Sorry, but I'm quite happy this week so this will probably be crap

So. It happened. IT ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. I was five feet away from DAVE GROHL at the Cheese and Grain in Frome AND I DIDN'T WET MY UNDERPANTS. I did, however, have the BEST NIGHT OF MY ENTIRE ACTUAL EXISTENCE and go deaf for three days. I was even more excited than when my children were born. Fact. But there has been a DEVASTATING after-effect from my close encounter with GOD. All week, I have been......IN A GOOD MOOD. Not pissed off about anything, not angry, nothing. I HAVE LOST MY MOODY MO-JO. And it's all down to the power of ROCK. It's amazing how much anger you can expel when punching annoyingly-voiced pretend rock fans (who only had tickets because 'oh yeh, my boss is the promoter, wouldn't have bothered otherwise' FUCK OFF HOME THEN YOU DENSE BITCH AND LET A PROPER FAN TAKE YOUR PLACE) in the back of the head in the guise of fist-pumping along to your favourite heavy metal melodies.

It was a great night, but I won't go on about it.......

There was a girl there, who was clearly an absolutely massive fan. She was a big girl (like me), no oil painting (like me) and covered in tattoos (much more than me) and do you know what? She didn't give a fuck. She was on her own. She was having the time of her life. And she didn't give a fuck. She was a REAL person. I liked that. I can't stand fake people. Boss-Promoter-Girl was fake. Kept flicking her perfect hair, 'oh my god my hair isn't perfect, oh quick I must take four thousand selfies', it's a FUCKING ROCK SHOW. People aren't there to look at you, dear! There's so much fakeness about these days, you hear it all day long 'oh, hi HUN, HOW AAAAARRE YOU, oh you have scabies, oh that's AMAZING' - go away, I don't like you, I don't care how you are and even if I did speak to you, you wouldn't listen because you're so self-absorbed that nothing else registers in your tiny mind but YOU. I am fortunate enough to have surrounded myself with REAL people - they don't judge, they don't expect anything, they are just PEOPLE. Why can't more people just be people! Also, those people that go on about how 'mad' they are. 'Oh, don't mind me, I'm a little bit MAD, crazy I am, just a bit ZANY!'. No. You're not mad, crazy or zany. You're a DICK with a tank top. Someone who is MAD or CRAZY would run down the High Street slashing people with a four foot long machete while reciting Black Sabbath lyrics, or dig holes in their forehead with a compass. Now that's REAL!

Mums. Are we here for any other purpose than running around after everyone else's sorry ass? The kid (aged 19, NINETEEN I FUCKING ASK YOU) was ill this week. I worked at home on Monday afternoon, soundtracked by Ralph and Huey upstairs. 'Mum, I am in pain, I think I'm dying, BLEURGH'. Nice. By Tuesday she had stopped barfing but was still squirting rusty water for England. Now, on my lunch break (note the words 'my', 'lunch', and 'break') I had to go to the post office for the old man and then go to Tesco for food for everyone else to eat. Nothing in that sentence denotes 'my', 'lunch' or 'break'. I got back, to receive a text from upstairs 'Mum please make me a cup of tea'. ARE YOU SHITTING ME? (My mistake, she was shitting herself.) No. No I fucking can't make you a cup of tea. I'm on 'my lunch break' which so far has not consisted of 'me', 'lunch', or 'break'. Harsh? I don't think so. Kids need to learn to toughen up these days, and if that means making you come downstairs to make your own cup of tea while you're trying not to soil yourself, then so be it. Take it as a life lesson. It won't be the last time you're trying to get what you want but just end up in a pile of shit.

Lyrics. We have fun with lyrics in our house. For instance, these things ALWAYS happen when I hear these words (I realise this won't be very funny to most people but I don't care, it makes me laugh) -

Linkin Park (now, Linkin Park, there's a funny thing - you'd think their singer would be some big hard bastard but no, he's a tiny, mouse-like, bespectacled lad called Chester who looks like he'd blow over if he was hit in the knackers by Storm Doris - Chester, now Davina McCall has a son called Chester, when he was born I managed to convince the kid that McCall was her stage name and that her real surname was Drawers, hence making her son's name Chester Drawers - she totally believed me for ages, right up until she was about 16), anyway, Linkin Park lyrics - 'Time is a valuable thing, watch it fly by as the pendulum swings, watch it count down to the end of the day, the clock ticks life away'.
Me - 'Watching Countdown till the end of the day? WHAT SORT OF ROCK STARS ARE THEY? I bet Richard Whiteley thinks they're TWATS.'
Everybody else in the house - 'We're sick of your shit Mum'.

Also -
Shirley Bassey - 'GOLD FINGAH!'
Me - 'BROWN FINGAH!'

Also -
Red Hot Chili Peppers - 'Can I smell your gasoline, can I pet your wolverine, on the day my best friend died I could not get my copper clean'
Me - 'Can I smell your cheesy beans, can I pet your wolverine, on the day my best friend died I could not give my cock a clean'.

I even sing that one to myself when I'm on my own in the car. I don't even HAVE a cock.