Open Again

Tuesday was fun, but odd. As my friends and regular readers will have gathered, I’ve had a rough couple of years which haven’t done my work output any good. Just as my fight came back and I started to get on top of the world again, I was given the best news I’d had all year: my dissertation deadline had been extended until the end of August. Last Tuesday, in fact. After an all-nighter to get it finished (I had far too much real life on my plate to organise my study time as effectively as I wanted), I finally handed it in at about half past eleven on Tuesday morning. I am now free from the shackles of formal education.

I texted a load of people to let them know I’d finished (and thus they wouldn’t have to put up with my whingeing anymore…) and got a call from Mr X asking if I’d join him in killing some time for a bit before a presentation. So far, so good. Parting company with him, I trolled my merry way to the cinema to get some tickets for a one-off showing of the original Wicker Man and to get my suit dry-cleaned for a job interview the following Thursday. Pretty mundane, I know.

The weirdness started as I spent the afternoon wandering round town. I got roped into a marketing survey at one point, earning £3.00 in shopping vouchers for my troubles, and I had them in my bag as I went looking for a specialist lighting shop to buy a particular lightbulb I’m after. I ended up in the tourist information booth on New Street to try and get help. As I left, I dropped one of the vouchers on the street and bent over to pick it up. A guy leaning on a bike next to me asked if it was a concert ticket and the fun began…

Half an hour later, I finished my conversation with this bloke. He listened to gospel music, seemed to know about 5% of the passing shopping population of Birmingham, and rambled to me about many weird and wonderful things. He told me about underground short wave radio stations that question conventional media and the running theory that young Rhys Jones was a gang member himself. I don’t know what it is with me, sometimes. I’m the guy the nutter on the bus always sits next to. Or who gets in conversations with drunk blokes and other random strangers. Perhaps I just have an approachable look…

Anyway, let’s cut an already pointless ramble of a story short and just say that my day ended in a pub, with Sobha, talking of many things. I know this post probably has all the interest of a brown paper bag, but its only purpose is to declare Nevermore open for business once again.