Schroedinger’s Cat goes to the shops

Sorry, been a bit quiet on here the last few days, mainly because it’s been a rather busy week this week, with a lot on at work (including latest developments on the voluntary redundancy front in the School of Healthcare) and a fair bit of stuff outside of work. Won the staff quiz on Monday with three colleagues, this despite me coming to semi-blows with the quizmaster after he refused to admit being wrong about the century George the Fourth reigned in. So I just had to rein in my tongue in the end, but thankfully we surged through in the last couple of rounds. I also won an individual quiz afterwards, so that’s me banned, probably.

Tuesday night me, Debbie and a friend of Debbie’s called Kevin went to Hull to see Morrissey. The Moz was playing at the Hull Ice Arena, a somewhat random venue, and perhaps disappointingly there was no skating involved. The Man himself (50 as of yesterday) gave a great performance although the set was, career-wise top and bottom-heavy: stuff from the last three albums interspersed with some Smiths classics, but nothing from his early solo period, no Suedehead, no Everyday is Like Sunday, no Playboys and so on. There was however a classic put-down moment – when a fan up near the front screamed “You saved my life!”, Morrissey’s sanguine response was “When?” You get the feeling he’s probably a bit tired of hearing that line from people. Much as I love the Smiths and, to a lesser extent, solo Morrissey (if we’re being honest, it’s getting on for twenty years since his last great solo album, although Ringleader was pretty good, but Years of Refusal is decidedly patchy), I’m not going to claim that his words of wisdom prevented me from going off the rails. The support act, incidentally, was Doll and the Kicks, essentially Garbage fronted by a cross between Gwen Stefani and Claire Grogan with a big bow in her hair. Passable but unmemorable – you could tell they were just grateful for the exposure. And I got Debbie unfeasibly excited when I spotted Simon Armitage whilst queuing for a drink (she’s definitely in the Armie Army).

Thursday night was Spending Daddy’s Money, my friend Chris Dresden Styles’s monthly gay electro night at the Retro Bar in Manchester. Always good fun, but sadly under-attended – attendance has yet to really ripple out from his core friends and supporters. He hinted that next month’s may be on a Friday, which could certainly help matters.

Today was a quiet day – I put this afternoon aside for revision and exam writing practice (three solid hours of writing would make a lot of people’s hands drop off in the computer age, so you need to get used to it to try and ward off the cramp). And this morning I once more discovered that the Morrisons in Horsforth, which has been undergoing an expansion for goodness-knows-how-long, had once more had its contents completely rearranged. It’s a bit like Schroedinger’s Cat, the hypothetical moggy used to prove that it’s possible for something to exist in two different states simultaneously, provided you don’t open the box. So provided you don’t go in Morrisons, the olives and the fruit juice may still be in the same place, or they may have moved. However, if you do go in there, everything has moved and the static olives cease to exist. Or something like that. Anyway, they now have an in-store bakery, which is bad news if I’m to avoid the cheese-topped French stick eyeing me up from the corner.

Right, off to sleep now (which may be difficult as there’s a party in full swing nearby). Promise to blog a bit more regularly this week.



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