I have been to Cardiff. On a megabus.
I like Cardiff, but this was a tough journey – it was a sitting room gig – most odd. Then loud, slept in a room where there was a very loud child DJ playing very loud DJ type music to three people, two of which were trying to sleep.
I awoke to get the bus at 7:45am so that I could get back to London in time to be at work for 12. The rock n roll life I lead.
One thing that was keeping me going throught this hellish weekend was the Canadian Grand Prix. If you don’t know, I am a bit of a Formula One nut and don’t like missing Grands Prix (yes, this is the correct plural because I am a F1 nut and I know these things – I also still remember that Nigel Mansell’s birthday is 8/8/54).
So I put a tape on to tape the whole thing, oh yes.
I knew that by the time I got in from work at half eight I would be fucking knackered, so what better way to cap off this weekend than to sit on the sofa drifting in and out of sleep with a race on the box?
But on the tube from the megabus stop to work there is a man with a newspaper, and he is reading the sports section. I knew that this was potentially disaterous, I didn’t want to inadvertantly see the result. Espeically as the result was fairly likely that Alonso had won again and therefore it was probably a bit dull. It’s hard enough watching a dull race, but even harder when you know what happens in the end.
When you can’t look at something though, you don’t ‘alf want to, I was reduced on the tube in sheer tiredness to having to hold my hands over my eyes so I wouldn’t see.
He was reading about the World Cup, yes, I’d weakened and looked. He turned the page, I looked away, then snuck a glance… now it was Wimbledon, oh god, F1 will be next am I strong enough?
The page turned again, my temptous eyes were not strong enough and I caught a glimpse of the word Montreal – oh god, this was it – it was the F1 page.
I squeezed my eyes shut until I heard him turn the page again, I’d done well – I had proved myself as a man. I looked at the newspaper that had tried to test me. I was the conqueror.
But… he hadn’t turned the page, just rustled it, probably on purpose and my eyes registered a big picture of a victorious Fernando Alonso.
I hate the world.