My sister didn’t make the drum school auditions; so there’s more bad news for the Kazi Siblings. In true KS fashion, she was out celebrating her visit to London by going to the Proms and dining out, trying to push the knowledge of defeat into a box in the dark recesses of her mind where she can then lock it tight so it never resurfaces. It works like a charm for us!
I was expecting some cash today to plough back into my debit account that’s been in the red (and therefore costing me £50 a month in charges) ever since Homo Habilis turned wanderer and left the savannas of Africa following game northwards. Of course, as I log in to my bank account for the umpteenth time (with a pop up specially designed for me by the whiz boys at SH-BC bank that says “What? Back already”) I see that there has been no relieving of my dough-related doldrums.
I have to make a trip to Old Trafford today, hoping that it’s worth the hassle. Had a hell of a time trying to answer questions for a particularly nosey company. “How do I know what I’m good at if I’ve never done anything in my life?” I tell them. I figure honesty must count for something, right?