So, in absolutely no order whatsoever:
Waking up is hard to do suggested by Lisa
When is waking up hard to do?
Is it early on a Monday morning, when your alarm kicks you in the ears? After a weekend of freedom and friends, excitement and excess, is the return to the week's monotony, dull pressure, politeness and responsibility to much to open your eyes for? Is that when waking up is hard to do?
No, that's not when.
Is it the morning after the night and morning before? When the bits of machinery clanging around in your head seem somehow louder than the call to rise and commute, is it too much then to wake yourself from that feverish, panicky part-slumber? Is that when waking up is hard to do?
No, that's not when.
Is it on Sunday afternoon, slumped in front of the telly, full of bird and cake? Maybe it's Christmas Day. Maybe it's the one visit you're likely to make home this year, and your Mum's gratitude is such that she's going to force a year's Sunday dinners down you. Maybe you do this every weekend. There's something sedate and Middle England on the TV, but you're not really watching it. Because you can't keep your eyes open. Is that when waking up is hard to do?
No, that's not when.
No. It's not. I'll tell you when it is.
It's when you want it to work. You are desperate for it to work. You want it to work more than anything else in your whole life; more than anything in all of history. When you know, if the world was just and even-handed and fair to you just this once, you could be as happy as you've ever been. When you have such strength of conviction in your own heart that you ignore, and will go on ignoring, the little voice at the back of your head telling you to get out, to walk away, to leave it, because it's over, it's dead, it's gone, it is never going to work.
That's when waking up is hard to do.
That's when.
Tuesday
Monday
Cut-and-paste, cut-and-paste...
Meme from Fluffy:
1. Leave a comment on my blog saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond and ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
So here are Fluffy's five for me...
1. What period in your life were you the most happy and why?
My last six months in Northampton before moving to London were probably the best time I remember. I was working in an indie record shop and crashing at my sister's. I had friends around me and I knew where my life was going. That was a fun, lightweight time. That was the first half of 2001.
2. If you had to be a Teletubby, which one would you be, and why?
The little-known sixth Teletubby, Shit-Bag...
3. Where do you want to be in five years?
Making my own music or recording and producing other peoples. Or both of these things. And in love.
4. Out of all the bloggers, who would you most want to shag, and why?
This reminds me, Fluffy, when are you coming to see me..?
5 What lyrics you have written are you most proud of?
There's and x and y between us but the difference is absurd,
You could talk for hours and I wouldn't hear a word,
No spark of recognition, no connection ever made,
My honesty is absent, it's all just getting laid,
Or not.
Your kindness is a blessing, burning in your eyes so bright,
I think I can take advantage if I lay my cards out right,
And when your heart is broken, come running here to me,
I'll pick up all the pieces, see what I can get for me,
For me.
These lyrics felt pretty honest at a time, and in a situation, when I was finding being honest with myself pretty difficult and when I wasn't being a very nice person. In fact, the process of writing them made a real difference to me and made me realise that if I can't be honest with myself, I'll never be honest with those around me. That changed me. That's why I'm proud of them.
Blog posts inspired by titles nominated in Friday's comments will begin tomorrow. If anyone's got any more, there's still time.
Meme from Fluffy:
1. Leave a comment on my blog saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond and ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
So here are Fluffy's five for me...
1. What period in your life were you the most happy and why?
My last six months in Northampton before moving to London were probably the best time I remember. I was working in an indie record shop and crashing at my sister's. I had friends around me and I knew where my life was going. That was a fun, lightweight time. That was the first half of 2001.
2. If you had to be a Teletubby, which one would you be, and why?
The little-known sixth Teletubby, Shit-Bag...
3. Where do you want to be in five years?
Making my own music or recording and producing other peoples. Or both of these things. And in love.
4. Out of all the bloggers, who would you most want to shag, and why?
This reminds me, Fluffy, when are you coming to see me..?
5 What lyrics you have written are you most proud of?
There's and x and y between us but the difference is absurd,
You could talk for hours and I wouldn't hear a word,
No spark of recognition, no connection ever made,
My honesty is absent, it's all just getting laid,
Or not.
Your kindness is a blessing, burning in your eyes so bright,
I think I can take advantage if I lay my cards out right,
And when your heart is broken, come running here to me,
I'll pick up all the pieces, see what I can get for me,
For me.
These lyrics felt pretty honest at a time, and in a situation, when I was finding being honest with myself pretty difficult and when I wasn't being a very nice person. In fact, the process of writing them made a real difference to me and made me realise that if I can't be honest with myself, I'll never be honest with those around me. That changed me. That's why I'm proud of them.
Blog posts inspired by titles nominated in Friday's comments will begin tomorrow. If anyone's got any more, there's still time.
Friday
Yes, I ought to be on a train to Northampton right now, but I've been faffing all morning and this shows no signs of changing. So, rather than pull my finger out of my arse, I thought I'd post something instead - my capacity for procrastination remains unabated as I get older.
Now, things have been a little gloomy and navel-gazey around here for the last little while. The reason for this, unsurprisingly, is that I've been a little gloomy and navel-gazey for the last little while. This will not do.
I can fix myself, of that I'm quite sure. A long weekend away (as and when I remove aforementioned finger from aforementioned arse) should be a tonic, and I've got some more time off and a birthday next month. Happy days.
However, I might need some help fixing the blog. I have very little inspiration at the moment, so I'm wondering - if it's okay and you can spare some - if I can borrow some of yours?
Please.
This is the pitch: should you find the time and the inclination, leave a title for a blog post in the comments box. When I get back on Monday, I'll start using them, whatever they are. I won't stop until I've used them all. Every last one. I promise.
All help gratefully appreciated. Please save my blog.
Now, things have been a little gloomy and navel-gazey around here for the last little while. The reason for this, unsurprisingly, is that I've been a little gloomy and navel-gazey for the last little while. This will not do.
I can fix myself, of that I'm quite sure. A long weekend away (as and when I remove aforementioned finger from aforementioned arse) should be a tonic, and I've got some more time off and a birthday next month. Happy days.
However, I might need some help fixing the blog. I have very little inspiration at the moment, so I'm wondering - if it's okay and you can spare some - if I can borrow some of yours?
Please.
This is the pitch: should you find the time and the inclination, leave a title for a blog post in the comments box. When I get back on Monday, I'll start using them, whatever they are. I won't stop until I've used them all. Every last one. I promise.
All help gratefully appreciated. Please save my blog.
Thursday
I was out in the garden earlier and I saw a shooting star. I tried to catch it, but I wasn't quick enough. That always happens. I've never caught one, they always fly too fast. I'm going back outside to see if there's another one.
Monday
Where is the god who will show us the way?
I was never taught how to pray.
When I'm looking for something to love,
I never think of heaven above.
I'll search for meaning in all of this,
When it's mine I'll show you what it is.
Tell me why are the prospects so dark
In the water, where it is slipping away,
Away from me.
'Cos I've got no faith to test,
My eyes just hope for rest today,
Won't you show me the way?
I'll get down on my knees and pray,
If you'll only show me the way.
It seems a lot, when they ask us to make it alone,
I've not got enough to fill a heart, a head and a home.
Don't tell me it's fine, when we're just about doing okay,
I need a god, who will come and show me the way.
But I've got no faith to test,
My eyes just hope for rest today,
Won't you show me the way?
I'll get down on my knees and pray,
If you'll only show me the way
Show me your heaven, show me the way to your heaven today,
Show me your heaven, show me the way to your heaven today.
Friday
A friend of mine had a pretty weird experience about a year ago when he applied for a new job.
He sailed through the first interview, mainly because his girlfriend used to work for the same company, so he had a good idea what they wanted to hear and who they wanted him to be. He said all the right things and he was the right person. Easy.
The second interview was a committee affair. Again, thanks to his insider knowledge, he waltzed through.
After that was the standard testing - maths, verbal reasoning, that kind of thing. There was also the obligatory 'psychometric' test, which gives an impression of the sort of personality you have, lets a prospective employer see who you really are. They liked him and gave him the job.
On his first day, he arrived at the company's building which is right on the Thames. It's a nice office, apparently. It's all glass-fronted and he has some amazing views of London. He can see St. Paul's, The Tower, The City. "It's nice in the day but beautiful at night," he told me once, not long after he'd started there.
Anyway, I'm getting away from the point. When he arrived on the first morning, he was met by a woman who worked in Human Resources. She was really pretty. He liked her. They filled out some forms together and she gave him a tour of the building.
"Okay then," she said, arriving back at his new desk, "there's just one more thing. We need to take your reflection. Just for safe-keeping, of course."
"I'm sorry?" My friend replied.
"Your reflection. I'm going to need to take it from you. Everybody's doing it now - it's standard practice. We can hardly have people walking around showing off their own reflections willy-nilly, can we?! We'd never get any work done."
"No. I suppose not."
"That's the spirit. We'll take excellent care of it, I can assure you."
And with that, the girl from Human Resources took my friend's reflection, folded it up and filed it away. They have a massive room of them, apparently. All neatly folded and filed. He gets it back if he leaves, he's fired or he dies in service.
I haven't seen my friend in a little while. Wow, now that I come to think about it, it must be nearly a year.
I hope he's doing okay.
He sailed through the first interview, mainly because his girlfriend used to work for the same company, so he had a good idea what they wanted to hear and who they wanted him to be. He said all the right things and he was the right person. Easy.
The second interview was a committee affair. Again, thanks to his insider knowledge, he waltzed through.
After that was the standard testing - maths, verbal reasoning, that kind of thing. There was also the obligatory 'psychometric' test, which gives an impression of the sort of personality you have, lets a prospective employer see who you really are. They liked him and gave him the job.
On his first day, he arrived at the company's building which is right on the Thames. It's a nice office, apparently. It's all glass-fronted and he has some amazing views of London. He can see St. Paul's, The Tower, The City. "It's nice in the day but beautiful at night," he told me once, not long after he'd started there.
Anyway, I'm getting away from the point. When he arrived on the first morning, he was met by a woman who worked in Human Resources. She was really pretty. He liked her. They filled out some forms together and she gave him a tour of the building.
"Okay then," she said, arriving back at his new desk, "there's just one more thing. We need to take your reflection. Just for safe-keeping, of course."
"I'm sorry?" My friend replied.
"Your reflection. I'm going to need to take it from you. Everybody's doing it now - it's standard practice. We can hardly have people walking around showing off their own reflections willy-nilly, can we?! We'd never get any work done."
"No. I suppose not."
"That's the spirit. We'll take excellent care of it, I can assure you."
And with that, the girl from Human Resources took my friend's reflection, folded it up and filed it away. They have a massive room of them, apparently. All neatly folded and filed. He gets it back if he leaves, he's fired or he dies in service.
I haven't seen my friend in a little while. Wow, now that I come to think about it, it must be nearly a year.
I hope he's doing okay.
Thursday
Little guilty secrets.
I own the second Spice Girls album. I justify my purchase of this by explaining that Spice Up Your Life is really excellent pop.
This is a weak explanation
My friends rip the piss out of me for it. I suspect some of you will as well.
Tell me the things you own that you'd rather your friends didn't know about.
Tuesday
Feeling like falling, it's really no use,
The day is now over, the night's an excuse
To be lazy again, I'm a fast-falling friend
To the end of a day, in a way it's release
From it all.
Look up and see a dark, grey Tuesday sky,
I'm blind to its freedoms, there's nest in my eye
Which combines all the honours of fear and regret,
I don't get all the meanings, I look for release
From it all.
I'll show you my fear, it's a handful of dust,
I'm dying inside, as I'm swallowing rust
From a handful of people with fear in their eyes
Who are dying to meet you, to show you release
From it all.
The boat is grey gunmetal, slate like the sky,
I'm feeling wide open, the sky's in my eye,
Which prevents me from seeing which boat has arrived,
I don't know if I'll take it there is no release
From it all.
Sliding, not hiding, the fear is held down,
Embracing no feeling, this jocular clown
Can be found by the river, a knife in his hand,
Safe on land, he's not bleeding he hopes for release
From it all
Come on inside, you have nothing to fear,
The door is wide open and all you hold dear
Has been laid out before, you a string of white pearl
To be worn in the darkness to show you release
From it all.
Monday
The guy I sit next to at work has his lunch at the same time every day.
Every day, at 12, he rests his briefcase upright on his lap, opens it just enough to squeeze a hand in and recovers two rounds of sandwiches, a banana and a Mars Bar. Every day the same.
His sandwiches are wrapped in cling film and, after closing his briefcase and pushing it back under his desk, he opens them out and spreads the cling film out until it covers almost all of the available space in front of him. He eats the sandwiches - every day white bread, every day medium-sliced - and reads the news from the BBCi website.
Next, the banana. He sort of inhales it rather than eats it in any way you might expect. He uses his gums rather than his teeth to break bits off. It's kind of hard to explain. When he's finished, he rolls the skin into a tight ball, and then wraps it - very tightly - in the leftover sandwich cling film.
Then he eats the Mars Bar. Always four bites.
When the Mars Bar is gone, he picks up the ball of banana skin in cling film and sits, reading the BBCi website, bouncing it on his desk. Sometimes he bounces it for a few minutes, sometimes it can be up to an hour. Sometimes he varies things by bouncing it off his monitor screen. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Every day, he bounces it.
And every day I watch him.
And every day I hear him.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I'm glad Monday is finished.
Every day, at 12, he rests his briefcase upright on his lap, opens it just enough to squeeze a hand in and recovers two rounds of sandwiches, a banana and a Mars Bar. Every day the same.
His sandwiches are wrapped in cling film and, after closing his briefcase and pushing it back under his desk, he opens them out and spreads the cling film out until it covers almost all of the available space in front of him. He eats the sandwiches - every day white bread, every day medium-sliced - and reads the news from the BBCi website.
Next, the banana. He sort of inhales it rather than eats it in any way you might expect. He uses his gums rather than his teeth to break bits off. It's kind of hard to explain. When he's finished, he rolls the skin into a tight ball, and then wraps it - very tightly - in the leftover sandwich cling film.
Then he eats the Mars Bar. Always four bites.
When the Mars Bar is gone, he picks up the ball of banana skin in cling film and sits, reading the BBCi website, bouncing it on his desk. Sometimes he bounces it for a few minutes, sometimes it can be up to an hour. Sometimes he varies things by bouncing it off his monitor screen. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Every day, he bounces it.
And every day I watch him.
And every day I hear him.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I'm glad Monday is finished.
Sunday
I tried all of these things, and not one of them worked.
First, I tried hating you. That didn't work. I wasn't very good at that.
Then I tried making you hate me. I tried really hard at this one. It didn't work. It didn't work at all.
Then I tried ignoring it all and just being friends. Yeah. Right.
Then I tried getting away from you. Not seeing you. Not ever seeing you.
And then I saw you again this weekend. For the first time in six months I saw you again. And we talked like we always have and we laughed and we smiled and we held each other. And you took my breath away all over again, just like you always have.
And I know now that this hasn't worked either.
And I'm running out of ideas.
First, I tried hating you. That didn't work. I wasn't very good at that.
Then I tried making you hate me. I tried really hard at this one. It didn't work. It didn't work at all.
Then I tried ignoring it all and just being friends. Yeah. Right.
Then I tried getting away from you. Not seeing you. Not ever seeing you.
And then I saw you again this weekend. For the first time in six months I saw you again. And we talked like we always have and we laughed and we smiled and we held each other. And you took my breath away all over again, just like you always have.
And I know now that this hasn't worked either.
And I'm running out of ideas.
Wednesday
Quietly, softly, it finds its way in
To play down your virtue and highlight your sin.
The weights are all hung and the tunnel's in place,
We'll help wipe away that fat smirk from your face.
How long can one spend intending to fly
If two in the hand is worth one in the eye?
Come in from the outside, come in from the cold.
What use is your pride if you're not bought and sold?
There's this man I know, son, he buys and sells fakes
And he jumps through their hoops with the plans that he makes.
He's in from the cold, son, his value is high:
His one in the hand is worth two in the eye.
Follow your dreams and your luck could be in,
With help and good judgement, soon you could be him.
Forget what you're learning, forget what you're told,
What use is your pride when you're not bought and sold?
Tuesday
Quick itinerary for the days ahead:
Tuesday morning - clear cobwebs from head having seen No Means No and Alice Donut last night.
Tuesday evening - meet some nice people. Drink lots probably.
Wednesday evening - band practice.
All day Thursday and Friday - spend a day-and-a-half in a provincial Midlands town with team from from work. Hmm.
Saturday and Sunday - Weekend in Chippenham at a wedding.
Now, not much of this is of any interest to you, but it will explain why, once again, posting here will be erratic. To be honest, even when I do have the time to post, I just stick pictures of superheroes up. I don't know why you bother, I really don't.
Quick review:
No Means No - Old punks. Fun.
Alice Donut - Visceral, powerful and very, very sexy. They've been around for ages, but this is the first time I've been able to see them. They took my head off. If you like it loud and grubby, go find.
Tuesday morning - clear cobwebs from head having seen No Means No and Alice Donut last night.
Tuesday evening - meet some nice people. Drink lots probably.
Wednesday evening - band practice.
All day Thursday and Friday - spend a day-and-a-half in a provincial Midlands town with team from from work. Hmm.
Saturday and Sunday - Weekend in Chippenham at a wedding.
Now, not much of this is of any interest to you, but it will explain why, once again, posting here will be erratic. To be honest, even when I do have the time to post, I just stick pictures of superheroes up. I don't know why you bother, I really don't.
Quick review:
No Means No - Old punks. Fun.
Alice Donut - Visceral, powerful and very, very sexy. They've been around for ages, but this is the first time I've been able to see them. They took my head off. If you like it loud and grubby, go find.
Sunday
Saturday
"No, I'm not going bother. I'm seeing some friends tonight and I'm going to an indie night."
"Oh come on, just the one. It's Friday."
"No, really. I ought to go. It's only five o'clock. If I go out now I'll be shitfaced later."
"Not if you only have one. Come on."
"Oh, alright then. But only one..."
And this is how it starts. Every Friday. I don't feel well on it now.
I met bandhag last night, and what a pleasure it was. She and I, I've noticed in the past, share fairly similar taste in music and can often be found around the same places, so to finally meet her was a long overdue treat. I was absolutely hammered, so I hope I didn't embarass myself too much. She's really cool and groovy.
It was Silver Rocket Upstairs at The Garage last night, which is one of my favourite nights anywhere. It's like listening to my own record collection played far, far better than I ever do, with lots of extra bits I've been meaning to buy for ages but haven't got 'round to. Absolutely brilliant. Hats off to all involved.
I'm going to go and fry everything and eat it.
"Oh come on, just the one. It's Friday."
"No, really. I ought to go. It's only five o'clock. If I go out now I'll be shitfaced later."
"Not if you only have one. Come on."
"Oh, alright then. But only one..."
And this is how it starts. Every Friday. I don't feel well on it now.
I met bandhag last night, and what a pleasure it was. She and I, I've noticed in the past, share fairly similar taste in music and can often be found around the same places, so to finally meet her was a long overdue treat. I was absolutely hammered, so I hope I didn't embarass myself too much. She's really cool and groovy.
It was Silver Rocket Upstairs at The Garage last night, which is one of my favourite nights anywhere. It's like listening to my own record collection played far, far better than I ever do, with lots of extra bits I've been meaning to buy for ages but haven't got 'round to. Absolutely brilliant. Hats off to all involved.
I'm going to go and fry everything and eat it.
Thursday
As promised, I beat the Tube strike blues last night by going to my work local and getting absolutely rendered.
I don't remember a lot, but I do recall declaring myself to be the 'finest pool player on the face of the God's Earth', just prior to playing two frames during which I failed to pot a single ball. Hmm.
With this in mind, I'm off to Silver Rocket at The Garage (Highbury) tomorrow night, where I will be declaring myself to be the 'greatest dancer since Nureyev' before staggering around like a drunken pillock for an hour, nodding my head to Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine. Or throwing my arms and legs around wildly, labouring under the misapprehension that I have any idea what I'm doing. Whatever's good.
Have lovely days. I feel fucking awful.
I don't remember a lot, but I do recall declaring myself to be the 'finest pool player on the face of the God's Earth', just prior to playing two frames during which I failed to pot a single ball. Hmm.
With this in mind, I'm off to Silver Rocket at The Garage (Highbury) tomorrow night, where I will be declaring myself to be the 'greatest dancer since Nureyev' before staggering around like a drunken pillock for an hour, nodding my head to Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine. Or throwing my arms and legs around wildly, labouring under the misapprehension that I have any idea what I'm doing. Whatever's good.
Have lovely days. I feel fucking awful.
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