the boys are back in town!
That is, the boys (or rather the players, since I always endeavour to be fair and the casual referring to of adult women as ‘girls’ gives me the fucking rage) of Scarborough Athletic FC, whose first home game in Scarborough in ten years or so finally happened on the 15th of July – yay! The huge free T-shirts and superior pies more than made up for the PA system breaking down and being unable to play the title song and also the result, not that anybody who was there let that spoil the occasion. A fine day was had by all, even if I managed to pick the coldest, windiest corner of the ground from which to spectate – with an attendance of 2038 there wasn’t a lot of room to spare.
So no more Saturday afternoon bus rides to Bridlington and back, which is good news for anybody who’s previously tried to prebook a Saturday incall and been thwarted by the fixtures list. Another few weeks have whizzed past not that the weather has been told, but it’s definitely supposed to be summer (a situation unlikely to be improved by the onset of the school summer holidays, but now at least the leisure centre swimming pool is offering a bit more choice for those who might like a swim of a daytime) and thankfully Wimbledon is long gone which means my London trip is approaching fast – both of them, in fact!
In my haste to get back amongst it (not least because the RA’s Summer Exhibition is closing soon and I haven’t been yet) I forgot that I’m heading back down for FrightFest nary a week after I get back; having regretfully skipped Somerset House and the outdoor cinema this year my usual August plans were all to cock (so to speak) and whilst in a work context that would be a good thing, in terms of organising real life it’ll mean a fair old rush about for the interim week when I’m at home. The day or days immediately following a busy trip away would normally be spent continuing my quest to rewatch The Sopranos from beginning to end and eating pikelets with golden syrup taking a little quiet time to catch up with the jobs at home, but since I’ll be wiping out almost the entire latter half of the month Scarborough-wise I’ve vowed to show willing for the few days I’m back, so locals please fear not – it’ll be business as usual!
I can recuperate over the five days I’ll be spending in my shiny Leicester Square cinema seat enjoying the likes of Meatball Machine Kodoku, the latest considered, thoughtful study in understatement and restraint by the folk who brought us Tokyo Gore Police and Helldriver. Hmmm.
Anybody interested in finding out more (and who wouldn’t) can find out all about it via the FrightFest site! Needless to say I won’t be taking bookings before or after MMK – I may nip back to the hotel for a shower and possibly a sedative. All the upcoming awaydays I currently know about are on the next page now, so any forward planning may commence; future dates for Pimlico and Waterloo are also in the organising stages too and will be added directly. It’ll soon be Christmas…
All of the above begins in a couple of weeks time (just after Scarborough’s first league game against Hyde) and things can pootle along here in the meantime with the odd summery interjection – the trip to the Harbour Bar pictured above for starters, which immediately followed the Golden Grid next door and rounded off a not-terribly-punishing day on the seafront. The ongoing routine of regular gym and pool visits at the new Scarborough Sports Village is ensuring that even battered fish with chips, peas and a sundae are barely registering and the keen eyed will have noticed that my dress and bra size have both dropped a bit – I’ve updated ads accordingly but not yet got to all of them and whilst the pictures aren’t inaccurate as such, do expect somebody slightly leaner until I get some new ones up/visit the Golden Grid a few more times.
I had little choice other than to notice a couple of weeks ago when my knickers started to fall down on my way over Valley Bridge. A very hasty diversion to Marks & Spencer was embarked upon, although not before an even hastier dash to the flat (whilst pretending none-too-convincingly to clutch my handbag to my hip) where I was able to take them off. On the plus side, I can now get into my 1996 summer dress from TopShop, which I’ve got close to putting in the charity shop bag every single year and never did because I loved it so much. Now I just need a way to lose twenty years too, unless I team it with a cardigan and some sensible flats. Happy days.
Song of the week probably ought to have been the title track especially when we missed out on it at football, but since I was listening to the classic below at exactly the point I noticed I was losing my underwear (and not withstanding it being one of my favourite songs of all time) we’re having The Clash instead. So now we know that women only have to hear the late Joe Strummer’s voice and their knickers fall off, which might be a new one on some. Not me, mind.
More soon! And at the time of writing, even the sun has come out.
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