I accompanied someone to Northallerton's Friarage Hospital the other day, and had to wait for a while before seeing the consultant.
The waiting room was awash with matching blue chairs, except for this stand alone beauty, which l assume must have been donated by some kindly soul. The picture doesn't do justice to how much it stood out amongst the other chairs, but in a way, aren't we all red chairs trying to fit in with, influence, or make our mark on the rest of a conservative society, pointlessly screaming into the onrushing and all encompassing storm? In a similar vein, the red chair could represent Labour against the blue of the Conservatives, and the waiting room the limbo of the undecided and uncertain policies of our modern times, waiting to experience the Brexit aftermath, and the outcome of the possible unraveling of the currently flailing Labour party, but that just shows what mad thoughts can enter your head when there is bugger all to do but wait and think.
I think l maybe took too much acid when l was younger, and l have issues.
Time for a lie down..
Alan Vega is probably unknown to most people, but Vega and Martin Rev were responsible for some groundbreaking music when they were in 'Suicide', and their debut album is one of my all time favourites.
A man with serious bottle, and l don't mean the numerous ones that were thrown at him during their gigs.
At least there's still the music.
And last, but not least, the unsettling 'Frankie Teardrop.' Tension, a build up to a murder, and the most unhinged screams of desperation in a song. Not for the faint hearted.
This is a sketch of the Captain America statue that is about to be placed in Brooklyn, New York's Prospect Park, with the inscription 'I'm just a kid from Brooklyn'.
The trouble is, he was actually (according to the comics and his co-creator, Jack Kirby) born in Manhattan's Lower East Side, the son of Irish immigrants. Supposedly this is so films fans can identify with it, rather than the comic fans, which to me, is the wrong way round.
This is one of the reasons why, although some of the superhero films are pretty good, it drives me up the wall when they change the stories, so best not to get me started on the Spider-Man movies (again). I'm not even sure whether l should risk the 'Captain America - Civil War' film, as l really enjoyed the comic version, and don't want to taint my memory of that.
Time for a lie down before l get too worked up.
I've paid someone twice to do the garden this year, and the bleeding grass has managed to grow back again after both cuts, as every time l've been off work, the weather has been crap, or l've been out and about.
Yesterday however, l slaved away for hours trying to hack through thorns and bushes, plus cut the grass again and dig out roots, to find some semblance of a garden underneath. The grass bins are heaving, and will be emptied tomorrow, and l will hopefully finish it off afterwards, in preparation for the scorching sunshine that's about to appear (in my wildest dreams).
I may have to look at getting a false lawn down next year, and do away with all this crap.
After making some sausage sandwiches yesterday to watch the football with (the crunches and keep fit regime can always wait), l discovered that l'd run out of tomamto sauce. However, after a search of the cupboards, l discovered these satches of tomato sauce, bought while on holiday somewhere or other.
All well and good, but the trouble is, l know they are at least a few years old, don't know where they are from, and don't know how long the sauce will be edible for.
Did l google it to find out, or just slap it on the bread and take the risk?
What would Keith Richards do?
Reader, l think you know the answer, but l'm still alive and OK (maybe a matter of opinion) today.
Hopefully this won't be updated from hospital later on, and l still refuse to check how long the sauce lasts for.
Keith would be proud.