Millions of hack-churned online articles about blogging will tell you never to acknowledge a gap in your writing. But here at TWTN, we (meaning… me) take convention and ignore it like the nutter on the bus.
It’s been a while, eh gang?
Apologies, rant-fans, but sometimes paid work, website redesigns and graduation ceremonies (that’s right- fully certified Master of the Arts now, bitches) get in the way of writing about random subjects for no real reason at all…
But here we are. So forget all this ‘listen to this’ and ‘you should check out this’ music rubbish I’ve been doing, my reader checks in to read badly researched (if researched at all) bemoaning of this tiny island clusterfuck we know as Great Britain, right? Fuck yeah!
You’re in luck this week. I’ve decided I don’t like dinner parties… YAY!!!
One of the inevitable signs of ageing, the dinner party is a sure sign that (non-infant-induced) all-nighters are over and you should invest in a cozy pair of slippers, one’s like your parents wear, because YOU’RE TURNING INTO THEM.
Don’t worry, it happens to all of us.
If you’re thinking: “I enjoy a good dinner party; I’m not sure I like where this is going, Tom.” Bare with me.
So without further padding, here are a few reasons why dinner parties mean you’re turning boring:
Unless people find being in your company poisonous, chances are there are a few people in your social circle that you’ve known since your schooldays. People you have known by their embarrassing and immature nickname since your mid-teens. People who stood by claiming not to know you as you vomited on that bouncer outside Walkabout that time. People that, you’ve noticed, always fuck off just before its their round in the boozer. Cheeky cu…
But now- NOW, because you’re ‘a grown-up’ and he’s got a new missus he’s trying to impress (oh, if only you knew the half of it, treacle), you sit there slurping at a bowl of overcooked coq-au-vin served two hours and a domestic later than you were promised and you can’t even make a joke about coq. Cos it’s another word for willy, you see… Ha.
Two years ago you would’ve been honest about its foulness, pushed your bowl aside and ordered in a curry. Then you would’ve loudly and proudly made that awesome coq joke to rapturous laughter. What’s changed for the better, exactly?
But it doesn’t stop there, does it?
Not only do you not break out your fabulous slice of word-play, but you find yourself making ‘mmm’ noises like you do to a fussy toddler at teatime and announcing how delicious the meal is so much even you don’t believe yourself. All while you share boring stories about your boring, eventless week at work that no-one else cares about.
Not enough false for you? To really cement the lies, some people even ask for the awful recipe the disaster they’re eating was derived from.
There is always one there. They probably volunteered too. See where this is going?
I’ll leave this point at that then, eh?
The gaps in conversation
We all know the rules; never talk politics, religion, race or music (yes, that’s one of the rules) at dinner parties or any time you socialise, to be fair. Provided you stick to that mantra, most social situations should be manageable.
The thing to look out for is when the conversation reaches a lull. Does the atmosphere get a bit uncomfortable? Does someone say ‘So… yeah’ all vacant-like, laugh awkwardly or do some other verbal tic to try and move through it?
Yeah, you’re boring. I hate to be the one to break it to you (just fucking about- your pain is like chocolate to me).
I think that’s a safe place to stop isn’t it?
So the previously snappily-titled ‘Observations on life, in a sort of list form, put together by an optimistic cynic’ is back. Check back each week for more rambling.
I’m dumping on weddings next.
Till then, don’t forget to check out musicliberation.blogspot.co.uk/ for reviews what I have written (a new one went live this week) and I may finish my latest crap poem soon too. That’ll go on the Poetry section, funnily enough.
Till then, then…