..no, no I'm not even in the slightest, but I had an epiphany that I first had at Glastonbury again on the bus this morning - the Arctic Monkeys are really fucking great. Like, really, really great. Like, great enough that it makes me really want to live up north again, away from the snideypoos of London Town who don't say what they think and don't know what they feel. Not, admittedly enough to bring up a child in the North, but that's Tom from Hollyoaks fault. Mind you, Ben from Eastenders is pretty much killing my love of southern kids too, so perhaps I will have to run off and have a kid with someone whose accent doesn't feature in a soap opera. Not that this is exactly an immediate concern I hasten to add, before my male friend start covering their crotches in the pub and I find a boiled bunny on my desk tomorow.
But anyway, I digress. Arctic Monkeys - ace. Totally ace. And anyone who laughs at me for being really middle of the road, or boring or obvious can sod off. I can't hear you anyway because I'm singing along to my ipod in a reet terrible norvern accent.
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