OK, so it turns out I am useless at updating blog type material, but I have been sticking to my programme which I worry may only be proving simple due to ‘Christmas Joy’ amongst strangers.
On Day Nine, aka Thursday, I spent the day busily crafting and sending homemade cards (quantity: 2) to friends. All two of them. That meant that that evening I had to make an extra special effort to appear sociable at the PodCart Christmas party at the 13th Note that evening – yay! Luckily several friends were in attendance, Kid Canaveral being one of the bands on the bill, and so the lovely Lloyd of Peenko music blog fame introduced me to the brains behind a fellow popular musical blog, AyeTunes. I managed to forget his name a couple of times, but let’s call him John and mention that he’s from Paisley.
On Day Ten I had an appointment at my local gym to talk about membership. I spoke to a lovely young man called Martin who was sporting a Mod type hairstyle – in a good way. I’m actually convinced enough about the programme to risk possible veruccas or bumping into old school ‘mates’ and will join at the beginning January when I’m nice and plump. We bitched about the employees at a local leisure centre, specifically one who let me take part in an OAP aerobics class. Whatabitch.
Day Eleven I met up with my friend Jessica and we made our way up to Castlemilk to put some backing vocals on a track for Kid Canaveral’s impending album. Our part mainly consisted of the word ‘la’ which somehow proved quite difficult to master. Luckily ‘Gal’ was at hand to tweak any duff parts. Here is a picture of all the ladies who took part, as posted to Kid Canaveral’s Twitter:
On Day Twelve Jessica and I braved a snowy Westend and browsed through a few shops for last-minute Christmas inspiration. As she’s a fellow craft enthusiast I took her to The Maisonette for a browse. We ended up looking all over the stores in DeCourcey’s Arcade and spoke to a girl in one of the independent designer shops. I say ‘spoke to’, we made conversation after she overheard me talking about the Bondage Club I had been invited to the previous evening. (To which, by the way, by initial reaction was ‘OH GOD NO’, but I have since decided that 2010 is the year of the PVC Tiger.)
On Day Thirteen I huddled myself away from the cold and frozen snow outside and so only spoke to a woman from the Barclay’s bank Recruitment Line. I have nothing to report from her; she made beige conversation.
