Overreaction

Well we all kind of suspected he wouldn't turn up but in the end Michael Jackson didn’t even get chance to prove us wrong and attend what he himself had billed as his ‘final curtain call’. They'd already hinted that wasn't up to singing much, so we assumed he'd do a 'Britney'. They'd also said he wasn't up to dancing much and had been auditioning body doubles. Hmmm, perhaps they'll just go ahead anyway. Then again they reckon he was rehearing like a ‘good un’ just before he snuffed it. Who do you believe?

If true, that also snuffs out the rumours that he could have faked his own death to get out of the shows and escape his debts. It would have been a good ploy. I mean could anybody have verified it was him? Does anyone know what he looks like anymore? What’s for sure is the aftermath will keep the lawyers busy.

This overreaction sums up 'waste of space Britain', a woman called our local radio station this morning to say that she was so distraught by his death that she’d had to ring work to tell them she was ‘too upset to come in’. The presenter asked what her employer had said when she told them her reasons.

'Oh I couldn't tell them why obviously, my reasons were too personal’, no I bet she couldn't. I just hope someone from her company was listening to the radio. The thought of work leaves most of us too distraught to get out of bed in the morning but you just get on with it.

L has signed herself up with a personal trainer, in what’s called the One-2-One Scheme. Ok so it’s through the council, so we’re not exactly expecting the selectors for the 2012 Olympics to be hammering at our door immediately but give it time. It’s also free with our membership, so I could have one too if I wanted. L’s got four Friday afternoons booked, where her trainer will put her through her paces. Hope he doesn’t take too much out of her, we often have our own Friday evening One-2-One, when it doesn’t get hijacked but tonight both kids are out.

Daughter is off to her School Prom (oh the horrible Americanisms) and after I get home, I drop her off at a friend’s house where she is going to get ready. Son is already out... playing football? That’ll wipe him out; it’s been years and then he’s heading up to a mate’s place for the rest of the night. He’s not coming back until tomorrow. So we have the house to ourselves... then the phone rings, it’s Son, its half time in his evening. Can he come home for some tea and a shower? The phone goes again, it’s Daughter. She’s forgotten the belt for her dress, can someone drop it round? The best laid plans...

Later we head up to spectate at said ‘prom’, my father turns up too and surreptitiously lurks in the bushes taking photos. He’s lucky the NYPD doesn’t arrest him but of course it’s only a themed limo and actually he’s not really that surreptitious because some of my photos clearly show him stood on a wall taking pictures of the event from above.

Afterwards we head to the pub. Which is an added bonus, we had expected to have to find something non-alcoholic to do because we assumed Daughter would need a lift home but she’s given us the night off. Damn, she’s stuffed my alcohol units now because I opened a bottle of wine last night in lieu of an AF night tonight. Oh well, we’ll cope.

After a few at the Plough we watch a bit of Glastonbury. Doves and Bloc Party are both good. Although Doves play more or less the same set again with one notable exception, they treat Glastonbury to the brilliant ‘Cedar Room’. Lucky swines.