Neil Scott

It is Monday. The weekend is already a distant memory. Tiredness grips me like a cobra, squeezing my life force out of me.

There is a certain type of amateur band that plays their home town once a month because, the first time they played, load of their mates turned up. Unfortunately, the mates drift away after about three gigs and aren’t replaced by proper fans. The band are left in a no man’s land of unpopularity. Clearly, you should never play too often.

I was thinking about how my daily blogging is just like that amateur band. Every day is too much, readers start to resent you, especially when you write stuff of no consequence. Like the band, you start to say things like “I just enjoy playing and if anyone else likes it it’s a bonus.” It’s a downward spiral.

Yesterday we watched Mad Max 2, which I had remembered as being revelatory of the bleakness ahead. I first saw it when I was very young - maybe 10 or 11 - and it deeply impressed me. I loved the feral kid with his boomerang and the post apocalyptic punk archetype (most recently utilized in Doomsday). This time around it was a bit disappointing though, Gibson is wooden rather than inscrutable and the Brian May’s music is far too bombastic.

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