In a slightly bored fit I thought I'd see what single was number one on the day I was born. As it turns out it's something by David Soul. Silver Lady, to be precise. Which only goes to show that the single buying public of 1977 let me down quite badly (though loking through the list, nobody born in 77 got a fair crack of the whip, them's some dismal charts). My son fares marginally better, but only just, he gets to put up with the sugababes b-team's "About you now". The wife wins with Abba's "The name of the game", though that is kind of like winning by saying hah, you've got scrofula, I've only got diptheria, so, y'know, swings and roundabouts.
An unpleasant, but in the grand scheme of things quite minor, incident occurred at a local school yesterday. Two lads entered the premises looking for another kid they wanted to assault. The school followed protocols and was locked down until the situation was resolved. Grim enough in and of itself, but not exactly a massive piece of news. Except, of course, on local Facebook pages, where a cast of many hang around visibly thirsting for events like this. This isn't a post about them, however. There is something desperately sad about a million posts on the same subject, everyone breathlessly recycling the same story without checking whether it might have already been covered. It speaks to an unfulfilled existence. Nor is this a post about Facebook and it's local pages, though they are a weird and interesting ecosystem. Were it not for running the pub, my Meta presence would be minimal, I need to be on there for work, and stuff like this is a necessary accoutrement. No, what depr...
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