I’m being mocked by my bathroom extractor fan. Last night it kept me awake for a full twenty minutes while it held its own private rave without the slightest bit of concern for the fact that I had to be up for work in less than six hours. To be fair it is my own fault for switching the light on in the first place, but I have my reasons. Namely the fact that my sickly rose scented candle that had been illuminating my late-night toilet visits for the last week had burned away to nothing and I didn’t fancy wetting my toes with an aimless release. At the moment it’s kicking out the most amazing noise imaginable, think of a tractor slowly trudging it’s way across a sea of percussion instruments, only it’s actually performed by the choir/orchestra abomination that sound-tracked those Honda adverts where with only their mouths they made the noise of a revving engine, or a windscreen wiper or Chinese water torture.
This morning while I was minding my own business having a shave it took things to a whole new level, it actually 'treated' me an eerily accurate rendition of ‘Rockafella Skank’ by FatBoy Slim – note perfect. Okay, it was only the middle bit where the whole thing slows down and goes "Fuuuuuuunnnnnk Sooooooouul Brrrrrrrooothhhheeeeer!" but it was creepy, and wildly impressive all the same. It was mocking me, and I know why. Two weeks ago after a predictably cat-fight and tear-filled night out I officially retired from attending nightclubs. I just can’t do it anymore, I can’t justify putting myself through the whole torrid experience and nor do I see the point. I’ve never honestly enjoyed frequenting such establishments in the first place, bar for a bizarre six week period a couple of years ago when I tried my hardest to really enjoy myself…and failed miserably. Now I can officially reveal that it’s over, I’m through, I’m too old. At 23 you might think that’s a sad indictment on me as a person but, you’d be wrong, it’s actually a sad indictment on society as a whole, the culture that encapsulates nightclubs and the people that partake in it.
As tomorrow is the day of the Wales Vs England match, Valentines Day has officially been moved forward to today for everyone who calls Wales home. Therefore I get even more of an excuse to rant at what has to be the single most pretentious, detestable date on the whole bloody calendar. I actually couldn’t think of a day to hate quite as much even if I was given free reign to crate a rival – World-Wide Bono Appreciation Day might only manage to draw level, and only on the years it fell on a weekend. What’s more depressing is that even Hollywood Studios have given up entirely in attempting to produce a decent romantic movie for the occasion. The best they can come up with this year is the wonderfully titled She’s Just Not That Into You which from name alone gives you the impression that it’s not going to be the happy love-fest you need on a day when 90% of the population is screaming for a distraction from the fact that their spending the day, and possibly the rest of their lives with someone they pretty much cant stand. I mean last year’s best offerings were P.S I Love You where, and correct me if I’m wrong, but the main love interest was dead from the opening credits, or Definitely Maybe a horribly average film which only worked to focus Hollywood’s inability to produce a genuinely quality romance by the fact that movie critics everywhere swooned over it like a homeless puppy. One laughably even compared it to the works of Woody Allen – Bollocks! Until Hollywood and all its 'talent' remembers what a romantic movie should be, I’ll be at home watching Casablanca on DVD and reminding myself exactly what they should be like, and that’s actually perfectly fine by me.
A.J.
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