Home Alone

So my parents went away on holiday this morning, leaving me all alone in this big ol' house. Of course, they had no concerns about doing this. After all, I'm twenty-five years old. A grown man.

Which is why they would be quite surprised to know that, as soon as they left the house, I scampered upstairs, stuck an Anti-Flag record on at full volume, and proceeded to jump up and down on their bed whilst playing air guitar and singing loudly.

Yes, I know I post lengthy socio-political rants and serious fiction and all the rest of it. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the subtle joys of, say, running round the house with no clothes on.

In other news, I was round at the newsagents this afternoon, and while I was tucking my cigarettes into my back pocket, the girl behind the till asked me if I was going to the music festival tomorrow. After a moment of pure confusion, I remembered what she was talking about...and realised that the world had to know how much this town sucks.

Yes, I live in Borehamwood. Home of Big Brother and Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? and Eastenders. All of these programmes are filmed at various locations around Elstree studios. Which is interesting, because the studios aren't actually located in Elstree. They never have been. But then Elstree is quite a posh, arty area. Borehamwood, on the other hand, is a hive of scum and villainy. Which is fair enough, I suppose. Nobody wants to think of Stanley Kubrick doing his filming on the run for fear of being twatted with a pint glass.

I hate this town. I truly hate it. I was out job-hunting the other morning and all the trendy media types were walking from the train station to the studios like some kind of invading army, flashing their laminated Big Brother passes as though they were some indication of social status, rather than the next best thing to wearing a big sign that reads 'I am a whore. Please kill me'. Fucking parasites.

Ugh. I feel a hate crime coming on. Or maybe...a Hate Fable. There's a project for tomorrow.

But back to the main point of this ramble, which was tomorrow's music festival. The people that are organising this festival are wankers. There are no good bands in Borehamwood, and there are virtually no people who would want to see good bands in Borehamwood. Hence the 'music festival' becomes a chance for the local scum to get beered up and fight. As usual.

But that's not the best bit. Oh no. See, if I was holding a music festival in Borehamwood, the first name that came to mind would make me smile briefly and then get down to some serious thinking. But not these fuckers. They couldn't help themselves. They had to go for the obvious pun. They had to. Because they suck.

So, tell me...

Are you ready?

Well, are you?

Because tomorrow, my hometown plays host to...

BOREHAMWOODSTOCK.

I'm moving. To Beirut.