging at the gramofon bistro in Glasgow last night, headlining a new act night. Its run by a man called Bunstan McFunstan, who is a very nice man. The venue was decked in recycled wood panelling, EVERYWHERE! Resembling an unvarnished sauna or my grannies bathroom in the early 90’s. But with the lights down and a few tea candles, it seemed quite charming.

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Well what’s been happening since the last time I wrote? Lots of drama, but nothing that’s going to be terribly exciting. The job I was in, decided to sit me down and ask me not to come back on Monday, reason being that “I didn’t fit with the company” and that because I was within their probationary period it was “at their discretion to let me go”. 3 years recruitment experience, the only person in the office bringing in new business, more qualified and more invested in a quality product than anyone else there, “well you were half an hour late on Monday” WTF? Not sure if this is legal, so will be looking in to it.

But it has made me think; imagine we could do that to anyone in any job. In six weeks time all the joint chiefs in America call a meeting with President Obama:

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So I’m sitting in my flat, playing the channel tombola, when what catches my eye, but ITV2 are showing one of the best boy movies ever, NO, not Lock Stock cockney gangster filth, NO, not Yippeekayae Die Hard once upon a Christmas eve, But TOP GUN. Queue nostalgic evening of reminiscing with my early teenage memories.

The soundtrack, the story, the adrenalin, the cast, the kissing with tongues, the sense of loss, the heartbreak, the love, the big bad ass balls, the volleyball, the call signs, the punching a fist in the air whilst riding a motorbike watching a Tomcat take off. There are just so many things to love about it and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

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Damn it, damn it, damn it. What the hell happens when I leave my flat? The night before last I enjoyed a nice home cooked meal, which i eat in a comfortably tidy living room with a couple of beautifully chilled beers, watched some telly and went to bed.  Pretty non eventful, apart from seeing the advert for season 7 of 24, on the 7th day HE WILL NOT REST, I get goose bumps every time! But the point is that I didn’t do much that night, then got up the next day and went to work.

When I got home, the mess that was waiting in every room was representative of the carnage a carnival of beer monkeys would leave after their Sambucca fuelled Christmas party. How the hell did this happen? How did I manage to eat, sleep and get ready for work without noticing any of this? I’m starting to think I have advanced my selective hearing to now have fully functioning selective vision.

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