So 2016 is finally over. The positives from the screwed-up year: I discovered that my Game Boy and all my games for it are still working, Thistle Weir Ladies (Partick Thistle’s women’s team, for those not familiar with them) won promotion, Thatcher didn’t rise from the grave, Theresa May put three clowns in charge of Brexit (so it could still fall through, but I’m clutching at straws here), Planet Earth II and Still Game were fabulous and Prince left all these unheard songs in his vault which I’m looking forward to hopefully hearing eventually. I was also amused by the James Joyce Tribute Diving Pool – snotgreen and scrotumtightening – at the Olympics (incidentally, I’m planning to read A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man – which I first read when I was 13 – again soon).
Sunday was, of course, my birthday. I got two books – Bill Bryson’s The Road To Little Dribbling and Stuart Maconie’s The Pie At Night – , a big bar of chocolate and £30.
Later this month I’m hoping to go to the Wolverhampton Literary Festival, to hear Miles Hunt read from his latest book (which is his diaries from the early ’90s, when The Wonder Stuff had a number one single). If the discussion between Ned’s Atomic Dustbin singer Jonn Penney and author Martin Roach (whose book The Eight Legged Atomic Dustbin Will Eat Itself – the 2006 edition of his 1991 book about Pop Will Eat Itself, The Wonder Stuff and Ned’s Atomic Dustbin – I read in July / August 2016) is still going ahead I’ll go to that too.
Happy 2017 x