It’s “super Saturday” here in the UK.
Which is a term we last used when we won several golds in the London 2012 Olympics, but now means that pubs are open. Because that’s all the fucking matters now.
And to top it off, the billionaire owner of Wetherspoons – a man who looks like a scarecrow asked to dress itself for the first time – has asked the government for a £48 million pound loan and, of course, has been given it. Because the government love him, because he paid for most of Brexit, and Wetherspoons are the lowest common denominators when it comes to pubs.
Meanwhile, stuff like theatres which provides work for a lot of people I have got to know through general schmoozing on the internet and supporting their works in a variety of ways, gets fuck all because they don’t matter. We’ve got tickets for a comedy gig which is being rescheduled, as we thought it might, but when we were told that no-one ever imagined that the theatre the show is on in might not actually exist when we get round to the rescheduling part.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.
But hey, as long as you have football and pubs. You have all been so brave to get through these past few months without those two things.
Super bloody Saturday.