Swearing in French is not rock 'n roll

The old 'Road Rage' gene is still strong. Found that out yesterday when I was moving my stuff from Blackheath to Streatham. I don't get out of the car and start yelling. It's more like I get annoyed when people let people in ahead of me when traffic is generally bad. Then I swear out loud, sometimes in French, and hope nobody sees me. Obviously I keep it down at traffic lights.

Tonight was good though, a short trip to Tooting. But on the way back it was like getting into the car for the first time. I couldn't find the windscreen wipers, forgot to take the hand brake off, tried to start the car in gear and for half the journey didn't have my seat belt on. Had a great night. Maybe this is as much Rock 'n Roll as I need to be?

It's Bank Holiday tomorrow. Again. But for some of us in the press Corp, the hardcore elite you might say, it's just another day hacking away at useless gibberish before someone persuades us to get a real job. Caffeine and chocolate, with attempts to write the perfect sentence in between. Hmm. Perhaps this is as much Rock 'n Roll as I need to be?

I'll try and play a satellite tomorrow too, probably in the afternoon, depending on work. Winners get a seat to the main event on Saturday, which I can't play in anyway. But then again I may buy sheets, and cowboy boots on The Kings Road. These are heady days, with no time for second thoughts. Act now without hesitation or regrets. That just might be as Rock 'n Roll as I need to be.