Things I thought of in the shower

Her neck swiveled like a startled owl

Tue, 03 Apr 2012 23:14:08 +0100

I’m thinking of having another go at blogging.

I decided this the other day, trying to work out the way in to the exhibition of TV sets. “It’d be nice to have a blog”, I thought to myself. And then wondered why. For starters I have one already, albeit one I haven’t done anything with for about four months because I never have anything much I want to write about these days. And there’s this, which I suppose counts as a blog because I use it to write about stuff, albeit in a less official, off the cuff sort of a way.

The problem is that I have nothing much I want to write about. Just writing about things that happened to me and trying to extrapolate some sort of amusement from them doesn’t seem enough, really. But whenever I’ve tried to write about things I’m enthusiastic about it always turns out a bit crap.

Perhaps it’s my subconscious trying to point me into realising that it’s now gone 10 years since I first did anything like this. Naturally, of course, the first proper post involved angst over a woman. Nothing much ever changes in my world.

It being Sunday, and the person I was supposed to meet being...

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 23:00:16 +0100

It being Sunday, and the person I was supposed to meet being laid up with a sprained ankle, I decided to go and see some art. Specifically I went to a basement near Baker Street to see what I suppose would be an installation, of a lot of television sets.

Now, I’ve been enthusiastically listening to music since I was about three and I’ve never been any good at describing that, so how I’m supposed to describe a basement full of TV sets I don’t know. The main thing I took from it, I think, is that I think I prefer old TV sets; there’s something reassuringly chunky and solid about them. I worry every time I clean my flat-screened job that I’m going to inadvertently shatter it. I think there’s some retro science-fictiony thing here as well; like an old vision of the future in which we would all be looking at screens all of the time, just that they didn’t quite work out what way the technology was going to go.

I’m too tired to explain what I mean by that properly.

In a side-room were a couple of other works, one of which involved screens with cameras above them which relayed pictures to another screen. Above you can see a picture of a screen on which a cheery family try to work out what screen they need to wave into, while in the distance I’m taking a picture of a screen on which a cheery family try to work out what screen they need to wave into while in the distance I’m taking a picture of a screen on which.. and so on and so forth.

S’been a busy week. I think, after the week of moping,...

Sat, 25 Feb 2012 23:39:00 +0000

S’been a busy week. I think, after the week of moping, that I needed to go and do stuff regardless, which is the sort of attitude it’s easiest to take the week after payday. I’ve had the odd moment where I’ve felt the need to listen to Prolapse (a term which I think may have to be my all-purpose euphemism for anything), but when the worst one hit the batteries on my iPod were too low for me to do so and still have enough to listen to it on the way home, which I decided was more vital than dealing with a temporary sulk. I got through it OK. So this is progress.

One of the things I doubt I would ordinarily have done was go to a comedy night, albeit a thoroughly unconventional one. And it was jolly good as well, and did lead me to trying to work out a routine on funny things that happened in educational publishing (*). Excellently it seems that most of the bits have been uploaded. This was one of the best bits of the night; loses a little without the projections, but you’ll get the point.

(*) Which I quickly abandoned as it was throughly unamusing, as you could tell from the main topics covered which were:

a) Working in an industry where a large percentage of your workmates are women of a similar age and being totally incapable of getting off with any of them;
b) The grisly scenarios in legal textbooks;
c) Getting sued by a former cabinet minister and my subsequent attempts to vandalise his Wikipedia page.

It looks funnier now that I’ve actually written it down. Maybe I’ll work it out in my head again one day.

I’ve been trying to write something about my trip to...

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 23:30:42 +0000

I’ve been trying to write something about my trip to Shoreditch last night, about how odd it was to be out on Saturday night where there were crowds of people about, but I can’t quite recall what the point was now, plus I’m sure there should be more jokes in it.

This, I suspect, is the thing I’ve listened to the most this last week. I think I’m over the sulk now, more or less, although I am pleased by the notion that if I need to rebuild the wall and listen to nothing but Prolapse for a bit, I can call it a Relapse. It’s been that kind of week.

Before I started having a sulk, something I meant to do this...

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 14:09:00 +0000

Before I started having a sulk, something I meant to do this week was to listen to something interesting that I’d spotted in the Radio 4 schedules. I knew a little of the story of Ernst Degner, entirely because of a song from a Peel Session by a fairly obscure band from the late 90s. I knew this stuff would come in handy some day.

Miss Mend were an odd band; I didn’t like them the first time I saw them, supporting someone or other (possibly Velocette) at the old Barfly at the Camden Falcon. Then Living City Plan came along and was splendid, and then I ended up taping this Peel Session which had a song about an East German motorcyclist; I think Andy Kershaw may have rung in with more information. Then Miss Mend became The Projects, and then they sort of vanished in the way that most of the bands I liked in the late 90s did. And this morning I dug out the tape, captured it and, er, discovered one of the band had done it already so that I didn’t have to.

The programme is really interesting as well, and not just as it reminds you that Murray Walker is far more than a man who used to shout rubbish on the television. For some reason I’ve been reading a bit about East and West Germany of late (there was a site with the story of how the Berlin metro worked when the city was divided which I should have linked to here or reblogged if it was on here or something); it’s odd how we pick up these things. Because I spent the week sulking it’s only up for another day or so, except that it seems to be one of those that claims it’s going to be on the iPlayer until 2099, but then those vanish sometimes as well.

(Matthew has spent the week wondering how a woman could want to go out with someone other than him, you’ll recall - Ed)

Still listening to Prolapse, then. Thought I’d be past...

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 23:11:50 +0000

Still listening to Prolapse, then. Thought I’d be past this by now.

I like the way that someone’s been to all the trouble to add informative captions and then gets the name of one of the band (who isn’t, I think, on this song anyway) wrong.

It’s not just Prolapse I’ve been listening to,...

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 23:19:52 +0000

It’s not just Prolapse I’ve been listening to, although I have been listening to Prolapse an awful lot. There’s this. It was on the radio this morning (and, because 6 Music are having one of their weeks where they replace the usual breakfast show presenter with someone personable like Coe or, in this case, Collings, you could listen to it safely in the knowledge that the ending wouldn’t be blethered over by a reeling idiot; I ended up delaying getting out of bed by three minutes as the start of Another Girl Another Planet came on and I knew I could listen right through to the end without wanting to punch the goon who was going to talk all over the delicious, non-negotiable ending of the thing as well. Man, this digression has gone on a bit. Probably just end the para here and see if anyone notices).

It was on the radio this morning and I ended up having to watch this video three times just to hear it again, and I’ve listened to it at least three times this evening in between Prolapse albums. I don’t think I’d heard it at all until last weekend (which I realise is almost certainly down to ignorance on my part), and I tried the album, which I’d probably like more if everything on it didn’t pall in relation to this. I can’t listen to it once and be done with it; I have to listen at least three times. This may become a problem.

I have been listening to Prolapse a lot as well, still. I suspect when I stop listening to Prolapse I may crack badly.

This is just between me and you three, OK?

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 20:11:00 +0000

There was a point where I was utterly broken.

(There should be a read more break here. I’m really conscious that nobody wants a load of waffle clogging this up. But it doesn’t seem to work. It’s broken, and I’m broken, and everything is broken.)

It would be unseemly to go into the full reasons; buy me a drink sometime and I’ll see if I can recall them. The point is that I was totally, totally broken, in a way that hasn’t happened for ages. I’ve had dumpings that were more fun than this. My gut felt like it had been pummeled and were I not overly concerned with maintaining a tiny shred of dignity I may have started blubbing.

The couple a matter of inches away from me who were snogging and groping and pawing and laughing on the train most of the way home were not helping. Not in any way, shape or form.

So the plan was to go to the supermarket, buy what I needed to buy, go home and then sit in a corner and listen to Prolapse and possibly have a bit of a cry. I’m not kidding. And then I got to the supermarket, became frustrated at their not having anything I could use to sprinkle salt on my chips apart from a ridiculously expensive salt and pepper set, and then went to buy cheese, only to be obstructed by the same couple from the train who’d decided that nothing was going to stop them from their public display of affection, not even getting in the way of someone who wanted a block of mature cheddar.

There are only two ways to go from here. I chose the one that didn’t involve screaming, throwing things and being removed by security. I reached around, picked some cheese, and then moved into the bakery section where it transpired that not only were the rolls I wanted on the reduced trolley, but so were cheese scones.

And things began to lift. I managed to walk past the booze and buy some biscuits instead. The assistant on the self-service checkout was extremely helpful when it turned out that the replacement barcode on the cheese scones was half missing. The self-service checkout not only accepted my coupon but turned out to have a little slot in which to place after it had been used up. And when I left the supermarket I had… well, maybe not a spring in my step, the slight churning was still in my gut, but I’d definitely pushed myself off the bottom of my little slough of despond.

So. I’m still listening to Prolapse, I’ll admit to have an ale on the go, but the blubbing hasn’t happened and doesn’t feel likely to and the corner remains empty. I think it’s going to be OK. Until tomorrow, at least. And if anyone can tell me how read more breaks work…

Last week in the park I had my camera with me. This week I...

Sun, 12 Feb 2012 23:09:26 +0000

Last week in the park I had my camera with me. This week I didn’t, so when I saw a robin perched delightfully on a fence I had to take a picture with the crap camera on my phone.

I did plan to write two long entries at some point over the weekend - one about receiving a cheque, the other about, er, might have been about Bis now I come to think of it, but I didn’t get round to that, and at least one of the three job applications I was thinking of writing. Still, pretty successful weekend apart from that.

I am currently trying to write a proper blog entry on rejection,...

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 23:03:08 +0000

I am currently trying to write a proper blog entry on rejection, the dismal prospect of dying alone and unloved and spam email subject lines, but it’s not quite coming together. Possibly because I’m trying to write about rejection, the dismal etc etc.

So, instead: there was so grumbling in my Twitter feed about The Charlatans the other day, which was clearly nonsense. I mean.. this, for starters. It goes “DUNGK DAKKA DAAAAAAA, DAKKKA DAKKA DAAAAA” right at the start on something that’s probably an organ but which sounds (well, certainly sounded back in the day) like no instrument you can reasonably place, there’s the bassline thudding through and then the organs come back in wildly at the end. OK, the lyrics are rubbish, and that’s the most Chart Show Indie Chart video I’ve seen in ages, but that absolutely doesn’t matter.

Bah, this is rubbish.

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 23:01:56 +0000

Oh, man, there was something I was going to write about only with my slight headache and having distracted myself failing to apply for a job this evening I can’t recall what it is. It wasn’t going to be moaning about work, although work did leave me grumpy. I don’t think it was going to be about my walk in the park through the slush, or about anything that happened on a train. And to be honest, aside from that I’m struggling to think what it might have been about. Because I lead a life that can be divided into ‘work’, ‘stuff that happened on trains’, ‘stuff that happened in supermarkets’ and ‘stuff that happened at the football’, and I’ve only done two of those today.

Maybe it was about having a relatively early night. But I doubt even I could drag out a paragraph on having a relatively early night. Bah, this is rubbish.

I’d intended to go into town, except that when I got to...

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 23:25:14 +0000

I’d intended to go into town, except that when I got to the station I realised that I’d forgotten my Oyster card, and then discovered I wasn’t willing to pay for a ticket because it costs HOW MUCH?. As I began to make my way back, pondering whether to walk back home to pick it up or go for a walk in the park instead, someone came out of a side turning and began badgering me.

“I don’t like this weather” he started. There was some further grumbling, and then a complaint that there was more due tonight and tomorrow. This contradicted the forecast I’d seen, and I told him so. And then I moved off, as I couldn’t be doing with this. My relationship with the snow was sealed two days after my first (only) serious girlfriend broke up with me. The first day had been awful. The second day it snowed and suddenly everything in the world seemed new and clean and better and right, and after that I was fine.

More or less.

I decided that going all the way home for the Oyster card was too much and went to the park instead. I did have ideas about things I wanted to do in London - my plan amounted to getting into town, seeing how the trains were running and going from there - but after an hour stomping about the park I decided that actually it was probably the for the best, because various muscles in my legs were aching in unusual ways. To be fair this was probably at least partly my fault for occasionally leaping into fresh snow to try to work out how deep it was. And for the lunatic dash across an otherwise deserted field I embarked on for no good reason.

There were other people taking pictures as well, although mine were for a Flickr-based travelogue that I didn’t get round to because I spent the afternoon under a blanket listening to podcasts. Tomorrow, maybe, except there’s a job application I need to do. Bah.

This isn’t really a Christmas song, is it? I’m...

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 23:57:15 +0000

This isn’t really a Christmas song, is it? I’m allowed to listen to it now. I think. Oh, sod it. Although I didn’t really notice the snow falling, and it isn’t falling now, so so much for that then.

Let's pretend it's a metaphor for today's Britain, or something

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 23:30:01 +0000

My train home idled for a bit at Tower Hill. I was stood by the door, and as the door was positioned near the foot of the stairs it meant it was me that the couple who’d made their way down the stairs as quickly as possible given that that they had a bulky suitcase each asked whether the train was going to King’s Cross. I told them that it wasn’t and that they should get the next one, advice that I knew was sound as I’d considered waiting for the Circle Line train I knew was following this one before eventually boarding it. They thanked me, and slowed down.

The train was held for a while, inexplicably so for a Sunday afternoon, and I looked out of the door to see if there was any reason for the delay. Looking back down the platform, I noticed the couple with the suitcases boarding the train. Then, just before the train finally moved off, they jumped off having presumably ascertained that the train wasn’t going to King’s Cross. Just as I’d told them, in fact.

Which made me wonder; why in the name of shitting crikey did they bother asking me? Did they think that I was in some way untrustworthy? Was there something about me that led them to think that I was giving them duff advice? But then why did they ask? And why the hell did I bother giving them accurate advice? What is the point is being helpful to strangers if they’re going to totally ignore you?

So, next time, I’m going to give anyone who asks me the way the wrong advice. It happens quite a bit at Euston Square; it’s usually people who want to get to Paddington. “Is this train going to Paddington?” they’ll ask, and if it is I’ll tell them it’s not, and if it’s not I’ll tell them that it is. I realise that this is entirely unfair and that they could end up miles out of their way and late for some life-changing experience, but I don’t think I care anymore. Hell, I won’t stop to help anyone with their pram at the stairs any more after that time that woman to told me to fuck off when I offered a hand and I don’t feel any qualms about that, so why should I feel bad about this?

NB I’m not joking about the prams - I really did get told to fuck off by someone I offered to assist with carrying hers up the stairs, and I haven’t stopped to help anyone since - and while I think I might be joking about the directions, I’m not entirely sure yet.

Ghandi day (*)

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:16:00 +0000

On the way over to football, the bus stopped at some traffic lights opposite an Indian restaurant. Outside was a banner urging us to book early for an important forthcoming occasion, or, as the banner called it, “VALINTINE’S DAY”.

Now, leaving aside for a moment the idea of taking your beloved to an Indian restaurant (I’m not entirely sure it’s a good idea, but then I’m no an expert on these things), but would you take them to an Indian restaurant who’d spelt the name of the occasion incorrectly? I know I tend to care about these things more than, perhaps, your average non-publishing type, but even so I suspect that when you see the words “Valentine’s Day” about in the run-up to the thing you would notice the slight deviation in spelling in massive letters on a banner. And then you’re going to question the person who has taken you to this, and then wonder if an Indian restaurant is the correct please to go for a romantic evening, and then you’re going to dump his sorry ass. I would imagine. Man, I don’t know anything about this stuff.

Valintine’s Day has been on my mind somewhat lately, but I think I’ve decided to tell the girl and let her let me down gently (best outcome I can imagine at this point) before I have to start thinking of ways to hint at it through anonymous gifting.

(*) In the week we were told that one of our Indian suppliers wouldn’t be getting anything to us on that day as it was a public holiday there. The person who sits opposite me reacted to this by asking “Is it Ghandi day?”. Now, were this a 70s sitcom the intent here would have been remarkably unpleasant, but as it came from the same person who was trying to impress us with her horror film knowledge by casually dropping “The Hungry Millipede” into conversation (a clear conflation of The Human Centipede and The Very Hungry Caterpillar, a combination that someone will have to explore further at some point), we have to assume wide-eyed innocence.

On the train home tonight this came up on one of my playlists,...

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 23:43:46 +0000

On the train home tonight this came up on one of my playlists, and, as I tried to avoid the swinging elbow of a bloke who was reaching into his bag of whatever he’d purchased from Holland & Barrett, it reminded me of the time I’d been to see Cay at the Red Eye. The Red Eye was a venue I only ever went to a couple of times; I remember their adverts appearing in the NME gig guide back when I used to read it in microscopic detail, but I couldn’t actually tell you where it was now, only that it was probably as far as it’s possible to be from a tube station in central(ish) London. Anyway, it was an unprepossessing place, I remember that much, but then they tend to be the best places to see gigs. Apparently it’s been turned into flats now, which is unsurprising and miserable in equal measure.

Being me, I can recall that the support acts were Billie Mahonie and that band that consisted of three bass guitarists whose name I’ve forgotten, so it was a pretty good line-up really. I suspect I would have gone anyway but there was the added bonus of a rare appearance in the city by the internet’s Brem X Jones, who was in the company of a bloke he called Kid-With-Knife who’d driven up from Bath just for the hell of it. Afterwards I walked back with them to where they were parked in King’s Cross, which isn’t something I would have done without the company of two much taller men in those days. And indeed probably wouldn’t now. It was odd to be in the company of someone who strangers recognised.

But it was a good show, and maybe Cay should have gone on to be something bigger than they were. It was certainly better than the next time I saw Cay, but then that was the same day that Ian Dury died and I wasn’t really in the mood.

The Great Pepper Thief of Old London Town

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 23:36:22 +0000

This is a great title in need of a post. To be honest the main thing that’s preoccupying me at the moment is to do with work (which is where the title comes from, in a way, although clearly the story needs something more) and therefore isn’t suitable for a public forum, even though this is about as unpublic as forums get, and also won’t do the title justice.

I’m no good at fiction any more. Lying, yes, I can do amusing lying, but not fiction. Maybe I need to have a go at fiction somewhere and see how it goes. Although obviously The Great Pepper Thief of Old London Town will have to wait, as it’s too good a title for a first go. Well, maybe it’s not that good a title, but I was enjoying a song called Bruce Forsyth’s Chin It To Win It earlier, and that’s such a bad title (for a song I rather enjoyed) that anything sounds good by comparison.

More a reminder to myself than anything, really, but if you are...

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 01:44:05 +0000

More a reminder to myself than anything, really, but if you are commemorating the visitation of the Biblical Magi to the Baby Jesus, this one’s for you.

We're no here

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 23:04:58 +0000

I have been writing every day, honestly, just not necessarily here. And I have been thinking about things in the shower, except that today I was mostly thinking about politics, and I’m not writing about politics on the internet because therein lies madness.

Fascinating annual music update

Sun, 01 Jan 2012 20:58:00 +0000

Around this time last year… well, around this time last year I’d been on an epic trek across the city to get home from Brentford, but anyway at about this time I did a fascinating post on what I’d been listening to for the last year. And as I remembered to reset the counter properly this time it’s time for another one. Of it. Them. Maybe.

This year I’ve been counting things I listen to on my iPod as well as through the computer and the totals from Last FM and the scrobbler are slightly different because of Spotify, but it’s the same top 5 for both albeit in a slightly different order, and those five are Half Man Half Biscuit (new album), Los Campesinos! (old albums, because I listened to the new one twice online and decided that I’m not bothered if I ever hear it again), and then in varying orders McLusky (I may have been in a bad mood quite a lot), Trips and Falls (first listened to them right at the end of last year and bought both albums) and Super Furry Animals (there was a week where I wanted to listen to them a lot, for reasons I can no longer recall). So with one exception I like listening to bands I know and love and feel comfortable with rather than anything new and exciting. I am getting old.

Far more interesting, to me anyway, are the bands I listened to just once. This accounts for about half of the list of bands listened to at all, which I suspect says something significant about the way we consume music these days if only I could be bothered to think about it, but the edited highlights are fascinating:

Altered Images (not sure which song, but either way there are at least two other songs I should be listening to a lot more)
Arctic Monkeys
John Cooper-Clarke
John Cooper Clarke (grammar)
Josh T. Pearson (bought the album, have never been of a mood to listen to it)
Ned’s Atomic Dustbin (I have to listen to Kill Your Television once a year, it seems. Which is probably as often as anyone needs to hear it)
NOBODY (best to leave this one unexplained)
TV On The Radio (you can tell I’m not a music blogger)
Talulah Gosh (ha!)
The Stone Roses

So, there. A fascinating start to the year. I am going to try again with the writing something every day, and goodness but things can only go one way from here.