Red is the new Black. Half of the text refuses to change from grey to black and I must have uniformity for my sanity, so it’s all red from now on, like the mist before my eyes. WordPress grey is like a Stockport summer sky and I just can’t do wishy-washy; it’s not in my nature.
Phase Three of the X Factor started on Saturday, with the live shows. I was disappointed in Matt’s performance; it wasn’t terrible but he’ll have to get better if he’s going to win. I preferred his boot camp audition. He starts singing at 1:40.
Mary was fantastic but I don’t think she’ll win.
Aiden Grimshaw was the stand-out performer of the night. I hadn’t rated him but the Hub, in his infinite annoyingness, spotted him from his first audition. Although I’ve loved the song in all its incarnations, I never really understood just how mad a world it is until I watched his interpretation.
Perhaps the song needed a teenager to bring out the real meaning: it seemed to me that on Saturday Aiden was channelling Monday-morning Spud. Today’s Drama of the Week was initiated by odd socks. If my boys are anything to go by, grunge fashion extends as far as the feet; my sons never wear matching socks if they can avoid it.
Spud has to wear black socks for school on pain of being expelled, but I compromise by buying multiple pairs of the same pattern so he has matching socks but they are not necessarily from the same pair. Aren’t I clever?
This morning, he had a hissy fit because he had no school socks – and he had brought down his washing basket at eleven o’clock last night. I can only assume I should have set my alarm early and got up at five to wash them. I don’t have a tumble dryer but that’s not a problem because the morning screaming I do would provide enough hot air to send him off to school with the toastiest toes in Stockport.
Perhaps my child’s descent into typical teenagerdom inspired this bleak senryu, which came from the latest Writer’s Island prompt, ‘envision’. It was five stanzas long at first, but you need to know the Book of Revelation to appreciate it, and it was so grim I couldn’t bring myself to post the rest.
Envision a world
where fowl gorge on the flesh of
kings, and hope is dead.