Holidays aren't really my thing. I still refuse to go abroad. Why bother? A mate of mine is going travelling soon. I really don't see the attraction of that. Either it'll be great and you won't want to come back or it'll be sh#t and you'll wish you'd never gone. My girlfriend gets very annoyed at this attitude but I'm not sure it'll ever change.
Going to Edinburgh for a week was a sort of compromise holiday I guess. This brings me to the second problem I have with holidays, I like them at the time but they have to end at some point and when they do you get a big fat dose of: POST HOLIDAY BLUES. I can feel them kicking in as we draw away from Edinburgh. It's as if colour bleeds out of the world the further away we get from the festival. It's even more irritating to think that for everyone else it just carries on. As if to emphasise the point I get a text from Jett Loe asking if I want to hook up and shoot some stuff for Constant Comedy.com. I explain that we're off out of Edinburgh.
Gutted. My P.H.B will probably last for about a week or so. You don't get that if you don't have a holiday. Take a week off and you've lost two weeks from your work schedule. It's impossible to concetrate at work with P.H.B.
My mind spits bile at the human race as represented by the tabloid newspaper I'm reading. I'm hungover, I feel fat and my holiday has come to an end. Ruined.