As the sun is scorching today despite the fact that we are now midway into the Argyll autumn, you would be forgiven for thinking that I would be in a pleasant mood ahead of this weekend.
I am not. I have to work this weekend. My weekend, which could yet turn out to be the last glimpse of sunshine between now and next year, will be spent indoors. At a Mod.
For the uninitiated, a Mod is a festival of Gaelic music and song. I don't speak Gaelic. The music and songs always sound very sombre. I dislike the pageantary that is associated with the Mods, the matching tartan uniforms and arcane traditions.
And so, this weekend is not looked upon favourably by the Groanin' Jock. Where I would normally be working out how to maximise my time in the sun (lying in the garden reading the newspaper with a cold beer and some crisps would normally top the list), I am now to be subjected to almost eight hours of maudlin Gaelic whining.
How I miss the carefree days of my student years, when whole hours, nay WEEKS, were spent doing next to nothing, all in the name of getting an education. I may have been broke and forced to attend lectures at 9am, as well as working crappy jobs to finance the debauchery, but at least no-one made me listen to Gaelic music.
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