It isn't really, The Scientist by Coldplay came on my Spotify, and just as I clicked "New Post", that lyric was sung, so I decided to use that. Yes, it's not very imaginative, yes it sounds fairly melancholy and yes, this is probably going to be a fairly meaningless blog, but you'll have to deal with it. I mean, no one concentrates on the blog titles anyway...right? Actually, scratch that. I have a better title from the previous one "It's such a shame for us to part."
Sadly, 2009 is a matter of weeks before it's curtain call, and, thankfully the year has been a much improved one, given the disaster that was last year (there's a link there, by the by), all culminating in what should be a hell of a finale. Christmas is 10 days away - those of you who haven't seen my wish list, see here. New Year shortly follows where I will aim to be so pyjama'd, I will forget what I did on New Years Eve so badly, that the guys behind The Hangover will be envious. Well, maybe not that bad, considering rohipnol was involved in their outing. Anyway, it should be one immense couple of weeks leading up to January 1, and I bloody well hope so.
Unfortunately, I completely forgot about this post until I was bored, went on Twitter (that useless piece of tripe that I've suddenly taken a liking too), saw that Barack Obama (yes, I'm following the Man himself) had written a blog, didn't read that and took the initiative to write my own, soon remembering that this one has been in the works for weeks. Silly me, I know many of you have desperately been clicking refresh on this page since my last post.
Well, seen as so far this blog has had many links to other sites on the World Wide Web, I'm not going to start with another one. New Year was a success, I think. And what I set out to do, was partially achieved - everything after around 1:30 AM is almost a complete blur, with waking up at 9:30 being the next thing I remember. Blimey, I wasn't expecting to get that drunk, I originally said I'd do that as a whimsical comment. Ho hum.
Continuing in reverse chronological order, Boxing Day was also a success, though the final result wasn't so much a success. I woke up at 11 ish AM in one of the numerous beds at the Farm my Grandparents on my Father's side live at, expecting a fairly normal day whereas I get to "play", per se, with my latest batch of Christmas gifts and the like. My younger brother stormed in, exclaiming "We're going to see Chelsea! We're going to see Chelsea!". Naturally, I didn't believe a single word that came out of his evil little mouth, and promptly returned to the land of nod. It wasn't until my sister stormed in, exclaiming in a much more serious voice, "Rhys, if you want to go see Chelsea, get your fat arse out of bed and get dressed." Now that I can believe. Ten minutes later, I was sat in the car on the way to St. Andrews, the home of Birmingham City FC. Boredom ensued throughout the 47 minute journey (I didn't time it, it was roughly 45 minutes, but 45 sounds too neat and perfect, and being the crazy person I am, I opted for 47), until we reached Birmingham itself. We drove around for 10 minutes searching for a Car Parking Space that incidentally we drove passed around 5 times, before eventually parking in it. We walked over to the stadium, and watched the match. It finished 0-0. We drove him, and so ends the latest chapter in that immensely successful book "Really Badly-written Jaunts".
And now, the main event. In the red corner, Rhys Bowen Jones. In the blue corner, a pile of Christmas gifts. There really was only going to be one winner. Until the pile of Christmas gifts combined almost, but not quite, entirely unlike the way the Transformers do. I joke. Yes, the young man from a village (is Llantwit Fardre a village?) in South Wales, successfully managed to open all of his presents successfully. They contained everything I asked for, with some extra bits and bobs to surprise and confuse us all. The highlight of my gifts? There really is only one winner. Not the aftershave. Not the cassette tape socks. Yes, the tickets to see a master at work. One, Peter Kay. I can almost feel the jealousy seeping through you all now.
As I wrote the title, something occurred to me. I don't think I've filled you all in on October 27th. The night, if you've all kept tabs on my more recent blogs, I witnessed a Green Day gig on that night. 6 words. The. Best. Night. Of. My. Life. Simple as that. They performed for nearly 3 hours, it was spellbinding. Mesmerising. Nothing, I doubt, will ever beat that night, unless I go see them again, or I suddenly gain millions upon millions of pounds. The former more probable than the latter.
The Infinite Improbability Drive would come in handy there, methinks.
2009, was epic. 2010? Give me the best you've got.