Living Underwater

For the past six days my right ear has been completely blocked with wax the consistency and colour of year-old axle grease. This has led to a feeling of strange detachment, as if half of me is living underwater. It has also meant that I can't listen to music as one channel is "missing" and I've discovered that the hi-fi in the office does not possess a mono button. I find life without music bloody unbearable to be frank, and, to cap it all tonight I was supposed to be going to see Gavin Harrison & O5Ric with Stickmen. That will not mean much to some of you, but this curious amalgam of modern prog stalwarts feature many excursions into King Crimson territory in their sets, most having passed through the ranks of the prog behemoths at some point or other. Bugger.

A course of warm olive oil (not the cooking variety I hasten to add) dripped into the glutinous lughole twice daily, stoppered with cotton wool, until the wax plug shifts is what I have been advised into, and so far enough dark brown ooze has been expunged to fill a clown's pocket. That may be a slight exaggeration, but exactly what is the point of all this stuff, that's what I want to know? Despite this waning of the load I'm still 90% deaf in the offending head flap and still pissed off, socialising an impossibility unless everyone else is on my left hand side.
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Liz must have been freezing her tits off yesterday, and she and her 703 year-old hubby stood up for the entire four hours of the boat parade. Good on the old bird I say, and anyone who begrudges a bit of cheer in these stringent times must be made of wood.
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If you were living in the UK and the right age in 1976 or 1977 you'd also have to be hewn directly from a tree not to have been swept up by the zeitgeist of the time that was the coming of punk, as the splendid documentary Punk Britannia the other night proved. Death to ELP!
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Roy Hodgson has successfully lowered expectations for Ingurland in the soon come Euro 2012 footy fest to such an extent that they are now well below the event horizon. Hodgson has done this by picking all the English players from the team that came 8th in the Premier League. A cunning plan indeed.

Saturday's yawn-inducing friendly against Belgium saw a completely anonymous Ingurland grind out a 1-0 win, thanks largely to the efforts of Alex Oktober-Fest or whatever his name is, the only player on the pitch who looked like he was actually proud to be playing for his country. So that nadir of imbecility Andy Townsend gives the Man of the Match to...Steven Gerrard.
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Eh, you'll have to speak up. AH SAID YOU'LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP...