Thursday, 31 July 2008

The Last Night

From Last Night From Glasgow Indie Eyespy the gig review blog
Hold onto your hats chaps, this isn't a pretty story.

The bands had finished for Sunday, Robbie and me were pottering about trying to figure what we could do to seize the initiative. More late evening acoustic sets, we needed a venue, the signal box sounded crap, the cafe was a bit crap, everywhere was too noisy, so aye, it'd be the platform again. But which bands to play, not the same as last night, maybe just the Chris Gilmour Experience and Images of Mathematicians on Postage Stamps. Robbie wandered off to the loo and came back saying he'd booked Pocketbooks, and my guitar was required.

I felt a weight on my shoulders, pressure, some kind of duty or responsibility, I just shrugged it off and went to get my guitar.

The stroll back through the festival site was different. To my left there were a circle of Bowlie folk off of the internet, I could feel them watching me. They'd been at the platform last night, they knew what me walking with my guitar meant. Do I slouch when I walk? In photies where I'm in the crowd, I have the worst posture ever.

On the platform waiting is Robbie, Rowan from the Just Joans and her husband Mark. I sit down and open my guitar case. Disaster strikes, a string has snapped, the heat in my car warping. Luckily Robbie suggests just threading through the long end, and it turns out okay. Completely out of tune, but recoverable. I'm tone deaf, but I make a stab at it before handing the guitar to Robbie to make pitch perfect.

A drunk chap called David appears, he apologises for being sarcastic to me on the internet, but I'm not quite sure who he is, other than someone I sometimes see at concerts.

With an audience of three friends and a vague acquaintance I wonder what songs I could play in my Chris Gilmour Experience set before Pocketbooks turn up. If they turn up at all.

I glance to my right, and terror fills me. A great crowd descends on the platform, people eager to see a repeat the the previous night's rapture.

But something is very wrong. What happened? What happened?

Four years ago? Was that start? I got booted off the Bowlie messageboard. Friends and acquaintances I had there drifted away out of contact, unreachable, part of another world forbidden to me. My name turned to an insult by these same people. Not all of them, some were still friends, still with happy shared memories of holidays in the sun, but part of the same crowd. I saw them over the weekend, eye contact and half-hearted small talk. Anorak, Bowlie's successor messageboard, the overlap between the two. These people regularly hound me off the fora. Regularly and frequently.

And now expecting what of me?

That ignorant shit Andy Hart stands to my left, leans down and politely asks if Pocketbooks can borrow my guitar.

Time slows, I gaze at the evil in his eyes, and at expectatant faces all around, friends and enemies sat or standing in a semi circle, Robbie tuning the guitar, no sign of any Pocketbooks in the crowd.

Chris, we don't give a shit what you're doing, but we're going to commandeer your guitar and ignore you and there's not a damned thing you can do about it. Ha ha, you're going to be stuck here for hours waiting to get your guitar back and there's fuck all you can do about it.

Yeah sure Pocketbooks can use my guitar.

Robbie finishes tuning and tries to hand the guitar back to me to play.

No way, no fucking way, fuck that shit, I'd rather swim in blood.

And I walk away.

In the diesel shed I danced with The Just Joans.

Wednesday, 30 July 2008


Week off work, and managed not to got into work at all today (well, did some emailing, but that doesn't count). Have been writing up Indietracks review all day, I'm about a quarter through them, there's been some interest around my wee video of it on Anorak, Indietracks blog and Human School

London Blogger meetup last night, wandered about for a while not sure where the venue was until I stumbled into the pub where I went with Rowan and Mark next to the Thames a few months back, and discovered the meetup was there. Spent half the night telling folk I do a gig review blog and then half the night cringing when I have to tell them about the erotic art blog and pigeons.

Spoke to some interesting people, some of whom run corporate blogs and I kind of feel weird linking to them from my nuddy site so I'll do it here.

Hayley - rather neat puns, endorses Idlewild's earlier stuff and uses the same blogspot template as me
The Londoneer - Chap I've seen before but never spoken to, he has a tiny computer
Miss Geeky - Figuring out brain magic
Peter Marshall - Took photies of me looking surprised
Arseniy - From Russia, I got to speak Russian again, yay.
Julius - The event manager chap
Mario - does a family social networking corporate blog
Barbara - Got a couple of hits from my link
Anthony Fresh Plastic - Also has a very small computer and knows a lot about mobile phones

Tuesday, 29 July 2008


I really gotta get round to writing those Indietracks review, and doing family stuff, and tidying my room

Monday, 28 July 2008

Really short

Got Indietracks into 1:40 minutes

What do I win?


Photies from Indietracks now online here with all tags and stuff
Indietracks065 - Last Night From Glasgow
Feel free to leave comments, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

Rather looking forward to writing up the most vitriolic rant I can muster about Sunday night's festivities.

Yesterday's favourite search to find this blog on google
'girls shitting diaries'
I was going to try to video loads of Indietracks and then edit it down to a thirty second documentary thing, cos thats just how cool I am.

But its going to take ages, so here's all the raw footage.

Raw footage from Indietracks from Chris Gilmour on Vimeo.
I think its possible to rip the video from Vimeo in order to edit it yourself, if you happen to have any footage of the same music festival.

Hmm, actually there's so weird voice-overs and me perving over people's shoulders. Its pretty cringeworthy

Track back

Just back from Indietracks, to find someone has broken the lock on my bedroom door, nazi flatmate I reckon.

I think I have to go into work this afternoon, uploading all my band photies will have to wait I guess.

Have a little bit of sunburn, the scars on my arm have come up a treat, looks like it could be a long-sleeved summer

Friday, 25 July 2008


Last day of school before the holidays, still loads to do, and then loads of driving as soon as I get out of here.

The indietracks festival site is here on googlemaps.

Still not sure about camping, will take tent and sack and cooking utensils just in case, but it looks like I'm going to settle of the warm pool of vomit next to my car in the festival site car park. Yay.

This thread on Bowlie. I was ranting to myself about Jangly Mark's response, after the past seven years on Bowlie, could it be that my eyes are so dull compared to the brightness in his? Nah, he's probaly just a fool with no depth of perception, knowledge of the subject matter or empathy.

Gig last night, photies here. This one time I asked Rosie Rabbit if she was going to Indietracks and she replied that she didn't do Bowlie meetups, that rather confused me, Indietracks ain't a bowlie meetup, its an indiepop music festval that some folk off of Bowlie were going to. But then again, chatting to another friend off of the internet, who mentioned in passing that a load of people were at a Bowlie party, but there'd been no mention of it online, what she meant was that people who'd become friends off of Bowlie were having a party. Its a subtle difference. Anyhoo, I was at this gig last and there were like loads of people there I recognised off of the internet, off of Bowlie.

I hardly spoke to anyone though, these people who's posts I'd been reading for years, who I'd read about for years, all in the same room, and well, whatever kinship we had wasn't there.

I've been trying to verbalise it for days now, but its always too verbose.

We used to all be friends of friends off of the same messageboard online, peers standing shoulder to shoulder at the same shows and clubs, but now, we're not.

Ooh, maybe I got it right with the banner on the gig review site

So tonight is the end of days for NPL.
In a fortnight its the end of days for Bowlie.
With Glasgow East, how long until the end of days for the Labour government?

Times are changing, and a man with a bit of fire could take over. Is the world ready for the Naked Chick on Post-It Note revolution?

Yesterday's favourite search to find this blog on google
'why is it the last national pop league npl at the woodside social club glasgow?'

Thursday, 24 July 2008


Oh woe is me...

Its become my duty to write reviews of gigs, to go to these things and scribble or jab notes on my mobile phone, and punt it out onto the internet. Its not like anyone reads the damned things, just the bands themselves. My nuddy website, that gets thousands of hits a day as you might expect, but gig reviews, how many people? About twenty five hits a day.

Its almost completely hopeless.

I can't even stop doing it, I tried. I gave up months ago, it lasted about a week before I was back there, standing in the dark, glancing at 'the kids' (twenty-somethings) having fun, knives of jealous jagging from my eyes.

They stand with their friends and loved ones, chatting and laughing and thinking of the delights to come later that evening. But me, I scribble, cos if I don't, no one will.

I have become a quiet voice in a big empty room. "Readers, listen to this band, they are great", "This other band are crap", "This gig could be better if..."
I got home late last night, the train line from Highbury was closed for engineering work, I'd been to see Pocketbooks, The Zebras and Airport Girl at the Buffalo Bar, some Fortuna Pop pre-Indietracks show* . So it was late, I as tired, I wanted to get photies from the gig online, maybe stab out the review or just fuck it, not enough people read it to make it worth my time, or maybe they do, but I can't handle the ambiguity and the silence and the wait. Robbie pops up in messenger, he'd been out drinking with The Smittens, chatting to one of them who's heard of my gig reviews.

A slight fuzzy feeling spreads out in my tummy like the warmth of the first summer's day.

Then I think, oh, I've got to do this, haven't I. I don't get to lie down with my wife, or get a lift home with my friends. I just have to write the damned thing. All the time the shadow of Tasty looms over, sneering.

I don't even get to scrawl the vicious kick 'em in the balls and run away anger and frustration reviews of a year ago.



Its not true, I spent half of last nights gig chatting to MJ Hibbett and Camila from WeePop. It was nice.

Yesterday's favourite search to find this blog on google

*see, technorati will find this post when you search for any of the band names now. I could even add links to every mention too, so google will wrap me in its warm embrace. But really, would it help me as a person? Would it help or hinder the bands? Doubtful all round.

Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Yes man trailer

Here, watch this trailer for Jim Carrey's new film The Yes Man

And now, lets rant...

I wrote a book once, back at the start of the century, it was about a studenty chap who decides to spend a year acting out of character and tried to shag 100 girls in 12 months. Alas, when I mailed the draft manuscript round to publishers they either knocked it back or suggested it was a grottier version of another book that was doing the rounds that season, Danny Wallace's Join Me. One helpful subeditor mailed me a copy, and yeah there were vague similarities.

Danny Wallace had been writing for ages, computer game reviews and stuff, and it was him who kicked Dave Gorman into looking for 52 other Dave Gormans.

As a man who's controled by feelings of jealousy and envy, I decided Danny Wallace would be my arch enemy, never did much about it, but kept a wary eye on his activities. His madcap schemes seemed to get turned into radio shows and TV shows a bit more frequently than my own.

Damn him, if only I'd got my book mailed out a few months earlier.

Anyhoo, 2006 happens, and I find myself travelling round Spain reading Danny Wallace's then latest book The Yes Man. A similarly gimmicked book to the first one, about a chap doing something he wouldn't usually do, and answering yes whenever anyone asks him anything, again vaguely based on Danny Wallace's own activities during a twelve month period.

Somewhere on the back of the book there was mention of a Hollywood version.

And going by the trailer it looks like its only very vaguely based on the book. They haven't so much got an actor to play Danny Wallace, more like they have a Type-cast actor following the book's most basic premise.

The film of my book never got made, Ed Byrne probably never read the script I sent.

And instead years later, I have become Ed Byrne's character in Zemanovaload.

Its funny how these things pan out.


PinUp John D linked to me the other day, my comments about NPL being just memories and ghosts.

It deserves a bit more written about it.

Years ago, on Bowlie I first read about it. Some guy I didn't know was starting a club night in Glasgow, some folk I only knew off of the internet would be coming up for it. End of October 2001

The Woodside Social Club was dark that night, me and Flatmate Nick went along. These folk off of the internet who I'd been chatting to for months/years, I didn't know what any of them looked like, so we sat at the side, I scribbled wee descriptions of the people there, so I could online who was who.

The next month, the second NPL, Nick and I went again, we made friends with some Spanish girls, at sat at the side, people watching, I think I danced twice.

The same for the third NPL, still didn't know anyone except Nick, and the Spanish girls. Ach, this is all documented elsewhere.

Not sure how this ties up with my own mythology, the next month I was dating the girl who I thought I'd found on Facebook a few days back, and then a few months later it was the whole fun and games with Jax thing as documented in my 2004 book "Somewhere in the Sun".

It was maybe seven months down the line before Lars Yaggsdril suggested meeting at a pub beforehand, Bar Oz with Chandlier and Sillygirl, and a few hours later I was introduced to folk like Num Num and all these others off of the internet. For a few months, maybe it was a few years, there was an explosion of people and parties and clubs and dancing and music. The Winchester Club, Pin Up Nights, Dot to Dot, the 1994/1995 nights. Maybe its always like that and I just caught it for a while. Heck, there's Drive Carefully now which is the same thing but new and still going.

When did it fall apart? When did I stop dancing? When Lynsey Mop left? When Fast arrived, when Rachel left, all that business with Idles? When I got banned from Bowlie? I dunno, 2004 / 2005 / 2006?

Either way, what happened was that I'd go to Pop League hoping it was like it used to be, hoping that so and so was there, hoping that I'd feel the way I used to feel.

But it never was.

So aye, the last NPL I went to was Xmas '07. I remember almost nothing about it, other than driving away, probably saw the same people as usual, but I'd left.

The last one I actually remember was the one at the end of my last blog, and that was a paradigm of what I'm talking about, everyone was there, I was there, but it wasn't like it used to be.

There was an article in The Independent, rallying against Landfill Indie, it namechecked NPL and the people there dancing to indie that was 20 years old and how great it was. It makes me wonder, if its all so timeless, why did NPL come to an end.

Maybe it wasn't NPL, it was me going to NPL that came to an end.


Saw an old friend from school when I was out jogging, I'd seen her on Facebook months ago, and when I first moved to London suggested we went for a coffee to catch up, butit didn't come to anything.

Actually when I stopped to say hey last night, she harried me away. Or it seemed like she did, she did ask what I was listening to. iPod on shuffle, Roxy Music, shuffle is a valid reason for listening to random stuff right?

Hmm, crisis of Facebook over, the married ex- who I thought I'd found the other day, wasn't.

Same name, and in the photies it looked a wee bit like her. After discussions with friends it seems I was wrong about it being about how long you wait before adding them or poking them, its more about how many friends they've accumulated. I suppose its valid and ties in with the Monkeysphere.

Anywho, I poked, she reciprocated, we messaged and figured out we didn't know each other.

Traditional wee nagging suspicion in the back of ma heid that maybe it was her, and for some unspecified crime of the past she doesn't want to ever see me again. Maybe that's just my natural self-flagellation kicking in.

Tuesday, 22 July 2008


Went for my longest ever jog last night, well, not longest ever, longest this season.

6.63Km according to my Nike+ipod thing, average pace of around 6min/km. Not quite sure how accurate it is. Still rocking round Regents Park. Flatmate was out there somewhere too, but I never saw her. I think, as a bonus, my knee's not hurting like it was doing the other week.

It would be cool to have a jogging buddy, someone about the same fitness level, to even out my pace a little, and go to the pub with afterwards. But all the offers I've put out online have been ignored or shrugged.

Fuckit, I'll just stick to my ipod.

Monday, 21 July 2008


So, of course, like the rest of the entire world's population, I regularly search Facebook for ex-girlfriends. Most I'd found, but there were always one or two who just didn't seem to be out there anywhere.

But now, I think the last two have turned up. Judging by the number of friends they have, it looks like they haven't been on Facebook for long. One of them's married, that's like the first married ex-girlfriend I've had. I think I need a cup of coffee to digest what this means.

I can't seem to find the rules anywhere for how soon after an ex-girlfriend has signed up to Facebook I can try adding them to my Friendslist. There's probably some formula based on how long its been since you spoke to them last and whether you parted cordially.

X = length of time on Facebook before adding them to friendslist
Y = time since last spoke to them
c = cordiality of parting (-1 to +1)

Perhaps its.

X = (Y/(10*(1+c))

Ooh, only eight months then.


Good morning blog readers,

How are you? I hope you are well and had thoroughly enjoyable weekend, rather than just a shallow transient and eventually unsatisfyin one.

Me, well, the jury's still out.

I drank too much cola last night and lay for hours in an insomniac delirium, images of every girl I'd ever loved going through my head. What went wrong? Did we break up for any good reason? Would there ever be any going back. Where is she now and does she dream the same delirium?

Saturday was deeply unsatisfying, the weather was fine, but the content was depressing. Sunday however, that was a bit of a mixed bag.

In the morning I headed out to shops to try to fix things. My mobile phone has become even more of a heap of shit. The damned Sony Ericsson K800i from the fucking cunting CarPhone Warehouse. The battery life has remained pretty much constant in the six months I've owned it, about 36 hours. This is crap. I use my phone for about one phonecall a week, maybe two text messages, and the battery lasts 36 hours. The phone I had before, some Nokia, that would go for the best part for a week without charging. So compared to that my current phone is shite.

I went into CarPhone Warehouse with the intention of one of the following:-
  • Get my phone somehow fixed so that it can send text messages again
  • Get a refund and revert back to usingmy old phone
  • Get a straight replacement phone
  • Buy one of those £15 phones and then use some kind of Doctor Who based plot device to destroy every single CarPhone Warehouse

Luckily the queue was too long and wasn't moving, after half an hour of gazing at vastly overpriced tat, I left.

Likewise for trying to get a knee support from a sports shop, I left empty-handed cos the queue was too long and they didn't appear to have any kind of knee support-type kit.

I returned home, put on season two of Mighty Boosh and fell asleep, waking occasionally to see blue-faced minions singing songs in praise of the chosen one.

Some time in the evening my flatmates suggested a stroll round Hampsted Heath, which sounded fun. It was still sunny outside, kind of warm, apart from on the hilly bits where the wind took the temperature down.

It was nice, I'd love to take strolls there with MacGuffin, eating ice cream and harrassing squirrels. Maybe just go jogging instead if I can get a damned strap for me knee.

Time's passing, its almost next weekend.


But there's still Friday night. MJ Hibbett's doing his Exciting Life in Rock, but also hundreds of miles away NPL John is doing his last ever National Pop League, and I'm wondering if I should go. Whilst both Hibbett and NPL have saved my life countless times, I'll see MJ Hibbett again, but never Pop League.

I was at the first Pop League, and hundreds since. Do I need to be at the last?

What would I go back for?

I went to my last one a year ago, here, I wrote about it here.

If I went to the last one on Friday, I won't find whatever it is I'm looking for. NPL is dead.

Whatever romantic feelings and notions I have in my head about the NPL are wrong.

All the best


Saturday, 19 July 2008


The Victoria line was closed so it took ages and ages to get to this Country Fair thing in Brixton. The weather was okay but it did nothing to improve my mood. Seeing folk wanting about with friends and in couples, makes me feel bad about myself.
At some point in the last thirty years I became disconnected from the rest of the human race.
I headed up to Brick Lane taking some overground train thing which was fun, and there wandered round various design and art student exhibitions, those kids are all right. But just wait until the meet the crushing pressure of real life outside studentville. I used to be one of them, not now, now I draw pictures on websites, try to make CD players and get really angry and frustrated with the rest of the world.

Ooh over on the other blog, I'm running a poll and t seems twice as many people prefer a deep meaningful six month relationship to cheesecake. Fools, the lot of them. How can I get a more broad-minded class of people to visit my site? Think of the cheesecake!

So I got another train north to Tottenham to try to see the London Rollergirls, I took a wrong turning or two and wandered these strange streets for about an hour and a half, retracing my steps checking bus stop and train station maps, even jabbing at my mobile phone.

Dear God, my accursed mobile phone, Those cunts at Carphone Warehouse, Fucking Sony Ericsson K800i. Stupid twelve hour battery life, The damned thing can no longer send text messages, not for lack of credit, but for some mysterious other reason, and also It can't seem to connect to the internet. Sure it says it can, it says it can send texts too, but they just sit there, or it just saying its loading/connecting for twenty minutes without actually doing anything.

I found the Rollergirl sports place, found my pay pal ticket confirmation print out and counldn't seem to find the way into the place. I wandered round the building, hearing the cheering and fun inside, even glimpsing a Rollergirl through a firedoor. But no.

It wasn't for me.

I headed back to the train station and homewards.

Here's a weird google link, what does it mean?

So, a quiet evening in, watching Mighty Boosh, unless flatmates hound me out of the living room, or someone phones me with a better suggestion (preferably one with empirical evidence to back up its benefits to me)


Yummy, I love hangovers! I just giggle my way through them and laugh at the crazy adventures I had the night before.

Admittedly most of last night's adventures involve watching TV and arguing with my flatmates, but I did drink half of a bottle of rum, so arrrr, I'm a pirate, and I did end up curled in the traditional foetal position in the bathroom.

Crazy exciting adventure in store for today involve sheep sheering and watching fat chicks on rollerblades. There are gigs to go to, but hey what's the point, and its How Does It Feel tonight. Lets consult the graph of destiny...

I think I'll plan to 'suit myself' and stay at home drinking rum and watching The Might Boosh season one. It can only increase my chances of getting laid compared to going out.

Friday, 18 July 2008


Dear blog,

I went to a gig last night, it was okay, the three bands were kind of twee, Electrophonvintage, 'Allo Darlin' and Lets Whisper. It was nice music.

I said hi to two people and drank three pints of Guinness whilst stabbing at my mobile phone to avoid making eye-contact with people. Photies Itook of the show are on flickr here. They're not very good, but that's on purpose, I don't want to be someone who takes good photies, I knew those people.

It was the final gig of the experiment Fiona suggest and as mentioned here. The conclusion is that having my hair cut made absolutely no difference. Maybe my prejudice affected the results, but that ought to have been factored into the terms of the experiment. It wasn't "Getting a haircut generally improves the chances of pulling", it was "If I get my haircut it will improve my chances".

Its not a wee design issue, its a fundamental process problem, no matter what colour you paint the damned thing.

So as I add haircut to the list of bad bad ideas from friends, and whilst slightly warmed by Fiona's failed attempt, I pull my hood up tighter, and lurk further at the back more broodingly.

Suggestions warmly welcomed for what to do next.

Many thanks


Chris Gilmour

Wednesday, 16 July 2008


This one time in Glasgow flatmate Michelle cooked a whole chicken and had just a wee portion of it and left the rest in a bowl in the kitchen. It wan't in the fridge, just on the work top, in a bowl in a small pool of gravy.

It was there for a week.

One one else wanted to chuck it out cos obviously Michelle might want to finish it later, and it was quite a big chicken.

A week and a half later the thing stank and had grown a grey beard.

Michelle wasn't the most pleasant of people to talk to so no one mentioned this thing.

But it was there for about a fortnight and made me want to hound her out of the flat.

Here are some photies of pictures
July so far
Everyone needs a hobby.

Years later I live in London.

There's this watermelon in the kitchen, it has a bit of tinfoil over it. Its been there for about five days now. I rarely go in the kitchen, having been hounded out by my flatmate's sneering at my food, cooking technique and insistance that I empty the dishwasher when she's used every single cooking utensil for every single meal.

So I wander over and have a look under the tinfoil. Clouds of flies rise from it, and there's a small dripping trail of rancid grot dripping off it. I almost boked.

This is from a flatmate who doesn't talk to you for a week if you leave a dirt mug in the living room for more than five minutes.

I almost boked.


TimWorstall reports on the Daily Telegraph's report about some new government law/statute thing, yet again celebrating being given a right that we already had.

I was moaning about rights the other day, but this thing keeps on rolling. I was worried about rights being given and taken away, when they should be self-evident and undeniable, but it was on the radio yesterday morning, some police chief reacting the calls for tougher sentences to people who cause accidents by careless or danger driving, I think the quote was "Driving on British roads is a privilege, not a right". That got me swearing in my car. Driving on private roads that are owned by private individuals is a privilege, driving on a public road, that's what the fucking road is there for, its not something you need to ask permission to do.

Sure, having a a driving lisence, insurance and road tax are requirements to drive a car legally, but its not a privilege to drive on a road. That's codifying the wrong thing, and whichever officials are acting on the public's behalf to codify such things ought to be kicked in the crotch and flung out of their profession and into something more productive, like writing ISO2001 documentation perhaps.


Went jogging last night, would have been with Fiona and my flatmate but they were pratting about for too long and I'm a restless soul.

For some reason I can't sustain running for more than 19 minutes, I just reach it and get a stitch or for whatever reason have to start walking. Still, it passes the time and sure beats sitting on the internet all night, sobbing into my keyboard.

I was driving into work this morning and after hearing some woman on the radio describing how her husband who had cancer died at home, at the age of 51. I got it in my head what I'd do if I had cancer at a youngish age, probably think fuck it, forego any treatment and just die. There ain't no loved ones to nurse me and Axelle and Fiona's line about me 'finding someone in the end', they're clearly fools. Postponing the inevitable death in the unfounded hope of finding a soulmate seems a bit futile.

Wonder what's doing tonight. There are gigs tomorrow night, Camera Obscura and WeePop, but tonight, I think it might be back in the tracksuit again.


Tuesday, 15 July 2008


We kitten, today I am in need of coffee, not because I'm knckered, but becuse I drank one sip of a cup before I had to leave for work, so I have half the taste in my mouth.

T'other week I was out jogging with Fiona, this you already know, and we were discussing how to prove that having my hair cut would remedy my singularity. She suggested I went to three gigs before having my hair cut, and note how much red hott lady lurve action I get, and then go to three gigs after my hair cut and compare.

Well, I've still one gig left to do post-scalping, but its not looking too.

Standing round conversation with two girls I've known for months from gigs and internet
Awkward eye contact with girl who I always make awkward eye contact with at gigs
Avoiding trying to chat to cute girl who had to sit next to me

Standing round conversation with same two girls I've known for months from gigs and internet
Introduced to bloke off of the internet's girlfriend
Avoiding trying to chat to cute girl who sat next to me

I'm getting ahead of myself cos I still have one gig left to go to to complete the experiment, but its not looking too good. I should have negotiated some form of recompense from Fiona, possibly the cost of the hair cut or some kind of cheesecake.

Next gig should be either the Camera Obscura show at Kings College, or the WeePop Electrophonvintage show, both on Thursday. I'm going to have to do a spreadsheet to calculate which show has the greatest probability of benefit. Chesecake or self-esteem crushing girl-evasion.

Hmm, WeePop will have a greater proportion of people I know and feel comfortable with, but Camera Obscura will have an order of magnitude more people, and a greater proportion of folk I don't know. So at WeePop, there's more chance of chatting to people, but less chance of dryhumping against a wall down an alleyway, but at Camera Obscura there's less chance of chatting, but a greater chance of dryhumping against a wall down an alleyway. Hmm, then again, Camera Obscura is more likely to look like the Boo Radleys gig at the Academy in '95, which is a fertile image.

Alternatively, I've never seen Fiona make cheesecake before, or if she'd be inclined to make such a thing, but most of the food I've ever seen her produce has been quite nice. Curly Wurly cheesecake would be nice, or Dime Bar, maybe both, but that'd be crazy.

Monday, 14 July 2008


Eeep, Indietracks have posted the essay I wrote about my experiences at the festival last year.

Have a read, its thrilling stuff, especially the bit about the knife fight I had with Sharon from the Gresham Flyers on the top of a speeding steam train. I would have won too if it wasn't for that low tunnel.


On the news this morning, Radio4 Today programme, there was a piece about how teachers will have the right to search pupils for knives and alcohol and stuff. BBC News story here.

Giving teachers this kind of right makes me feel uncomfortable. I'd always assumed that teachers and schools could do this, they can force you to open your locker and if they think you've got something illegal in your school bag they can demand to have a look. But now its enshrined as a right.

The thing with rights is that they can be taken away.

Its something to do with the UK's Common Law and the rest of the world's Roman/Stalinist/Napoleon Code. In the UK everything is permitted except those things which are illegal, whilst the alternative is everything is illegal except those things which are permitted.

When more and more activities are enshrined as rights, the potential to have these right's taken away becomes greater and greater.

There was some MP complaining about the press slagging off some other MP's crap performance at asking questions in parliament, it was on the Spectator website, I think the quote was something like "Until you've had to stand up in the House of Commons and ask a question, you've got no right to criticise anyone else's performance". That terrifies me, that some elected official thinks that being able to criticise something else is a right, which some folk are qualified to have and that other people are unqualified and do not have that right.

Unless there's a bloody revolution there's no way to get rid of the concept of enshrined rights without actually taking away the right.

Don't get me wrong, its not that I think people shouldn't have 'the right' to do something, its just that the right shouldn't be enshrined or documented. It should just be self-evident and undeniable.

After something has been defined and enshrined as a right, you can't put the genie back in the bottle. You can only take that right away.

Actually, I vaguely remember reading about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, how it came about just after the second world war, and how it was the victors of the war who wrote it.

Its not universal.

The defeated nations didn't write it, only the winners did, and they have their own cultural bias.

Imagine, if you will, just briefly, that the axis won the second world war, and their moral values wrote a universal declaration of human rights. It wouldn't be pretty, but that's only cos of our perspective.

Does that make sense?

Ach, I'm just rambling now.

I gotta print some labels for RES039, its a 100R 0806 surface mount component.

Sunday, 13 July 2008


Haircut photies here



Have cancelled my Soulmates account.

The endless stream of people saying the idiotic phrase "If you stopped looking you'd find it". Actually, I just knew from the outset that Soulmates was the next thing in the great road of social networking sites, and, well,


It hasn't worked for me for the past fifteen years, in the week or so I was signed up, it didn't work for me then either.

So fuck that
Fuck you
Fuck off.

Somehow I'll have to resist the urge to petrol bomb the Guardian offices

Deleted my MySpace account too.

Bowlie can delete itself in a month or so. Not sure about deleting my Facebook account yet, that has other uses.

Saturday, 12 July 2008


I am very pissed off, hopefully in three hours I'll be lurking at the back of The MacBeth, drinking as quickly as possible, watching bands, trying to talk to friends and thinking of ways to destroy people using the power of the internet, and everything will be okay, but right now I am really pissed off with this Nike+ thing.

OfficialNike is following me on twitter, so he might well read this and endevour to get in touch and send me thousands of pounds and goodies and sports gear in compensation.

It took hours to get the thing connected to my ipod and calibrated last night. I was running the streets til midnight, pausing to jab at the various setup things until it started working. But I finally got it calibrated.

And today I set out to Regents Park to actually use it as intended.


I'm didn't think it was possible to crash ipods, there's no reset button, if its crashed its fucked.

But no, its crashed, its locked, the buttons don't do anything, the lock slidery switch thing does nothing, pulling the headphones out doesn't do anything, disconnecting the nike+ dongle and reconnecting it does nothing, syncing it on my computer does nothing, itunes doesn't see it. My ipod is fucked.

The display, it still works, the top level menu has nike+ipod highlighted, but thats it. No control.

No scroll wheel action, no selecting things action nothing.

I was one of these asshole you see when you're out jogging, one of these assholes who is all dressed up for exercise, but instead walking about jabbing at their ipod. That was me today.

JESUS CHRIST, in the time I've taken to write this, itunes is still fucked, the ipod still doing nothing.

and my head hurts so much. Its pounding, pounding.

I think I want to kill as many nike/apple employees as possible, or just get them booted out of their jobs.

I've got to do something.

Its the only thing I have left.

Ooh ooh, I did see Gruey when I was in Regents Park, and he's one of very few actors who have been shown ejaculating in a mainstream, UK produced feature.

blood and froth

Had my hair cut.

I hate having my hair cut, not the actual cutting, but just the rigmarole of having to get it cut, trying to figure out how to tell the hair cutting person that you don't give a shit how it's cut as long as you don't have have to come back for another few months, and then in the hours, days and weeks afterwards people saying "Oh you got your hair cut?"

This was my first hair cut in London. It has been about seven months since it was last done, and the locks that fell into my lap were thoroughly riddled with grey hairs.

I'm not sure why, but it gives me this image in my head of holding back someone's head and stamping on their throat until they stop trying to sooth my fears about growing old alone.

It would only take two or three stamps to shut them up, unless I get carried away and just stomp and stomp and stomp until the head detaches from the body.

I've never done anything like that before so I don't know how much stamping it takes. Maybe there are special shoes you can buy.

Friday, 11 July 2008


Its just all so pointless.

I've got no idea what I'm doing.

Well, at work I have a vague idea, the general direction I'm heading in. But the rest of it, at home, no idea.

The nuddy blog, I can shout at it all I like, but its not very satisfying, the wee incremental authority points on technorati as more people link to it. They don't fill me with joy. I just see each one as being a step towards some unrewarding goal.

I went to Brent Cross today, and bought one of them Nike+ widgets for your ipod, you stick a thing in your trainer and it tracks how far you've run. But dear god, how I hate shopping, I want to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Its the people I hate, the families, the couples, the groups of friends. I want to get in and get out and away.

I was stuck at traffic lights when I realised I'll soon be too old for 18-30 holidays.

I was surfing porn trying to find something to draw and kept seeing pictures of ex-girlfriends, naked women who look like ex-girlfriends. And I remembered how they all slipped away.

Whereever they are now, happy or sad, I'm not with them, and there ain't no going back. There's just gazing from a great distance and bitterly remembering what happened. And the pointlessness of it all.

I can barely be arsed to write up the latest LNFGIES. I've got notes I scribbled at the Lucky Soul gig at the Luminaire, but its mostly bored and bitter shit. There's no point in writing it up. The four or five people that read it, its not enough.

I was thinking about it, reviewing these gigs, these gigs where there's only four or five people there. The band barely makes enough money to cover the bus fair, so what chance does a reviewer have? There ain't no money in being a professional reviewer for these shows. There never can be or them shows wouldn't be them shows. Its inherent that it aims for the bottom.

Its Friday fucking night, and I'm ranting hopelessly at the computer screen.

I could have called Nick or Matt or Fiona or countless other folk, lets go for a beer. But more realistically, I can't. My head doesn't let me.

This one time I was in WHSmiths in the Arndale centre, they were giving away free mini bars of chocolate with all purchases. I politely declined. But then, on walking out of the shop, I realised I was quite hungry and actually really wanted a mini bar of chocolate.

So I gaze blankly at Soulmates, trying desperately not focus on the people I've already crashed and burned with countless times. But for every new face I see, I just see a future failed relationship, another addition to people I've loved and who've slipped away. I try to bury the thought. "But hey, we might hit it off..." - "... and then six months or so down the line break up and never get back together..." - "... actually, we probably wouldn't get on, we'd go for coffee, it would be just about okay, she'd say hey I'll call you later in the week, and then six months later after hearing nothing, its just awkward, embarrassing to" Best not bother.

In fact, setting fire to the Guardian offices, the Apple store, and every live venue in the UK, its the only way to be sure.

Also deleting all the failed and unsatisfying blogs, photies and youtube videos, its the only way to be sure. No going back or thinking "Hey remember when...". Burn all the post-it notes.

It won't make a blind bit of difference will it?

Ooh, Twee Ass-Fuck all dayer tomorrow, it could be fun.

Thursday, 10 July 2008


Have signed up to SoulMates on the Guardian websitey thing. Kind of like bowing to pressure, I have my doubts.

My profile is here

My cow orker suggested that getting to the top of the most popular profiles list is something to aim for, so feel free to have a look, call your collegues over and get them to have a look too.

I had to resist the urge to just write about killing people, killing lots of people, in the 'why shoul people get to know me' and 'perfect match' descriptions. I fear being arrested as a murder suspect.

Wednesday, 9 July 2008


Cables assembles, they're giving me headaches. I have an irrational aversion to them or something. For almost four weeks now I've been unable to deal with them. I've spent days gazing at them. Measuring, counting, reasearching, but no progress is made. The cable making company, stand tapping their watches angrily.

In product A there are six cables:- cab001, cab002, cab003, cab004, cab005, cable006

In product B there are three cables:- cab001, cab002, cab007

Cable lengths have changed, we have lengths of each in stock that are wrong.

We have drawings for most of the cables, but I'm not sure what the lengths are.

The guys here can make the cables themselves, but it takes time, and its much more efficient if we pay the cable making guys to make them up for us instead. It makes the whole problem go away But we have to tell them exactly what we want so we don't end up with boxes and boxes of cables we can't use.

The cable making company have already quoted for making some of the cables, not all of them, just some of them, but the lengths and connectors on the ends of some the cables have changed.

Its not just a case of cutting a bit of wire to the right lengths. That's just one stage. There are six stages
  • Cut wire to correct length
  • Strip the end to bare wire
  • Attach crimp connector to one end
  • Attach crimp connector to other end
  • Attach crimp connector to crimp housing on one end
  • Attach crimp connector to crimp housing on other end

My brain doesn't work. For four weeks I've been gazing at these things for a couple of hours a day. And my brain doesn't work.

I spend a good few days trying to get a fresh brain to take this away from me. Its not very complicated or technical. But alas, its too technical for anyone else.

My brain doesn't work.

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

Yay modern technology

This about copper nanorods

This about wind to hydrogen

And my wee sketch for solar to hydrogen

I need to get me one of these to carry out research


Aw man, I think I've set me a new record today, or more accurately you've set me a new record, for today so far, according to statcounter, every single person who's read this blog is a regular visitor.

I love you guys, its like I exist only for you. I want you to know that.

We've got the entire British Isles covered, from Glasgow to London, via Nottingham, and we've got reps from the great superpowers of Russia and the US of A. When you read this just think of those guys reading it next to you. Its like a big old anonymous and faceless family.

Ooh, while you're here, over on the nuddy chicks site its International Mention this Website on a Messageboard Day, there's a special post-it note and everything. So feel free to spread a little porn in those places where folk haven't yet sampled the NSFW delights of naked women badly sketched on stolen office stationary.


Went jogging last night, after work, round Regent's Park. The flatmate's on a fitness trip, and its funny to outpace her, so if she asks I say yeah sure, and get my shorts on.

It was the third or fourth time in the last week that I've done the jogging thing so I guess I'm back in the tracksuit. Think, think, think...

1992, 1995, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006... countless times I've done the fitness thing, going to the gym almost daily, charting my weight change and stamina change, usually during times of acute loneliness and it doesn't help, it doesn't help in the slightest. I run and I run, I push the edge of the curve, then I stagger home on my own, and wonder what the fuck is the point.

I was in the Oh Bar in Camden at the weekend, early afternoon, on my own, about three people in the place, slowly nodding off on a couch. The barmaid was chatting to the other bar guy and said something like "You don't look for love, you find it". It sounds good, but doesn't parse logically.

Anyhoo, I'm not going to find love running round fucking Regent's Park.

Monday, 7 July 2008

Food wasting...

Have been reading the BBC news post on Brown's food wastage thing. A couple of things that don't make sense...

These two paragraphs...
A government study says the UK wastes 4m tonnes of food every year, adding £420 to a family's shopping bills.

According to the 10-month study, British families are throwing away a total of 4.1m tonnes of perfectly good food every year, costing each about £420 annually.

Firstly it seems British families throw out more good food than the entire UK actually wastes in food, 100,000 tonnes more. And if this is just some kind of error I've made reading it, there's a gaping hole in the data about spoiled food that we throw out, food that has become inedible, and is no longer perfectly good, or fit for human consumption.

Actually it would be neat to see a breakdown of food wasteage showing how much rotten food, food that's edible and past its sell by date and perfectly good food is thrown away.

Also, we used to be able to feed waste food to pigs as swill, I vaguely recall this practise was banned. So rather than being able to re-use waste food, we have to dispose of it in other ways.

Hmph, this article from May has it that we throw away 3.6m tonnes of food per year. So somehow, despite the increases in the cost of living over the past few months, we actually now throw away 500,000 tonnes more food than we did. Or possibly this 15% variance in the figures just shows how unreliable all the information available actually is.

Moving on...
The Cabinet Office report claims that up to 40% of food harvested in developing countries can be lost before it is consumed, due to the inadequacies of processing, storage and transport.

Shouldn't the developing countries and aid organisations be investing in ways to improve the processing, storage and transport infrastructure in developing countries then?

Me, I only eat tinned food. Just doing my bit.


I used wikipedia, it kind of made sense that the meltdown thing wot happened the other week was an anxiety attack of some form. It was reassuring to know, what happened had a name. Next time it happens I can just think to myself "Ah ha, this is an anxiety attack, chill out, it'll be over soon"

But on discussing it with friends, it turns out it wasn't an anxiety attack.

Ah well, back to the rollercoaster of lurching from one imagined crisis to the next.

Was out jogging with Fiona the other day, she suggested I got my hair cut to help meet people, and upon my demands for empirical evidence to support the suggestion she came up with this...

Go to three gigs and record how much amorous action I get, then get my hair cut and go to three gigs and record any amorous stuff, then comapre the results.

Well, two gigs down and the hair cut is going to have some stiff opposition. On Saturday night I got a hug from MJ Hibbett and made eye contact with a girl on the underground, and then last night I spoke to two girls who I knew from gigs and avoided talking to a really hott girl who sat next to me.

Truly, there's no way getting my hair cut could possibly beat that sort of love action.

Saturday, 5 July 2008

A Day in the Life

A Day in the Life 03
That Bowlie mem thing where you take photies of your day. This is the first time in five years that I've actually been able to participate in it on the site.

Quite possibly the most thrilling day I've had in months, action-packed some would say. Finishing up surrrounded by red hot naked chicks.

Friday, 4 July 2008


Its an anxiety attack, innit. That's what its called.

It has a name.

Damn it.


Never able to say no when asked, I appear to be going to a gig in Nottingham tonight. Sure the bands are fun, but that town has bad vibes for me.

So I was there by my computer, poised with razorblade in hand (metaphorically) when my flatmate's voice came blasting through "Chris, would you like to come jogging with me, Alec and Fiona?"

An hour and a half later I was stretching off round Regent's Park. The first bit of exercise I've done in about eighteen months, not including horizontal jogging. And you know, it wasn't bad. According to my flatmates, I'm just naturally fit. Personally I think its just that I don't complain about muscle pains and don't pay any attention to my phyiscal limits.

Its the advantage of not having noticiable changed in the last fifteen years.

This one dumb Easter weekend in the nineties, I tried walking the 55 mile boundary round Bolton in a day, made about 42 miles before nightfall. So when I got back to school and some teacher, possibly called Mr Frost was bragging about doing a ten day coast to coast walk, I pointed out I could probably do that in two days.

Zee, what happened, where are you now and can we go for a coffee and catch up?

Over on the nuddy chicks site, the poll about what to do when a girl says she'll let you know later in the week, the clear consensus is to jump out of a window, although it seems just waiting and taking the initiative and calling yersel are both valid options, that whilst not the most popular, would still be acceptable.

I gotta find a gig to go to tonight or some club full of people I'm no scared of. I think I have Saturday and Sunday night's tied up, slaughtering a few more French students, or going to Gresham Flyer gigs. But Friday night, party night, I need something.

Thursday, 3 July 2008



The nuddy chicks site got the most daily traffic its had in ages yesterday. But its not working. It doesn't bring me joy.

I've lost hope.

I used to think when it got so much traffic, there would be rewards, somehow it would enrich my life. But now, it brings me sadness, knowing that no matter how much traffic the site gets, it brings no reward, no happiness, just the harsh realisation that there is no point in carrying on with it.

Whatever I was doing it for has failed.

No MacGuffin.

Even if it skips on across the chessboard, and if I reach the peak of yesterday's plan, it brings no MacGuffin. Just an idle distraction.

I need someone else to tell me what to do, something else to guide me. Something that has conviction and evidence.


Woke up furious.

Went to bed furious too, so at least its consistent.

I've lost hope. I've got hindsight.

Somethings that ought to be easy, aren't. They never have been, and there's nothing to suggest that they will be in the future.

There's this chap in our warehouse, you ask him to do something, move some pallets, and he can't cos he's in the middle of something, then when he's done with that, he's busy with something more important or urgent. So for a five minute job it takes four days. I start to factor this into my plans.

"Hey Chris, when will these things be ready?"
"In a fortnight."
"But it only takes five minutes"
"Yeah, in a fortnight"

Likewise, I had the old 'six month relationship discussion' with someone in real life last night, whereby I attempt to convince them that its impossible for me to have a relationship that lasts more than six or seven months, and they attempt to persuade me otherwise, despite overwhelming empiricle evidence.

"You'll end up with someone, don't worry about hitting 30."

Its that phrase 'end up' that terrifies me, cos it happens at the end. I'll reach the grand old age of 108, after a long moderately productive life of short meaningless relationship which reach the six/seven month barrier and then for one reason or another, end, and then 108, I'll meet someone, and die. That's what 'ending up with someone' looks like.

I think my eyes might have glazed over last night. In my head I stood up and left the room mid sentence, got in my car and drove home. What actually happened was that I stopped listening and contributing to the conversation, and switched off.

I think I do that quite often when talking to people I disagree with. At some point I realise that they have no sense of empathy, no memory of conversations earlier in the evening, no basis for their theories or beliefs. I switch off. I maintain a fixed expression, and whilst I don't actually reach for right-click - block contact, the effect is the same.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Vimeo test

Just seeing if this works

First 15 secs post-it music video from Chris Gilmour on Vimeo.
uploaded a wee animationy thing to vimeo rather than youtube, cos it has boobs

What do you think?

And for a full length video, what tune?


The plan for the naked chicks site, it was never a definite plan, set in stone. Like I said to ReverseCowgirl its more like a journey, its evolved as I've been doing it, but occasionally there has been a plan.

Make a successful niche blog, impress the MacGuffin, go for dinner, live happily ever after.

I keep forgetting the lesson of Hugh MacLeod, successful blog doesn't mean you get the girl. And to set that as a main pillar of the plan is a recipe for heartache.

So the new plan, the new plan is World Domination

1. Make the site the most popular on in the world by the Technorati Rankings
2. Get books published and a images on post-it note shelf in Waterstones
3. Dominate the world

I think I'm going to try to do these things in sequence, so to race up the technorati rankings, its not too difficult, only ten squares of the chess board. And each square ain't too difficult, its not easy, but its doable. Heck, TinyNibbles is only three squares away and she set the blogosphere on fire.

I think some careful targeting of links is in order.

Tuesday, 1 July 2008

me and she

In a discussion about that "I'll let you know later in the week" thing, Killiedaft neatly found a post I'd put up back in 2001 as a result of the Shag Times venture. It gave a neat breakdown of the hundred girls I'd met and how our relationships didn't flourish. Its a neat snapshot of the time.

It took me an hour or so, but...

For the past seven years, why me and she didn't work out the reasons are thus:-

29% were friends
25% were too far away
21% just didn't get on
18% had boyfriends
4% kept on vanishing only to reappear months later
4% clearly insane