So tonight's the end of year reading bash for my research group, and it'll be held at Liverpool's Masque Theatre. As is always the case on the morning of a reading I have an open word document containing god knows ho wmany texts, and I'm struggling to select a few to do, with ineivitable quick rewrites. I was too busy to finish it last month because of NaNoWriMo, and last night was taken up with very important girlfriend-seeing duties, so I have nothing, as currently stands. I could do with spending the rest of the day working on it, however I have to go to work, as of approximately...now. Ah.
Look, I never claimed to be cool. As a a cliched middle aged male, I have a number of interests which, if not exactly niche, are perhaps not freighted with glamour. Not exactly ones to set the heart racing. I yearn not for wakeboarding, my cocaine with minor celebrities days are well and truly behind me, you are unlikely to catch me writing graffiti under a motorway bridge. I do cycle, but only as a way of getting from point A to point B, you are unlikely, you will be relieved to hear, to see me purchasing lycra and or/doing triathlons. I like going for a nice walk. I'm fond of a good book. I have a deep attachment to county cricket. Yes, that's right, county, not even the international stuff which briefly captures the nation's fleeting attention once in a blue moon. County cricket. Somerset CCC to be precise, though I'll watch / listen to any of it. The unpopular part of an unpopular sport. Well, that's the public perception, the much maligned two men and a dog. N...
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