Blasting Woes to Smithereens

I took a huge pile of 12" singles in to the University of the West for Jim, who collects oddball vinyl. He wasn't there, and the other sound engineers oohed and ahed, making me feel guilty that I hadn't offered them to them first! Jim's a fair chap and I am sure he'll share.

I  parked my ass in the boiling hot little office where the thesis students come for a weekly yak; three were missing, two ill and one on holiday in Boston where he's pretending to do research.
Ho hum, somebody does this every year, turning up at the last minute all excited and writing Not The Right Sort Of Thing. They are usually extremely affronted by the fact that I have identified their 'field trip' as a holiday.
Ho hum.

I had a nice chat with that Steve Beresford, fresh from playing melodica with The Slits on Friday night. He had really enjoyed it and we agreed that Ari is a fantastic live performer.

A young student has won the internal song writing competition and I spent a couple of hours helping her with her application. She had a streaming cold and I had to give her a paper hanky. Bless!

Out to the car park, where a parking ticket awaited me. I had misread the £5.50 fee as £5.00 and now I have to pay £60 fine. The rotters sell parking in three hour lots, the length of our lectures, so you have to pay for a day as you don't have time to get to or from the teaching rooms.
 I thought I'd paid for the whole day, and they are not going to show me any mercy.
This sort of thing often happens at this time of year: it's the sheer stress of the beginning of term. You take your eye off the ball and end up in the poo.
Grrr!

There's a hot curry in the fridge, a ready meal. I don't normally have these things but I'm too tired to cook and I have a lecture to write for Friday. I will heat it up and blast my woes to smithereens!