I was doing a relaxation massage treatment last friday, creating a soothing ambiance and allowing my client to drift into a lovely sleep... when the sound of 'Smack My Bitch Up' came thundering through the partition wall that separates the treatment room from the gym. It made a nice change from those awful whale noises/pan pipe/synthesized wave sounds that some people insist on playing when they massage, but the less-than-mellifluous vocal qualities of Keith Flint isn't the most obvious accompaniment.
More musical irony came on Saturday when I flew to the UK for a friend's wedding. During the signing of the registers they played the theme tune to the Mr. Men.
It was a bit of a mad dash to the wedding. I arrived two minutes ahead of the bride. I just had time to sling on my good shoes in the car park, grab a camera from the boot and make a run for it. All-in-all it was a lovely weekend though. The wedding was in the New Forest in a beautiful country house, I got to see England in its Autumnal glory, drink champagne on the lawns and dance to Tom Jones' 'Sex Bomb' with my mum (yet more musical irony).
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