I love you all, and I know you wouldn't knowingly do anything to hurt me.
I've just been away on holiday for a longish weekend in Malaga, my dear sweet ladyfriend persuaded me that it would be a great way to spend my birthday, for yesterday I turned 31. I am now a thirty something.
But I was hurt, hurt and distraught when I switched my 'berry back on when I got to the UK to find that no one, no one except Pin Up Nights, Aref-Adib and my brother had left me any birthday greetings on my Facebook page.
Quite clearly you all hate me.
You all wish I'd just go away and quit going to your gigs and club nights and hanging round and saying hi, and blogging and making videos and everything that I do, I might as well just go in the garden an eat worms cos you all hate me so much.
Either that or Facebook have fucked up their privacy settings and broken everything, which is far more likely.
I love you all and as soon as I get my flat sorted, you're all invited to join me for various DVD box set marathons, with booze and pringles, and it'll be great fun, but I don't think I'll be using Facebook to organise it.
Love all around.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Monday, 8 December 2008
Birthd
Have just updated the Facebook event thing for my birthday this Friday. Not everyone who reads this blog is on my facebook thing, but feel free to come along. I'm a bit of a lightweight so buying me drinks may not be necessary, but you'll be obliged to look awkward if there's only like five people there, including the missus, my brother, his wife and the wean.
I'm thinking the Gallery in West Hampstead might be kind of pleasant, but on the other hand, I fear its going to be packed with Christmas office / works Christmas drinks types. Damned seasonal festivities.
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Borth
T'other night, possibly Friday night, I was thinking about my birthday, and parties there attached. I'd eaten lots of chocolate and was in a good and confident mood.
And I thought, I knew even, that by the time my birthday comes round, in December, I'm going to be racked with insecurity and stuff, its the middle of office Christmas party season, its a Friday, the ideal time for a works Christmas do, so anyone who decides to jack that in and come out with me has to be pretty dedicated, or not really into Christmas or socialising with work colleagues.
Anyhoo, I think getting it staked out now before I lose my feeling on it would be in order.
I set up a Facebook event, here, no location, and vague times.
But then when it got to the inviting thing, I got the fear.
Out of my Facebook friends list, there were only five or six people who I didn't feel awkward inviting. Suddenly, for everyone else, whilst in my head I could see them out drinking, at a party and just having positive vibes, I couldn't see them being there for my birthday.
Some of the following reasons.
I don't know them well enough,
I don't know them any more,
My motives would be unclear,
I haven't spoken to them in years
I didn't say more than hey last time we spoke
Although I can see them there, they have always made me paranoid and jealous
These people will see how empty my life is
Or how empty I think it is
Last year was all right, got back to Glasgow. But this year I'm more on my own, and its kind of painful.
And I thought, I knew even, that by the time my birthday comes round, in December, I'm going to be racked with insecurity and stuff, its the middle of office Christmas party season, its a Friday, the ideal time for a works Christmas do, so anyone who decides to jack that in and come out with me has to be pretty dedicated, or not really into Christmas or socialising with work colleagues.
Anyhoo, I think getting it staked out now before I lose my feeling on it would be in order.
I set up a Facebook event, here, no location, and vague times.
But then when it got to the inviting thing, I got the fear.
Out of my Facebook friends list, there were only five or six people who I didn't feel awkward inviting. Suddenly, for everyone else, whilst in my head I could see them out drinking, at a party and just having positive vibes, I couldn't see them being there for my birthday.
Some of the following reasons.
I don't know them well enough,
I don't know them any more,
My motives would be unclear,
I haven't spoken to them in years
I didn't say more than hey last time we spoke
Although I can see them there, they have always made me paranoid and jealous
These people will see how empty my life is
Or how empty I think it is
Last year was all right, got back to Glasgow. But this year I'm more on my own, and its kind of painful.
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
406
Spent some time on the Northern Circular Road this morning, it makes me think of ex-girlfriends more than usual. Sad thoughts.
Why am I here now, and not with them? What went wrong? What did I do wrong? and how come other people do the same and it's right for them?
How come I can barely muster relationships lasting as long as four weeks now?
Starting to have teh fear for my birthday in December. How can I evade depression (the natural human emotion, not the serious mental illness which I would never consider making light of in a flippant blog post)? Resign myself drinking wine alone in my room with a packet of chocolate digestives, or make an efford to dig up and re-engage old friends to drink with (seems a bit mercenary to me). Not a chance in hell of having a party at the flat.
Last year was a bit of luck with mental judo and getting to Glasgow, but its too far away now, the light fading.
Thirty years for this?
Sunday, 1 June 2008
On dating
Recently a friend suggested I try the Guardian's Soulmates webiste, I knocked back the idea outright. Its not for me.
And here's why.
I don't struggle at meeting new people. In the course of my extra-curricular activities, both online and in real life, I'm surrounded. Thousands of people check out my websites, hundreds of people read my posts on message boards, dozens of people go to the same gigs as me. At any point I can turn the girl next to me and say "Hey, how's it going, what did you think of that last one.".
I'll accept that starting off the conversation terrifies me, but after that, its plain sailing, I can be rounded and charming enough to carry it off.
So, what is the problem?
Even when out with friends, I sit at the side, or stand at the back keeping quiet, gazing into the distance, or into my pint, sometimes my mind travels in time. It takes a cattle prod to get me communicating.
I'm not sure how Soulmates will help there.
Since I discovered my cock some time in the mid-nineties, I've have about six relationships that lasted over four months, none more than seven. It worries me, there's something very wrong. I mention it to friends on MSN, my worries. And then every so often in response to me saying something outragous, the friends on MSN will say something like "I can see why it only lasts six months".
I find it patronising and condescending, and it makes me think they're fools. They know nothing of context. I take it too seriously.
Yesterday, I was at Dr Sketchy's, the burlesque life-drawing thing. Keeping quiet at the back with my post-it pad and biro, between drawing tasks, I scrawled a wee list of those lucky lucky 4-7 month relationships and how they ended. And drew a pie chart too. The reasons they ended are diverse, only two reasons non-unique. The most popular reason for splitting up, with 2.5 hits, is 'moved to London'. This shouldn't reoccur, I've implemented corrective action. The second non-unique reason, is my refusal to come back after being dumped and then begged back.
Me saying something outrageous, has never had any bearing on the end of a relationship.
Looking at the list, the other terrifying thing is what could be called the Good Luck Chuck factor. More than half the girlfriends got engaged shortly after we broke up. Never seen the film, but I understand to break the curse I have to hump Jessica Alba. Alas she never returns my calls.
What to do?
Fuck knows.
If I don't shut anything down, or close off any of my options, the possibilities for the future are limitless.
So carry on reviewing gigs, carry on going to geeky internet meetups, carry on drawing pictures, carry on as usual with brief psychotic episodes of frustration, jealousy and anger.
Then again, the friend was also signing up to Guardian's Soulmates herself, so it could have been a round about way of asking me out. But I very much doubt it.
And here's why.
I don't struggle at meeting new people. In the course of my extra-curricular activities, both online and in real life, I'm surrounded. Thousands of people check out my websites, hundreds of people read my posts on message boards, dozens of people go to the same gigs as me. At any point I can turn the girl next to me and say "Hey, how's it going, what did you think of that last one.".
I'll accept that starting off the conversation terrifies me, but after that, its plain sailing, I can be rounded and charming enough to carry it off.
So, what is the problem?
Even when out with friends, I sit at the side, or stand at the back keeping quiet, gazing into the distance, or into my pint, sometimes my mind travels in time. It takes a cattle prod to get me communicating.
I'm not sure how Soulmates will help there.
Since I discovered my cock some time in the mid-nineties, I've have about six relationships that lasted over four months, none more than seven. It worries me, there's something very wrong. I mention it to friends on MSN, my worries. And then every so often in response to me saying something outragous, the friends on MSN will say something like "I can see why it only lasts six months".
I find it patronising and condescending, and it makes me think they're fools. They know nothing of context. I take it too seriously.
Yesterday, I was at Dr Sketchy's, the burlesque life-drawing thing. Keeping quiet at the back with my post-it pad and biro, between drawing tasks, I scrawled a wee list of those lucky lucky 4-7 month relationships and how they ended. And drew a pie chart too. The reasons they ended are diverse, only two reasons non-unique. The most popular reason for splitting up, with 2.5 hits, is 'moved to London'. This shouldn't reoccur, I've implemented corrective action. The second non-unique reason, is my refusal to come back after being dumped and then begged back.
Me saying something outrageous, has never had any bearing on the end of a relationship.
Looking at the list, the other terrifying thing is what could be called the Good Luck Chuck factor. More than half the girlfriends got engaged shortly after we broke up. Never seen the film, but I understand to break the curse I have to hump Jessica Alba. Alas she never returns my calls.
What to do?
Fuck knows.
If I don't shut anything down, or close off any of my options, the possibilities for the future are limitless.
So carry on reviewing gigs, carry on going to geeky internet meetups, carry on drawing pictures, carry on as usual with brief psychotic episodes of frustration, jealousy and anger.
Then again, the friend was also signing up to Guardian's Soulmates herself, so it could have been a round about way of asking me out. But I very much doubt it.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Game raising
Do I raise my game?
On places like the nuddy chicks site, in addition to the handful of pics a day, I also post about politics and random ranting and gig reviews and music and stuff, just keep pushing and pushing. Getting more traffic from more different quarters rather than just the youporn and sex blogger sectors?
The shyness that dogs me in real life, I'd never quite noticed it online, but its there just the same. Whilst I can just about handle getting on stage, standing on a table, waving my arms about and talking any old shit to an audience of thousands, sharing my innermost privacies with half a million net surfers. I can't just chat to folk.
There's a threshold to cross, at NPL or HDIF or Spiral Scratch. I stand in the shadows or sit in a corner, gazing at my pint or stabbing at my phone, until at some point someone says hi, or sense takes over and I get up. This threshold, this threshold.
Its the same online in MSN, Twitter, Facebook et al. I bubble in the corner, distracting myself with the internet, creating and racing, until the threshold gets unbearable and I step over to speak to the folk who've popped up in the bottom right. Other people's comments and links become too ubiquitous and I feel left out to the point of fixing it. The tangible threshold.
IP addresses to, on the statcounter logs, the familiar ones from one day to the next, glancing over whilst I stare at my pint and stab fixedly at my keyboard.
On places like the nuddy chicks site, in addition to the handful of pics a day, I also post about politics and random ranting and gig reviews and music and stuff, just keep pushing and pushing. Getting more traffic from more different quarters rather than just the youporn and sex blogger sectors?
The shyness that dogs me in real life, I'd never quite noticed it online, but its there just the same. Whilst I can just about handle getting on stage, standing on a table, waving my arms about and talking any old shit to an audience of thousands, sharing my innermost privacies with half a million net surfers. I can't just chat to folk.
There's a threshold to cross, at NPL or HDIF or Spiral Scratch. I stand in the shadows or sit in a corner, gazing at my pint or stabbing at my phone, until at some point someone says hi, or sense takes over and I get up. This threshold, this threshold.
Its the same online in MSN, Twitter, Facebook et al. I bubble in the corner, distracting myself with the internet, creating and racing, until the threshold gets unbearable and I step over to speak to the folk who've popped up in the bottom right. Other people's comments and links become too ubiquitous and I feel left out to the point of fixing it. The tangible threshold.
IP addresses to, on the statcounter logs, the familiar ones from one day to the next, glancing over whilst I stare at my pint and stab fixedly at my keyboard.
Monday, 10 December 2007
Happy Birthday (Judo not required)
Blog temporarily made private over the weekend cos Andy Hart found it offensive and was being a dick as always. I had not enough time and inclination to sort it. But now I have.
Photies from Glasgow
here
Report from the weekend in Glasgow below...
Friday - 19:23
I sit, at long last, on the plane,
my fate in the hands of a pilot. I am
helpless.
Not quite enough time in the airport to
buy snacks, too much queuing for security, foreign
folk needing to queue jump to avoid missing their
flight. At the check in desk, so paracitic
credit card chugger. I script in my head what
I'd say, I'd ask if he has a credit card,
one of those, and does he pay it in full
every month. Does the 16% APR look set
to be reduced in line with interest rates and isn't
10.5% profit a bit steep?
The bus dropped us off, leading to
a frantic dash to the check in desk, this
immaculately designed building raped with security
barriers, they look temporary, in that way
that things do after they've been in place for
fice years.
Was running late to get out of work,
firing of a final salvo to Anorak. Why
is it always antagonistic and confrontational
Is it me? No, cos even when I'm not
there Tasty fires salvos, even when I don't
mention stuff, Tasty brings things up.
Maybe he has never stopped loving me.
It ain't healthy, this running through
my head.
"It might help if you asked The
Plimptons to write some good songs" quoth he.
"If they did, would you listen?" Untyped.
The chap sat next to me is getting
frustrated. "Fuck" he says,. The plane isn't due
to leave for another five minutes.
The stewardess with the mic is amusing.
Two lost passengers, are we sure we're
not them? Are we sure we're going to
Glasgow?
Friday - 21:37
The venue isn't open yet, The Beat Club
375 Sauchiehall Street, so I head to ra
Noodle Bar for ma dinner.
Somewhere behind me and to the left a
chap from my first year at university is having
food with his friends.
Since I stepped off the airport bus,
Central Station stop, I've been filled with
glee, I'm home and dry. The streets warm and
embracing, familiar and safe.
This one time I ate in here before a
Belle & Seb gig at the ABC, there was a
crowd of ten or so of us, bickering over eating in
or take away.
Saturday - 00:47
The Beat Club is dark and neon lit when I wander
in, through the murk I see Paul Smith
of Pin Up, and thence emerges Martin Smith
and in the distance Adam, friends. I spot
five or six people, Plimps and entourage. On
stage are some noisy shoegaze Oasis kids. If
they weren't too young I'd figure they were taking
the piss.
Text message from Robbie, he's round the
corner at The State, and seconds later, I'm there
too. Finton Stack, and a chap called Anders, the
name's a little familiar, but I've never seen
him before in my life.
The chaps are there sampling beers
uninterested in joining me at the Plimptons gig
probably awaiting the new album rather than
internecine gigging.
We chat, time passes and I return to
Pin Up Nights.
It was years ago, 1999 when I
first met John D McGonagle, one of the
founders of the Pin Up Nights franchise, him and a chap
called Graham. We'd been competing against
each other in the elections to be student
president at Strathclyde.
I didn't see John D at the gig, thing
slowly fall apart I guess.
Excitement buids before the Plimps take
to the stage. I recognise folk in the
crowd, the smiley foreign lass from
Sounds of Sweden, Chris, Dave and
Katie from the Just Joans, ancient
scenesters from long ago.
The place explodes when the Plimps
take to the stage.
They have the new album in their
minds, still raw, not recorded. The
band all psyched, Rowan smiling eyes
asparkle, Martin overcome by crazed animal spirits,
Cal the youngester fitting in neatly to the six-piece,
Adam twitching by the mic, on home turf, Neil
back to the audience sorting out levels on his
bass, Paul - eyeliner.
Whilst there are still the regular old favourites in the
set, Could I Be Loved and John Major, they
take the opportunity of a full band to play the
more complicated stuff from their 2004 debut
album and earlier demos, The Plimptons Rap
even gets an airing.
Tracks from the third album include Lonely
Old Man, who's MySpace references could date quickly
and Virgin on the Ridiculous, which sounds
terrifyingly like Elvis Costello, Paul Kelly's influence
in the song writing.
Most terrifying of the evening are the
people dancing, looks of glee on the audience's
faces isn't enough, there are mobs of
complete strangers dancing in front of the
stage, folk coming up and shaking Adam's
hand after the show.
What have they
gained since I left?
Text message from the girl, she's just
finished work, Robbie, Finton, and Anders
are there so I head off.
---
The next day, the weather's shite
as we head off to the farmer's market in
Partick, on a quest for duck eggs and
homemade sorbet.
Some further acquaintance from uni is
running one of the stalls, selling porridge oats,
my eyes glaze over as I try to recall
how I know him, but the moment passes.
Robbie and Finto are there,
four of us head to a bearby Polish Deli
for pickles and kabanos. In Glasgow its
still a novelty instead of the norm.
The weather's still crap as we sit
in The Three Judges. I leave myself at
the combined mercy of the others' expert
knowledge of fine beers and ales.
The rain is torrential with blobs of
snows, the girl's feet soaked, when we
call round at my old flat to pick up
mail. A good carrier bag full for
me to wade through an hour later at
the Bon Accord as we're served a
succession of Bloody Mary derived drinks.
The one with floaty nits of horseradish
is unexpectedly
pleasant, but
would be a
task to persuade
others to sample.
An indian
takeaway, the
film Chopper
with Eric
Bana and NCiIS
on the TV.
Its dark and wet out when we
stagger into The Cellers. Used to be the
Brunswick Cellers back in my day, now its still
cold and gloomy but utterly without soul.
Flatmate Alan and his wife Claire are here
for my birthday. They haven't seen us since
the wedding, two months ago, they
bring gifts. I melt in a gooey mess of
happiness, leaving Natalie and Alan to
do the talking. The Wolfknuckles soldier on,
Iain Thornton is still around, no one's
seen Teamie in months, the old club nights
are achanging, naked woman on fliers.
Bis still playing gigs. Working over
Christmas. Teamie appears, the
descent of the Winchester, change, change,
change.
Drinks are drunk and baby its time to
move on.
The weather's still crap as me and
Natalie find The Flying Duck, the entrance
is hidden, but inside its homely. We
strangely see Bis's Sci-Fi Steve fluttering
down the corridors like the fifth Doctor,
before we pay in and retrouve Robbie and
Finto.
The latest version of that crowd is here,
faces missing, far away, unexpected face
now here, like Big Duncan and Wake The
President, last see in London just days
before.
Robbie dragging me to the dancefloor for the Rutles.
Nat dragging me to the dancefloor for some other dancing
Me dragging Robbie to the dancefloor via Gav for Hectors
Natalie taking photies of the boys, looking cool
Fear / jealousy of Natalie and Finto chatting and flicking through my camera, then remembering faith and the phrase 'true blue'
Flashes of years gone by, similar folk dancing similarly
Somethings change, but not everything
Text message from the ex-wife, she'd just finished work and wanted to know where we were, battery on my phone failed before I could reply.
For a few seconds I thought it could be awkward were she with us.
Robbie mentioning some sad news about an ex- in London. Feelings of helpnessness "But I should do something"
More booze, more dancing.
Trying to get Ally to play Pipettes.
Trying to get Ally to put on more bands at the Winchester
Replying to Colin's post on Anorak offline.
Switching on lamps and eating cashew nuts, pilferred from the night before.
Dancing to Stone Roses.
Smiling at Finto and Nat dancing to Pulp. Did I really drag him out to the Winchester?
Did I have fun, damned right, didn't
even have to apply Mental Judo.
Next morning we stagger to the
bus station. A man dies of a heart attack
in Waterstones. I step onto the Megabus
and vanish.
Photies from Glasgow
here
Report from the weekend in Glasgow below...
Friday - 19:23
I sit, at long last, on the plane,
my fate in the hands of a pilot. I am
helpless.
Not quite enough time in the airport to
buy snacks, too much queuing for security, foreign
folk needing to queue jump to avoid missing their
flight. At the check in desk, so paracitic
credit card chugger. I script in my head what
I'd say, I'd ask if he has a credit card,
one of those, and does he pay it in full
every month. Does the 16% APR look set
to be reduced in line with interest rates and isn't
10.5% profit a bit steep?
The bus dropped us off, leading to
a frantic dash to the check in desk, this
immaculately designed building raped with security
barriers, they look temporary, in that way
that things do after they've been in place for
fice years.
Was running late to get out of work,
firing of a final salvo to Anorak. Why
is it always antagonistic and confrontational
Is it me? No, cos even when I'm not
there Tasty fires salvos, even when I don't
mention stuff, Tasty brings things up.
Maybe he has never stopped loving me.
It ain't healthy, this running through
my head.
"It might help if you asked The
Plimptons to write some good songs" quoth he.
"If they did, would you listen?" Untyped.
The chap sat next to me is getting
frustrated. "Fuck" he says,. The plane isn't due
to leave for another five minutes.
The stewardess with the mic is amusing.
Two lost passengers, are we sure we're
not them? Are we sure we're going to
Glasgow?
Friday - 21:37
The venue isn't open yet, The Beat Club
375 Sauchiehall Street, so I head to ra
Noodle Bar for ma dinner.
Somewhere behind me and to the left a
chap from my first year at university is having
food with his friends.
Since I stepped off the airport bus,
Central Station stop, I've been filled with
glee, I'm home and dry. The streets warm and
embracing, familiar and safe.
This one time I ate in here before a
Belle & Seb gig at the ABC, there was a
crowd of ten or so of us, bickering over eating in
or take away.
Saturday - 00:47
The Beat Club is dark and neon lit when I wander
in, through the murk I see Paul Smith
of Pin Up, and thence emerges Martin Smith
and in the distance Adam, friends. I spot
five or six people, Plimps and entourage. On
stage are some noisy shoegaze Oasis kids. If
they weren't too young I'd figure they were taking
the piss.
Text message from Robbie, he's round the
corner at The State, and seconds later, I'm there
too. Finton Stack, and a chap called Anders, the
name's a little familiar, but I've never seen
him before in my life.
The chaps are there sampling beers
uninterested in joining me at the Plimptons gig
probably awaiting the new album rather than
internecine gigging.
We chat, time passes and I return to
Pin Up Nights.
It was years ago, 1999 when I
first met John D McGonagle, one of the
founders of the Pin Up Nights franchise, him and a chap
called Graham. We'd been competing against
each other in the elections to be student
president at Strathclyde.
I didn't see John D at the gig, thing
slowly fall apart I guess.
Excitement buids before the Plimps take
to the stage. I recognise folk in the
crowd, the smiley foreign lass from
Sounds of Sweden, Chris, Dave and
Katie from the Just Joans, ancient
scenesters from long ago.
The place explodes when the Plimps
take to the stage.
They have the new album in their
minds, still raw, not recorded. The
band all psyched, Rowan smiling eyes
asparkle, Martin overcome by crazed animal spirits,
Cal the youngester fitting in neatly to the six-piece,
Adam twitching by the mic, on home turf, Neil
back to the audience sorting out levels on his
bass, Paul - eyeliner.
Whilst there are still the regular old favourites in the
set, Could I Be Loved and John Major, they
take the opportunity of a full band to play the
more complicated stuff from their 2004 debut
album and earlier demos, The Plimptons Rap
even gets an airing.
Tracks from the third album include Lonely
Old Man, who's MySpace references could date quickly
and Virgin on the Ridiculous, which sounds
terrifyingly like Elvis Costello, Paul Kelly's influence
in the song writing.
Most terrifying of the evening are the
people dancing, looks of glee on the audience's
faces isn't enough, there are mobs of
complete strangers dancing in front of the
stage, folk coming up and shaking Adam's
hand after the show.
What have they
gained since I left?
Text message from the girl, she's just
finished work, Robbie, Finton, and Anders
are there so I head off.
---
The next day, the weather's shite
as we head off to the farmer's market in
Partick, on a quest for duck eggs and
homemade sorbet.
Some further acquaintance from uni is
running one of the stalls, selling porridge oats,
my eyes glaze over as I try to recall
how I know him, but the moment passes.
Robbie and Finto are there,
four of us head to a bearby Polish Deli
for pickles and kabanos. In Glasgow its
still a novelty instead of the norm.
The weather's still crap as we sit
in The Three Judges. I leave myself at
the combined mercy of the others' expert
knowledge of fine beers and ales.
The rain is torrential with blobs of
snows, the girl's feet soaked, when we
call round at my old flat to pick up
mail. A good carrier bag full for
me to wade through an hour later at
the Bon Accord as we're served a
succession of Bloody Mary derived drinks.
The one with floaty nits of horseradish
is unexpectedly
pleasant, but
would be a
task to persuade
others to sample.
An indian
takeaway, the
film Chopper
with Eric
Bana and NCiIS
on the TV.
Its dark and wet out when we
stagger into The Cellers. Used to be the
Brunswick Cellers back in my day, now its still
cold and gloomy but utterly without soul.
Flatmate Alan and his wife Claire are here
for my birthday. They haven't seen us since
the wedding, two months ago, they
bring gifts. I melt in a gooey mess of
happiness, leaving Natalie and Alan to
do the talking. The Wolfknuckles soldier on,
Iain Thornton is still around, no one's
seen Teamie in months, the old club nights
are achanging, naked woman on fliers.
Bis still playing gigs. Working over
Christmas. Teamie appears, the
descent of the Winchester, change, change,
change.
Drinks are drunk and baby its time to
move on.
The weather's still crap as me and
Natalie find The Flying Duck, the entrance
is hidden, but inside its homely. We
strangely see Bis's Sci-Fi Steve fluttering
down the corridors like the fifth Doctor,
before we pay in and retrouve Robbie and
Finto.
The latest version of that crowd is here,
faces missing, far away, unexpected face
now here, like Big Duncan and Wake The
President, last see in London just days
before.
Robbie dragging me to the dancefloor for the Rutles.
Nat dragging me to the dancefloor for some other dancing
Me dragging Robbie to the dancefloor via Gav for Hectors
Natalie taking photies of the boys, looking cool
Fear / jealousy of Natalie and Finto chatting and flicking through my camera, then remembering faith and the phrase 'true blue'
Flashes of years gone by, similar folk dancing similarly
Somethings change, but not everything
Text message from the ex-wife, she'd just finished work and wanted to know where we were, battery on my phone failed before I could reply.
For a few seconds I thought it could be awkward were she with us.
Robbie mentioning some sad news about an ex- in London. Feelings of helpnessness "But I should do something"
More booze, more dancing.
Trying to get Ally to play Pipettes.
Trying to get Ally to put on more bands at the Winchester
Replying to Colin's post on Anorak offline.
Switching on lamps and eating cashew nuts, pilferred from the night before.
Dancing to Stone Roses.
Smiling at Finto and Nat dancing to Pulp. Did I really drag him out to the Winchester?
Did I have fun, damned right, didn't
even have to apply Mental Judo.
Next morning we stagger to the
bus station. A man dies of a heart attack
in Waterstones. I step onto the Megabus
and vanish.
Monday, 3 December 2007
Mental Judo
This song, verse two.
For my birthday one yearHas made me book a flight to Glasgow next weekend, whence I'll be going to Pin Up Nights to catch the mighty mighty Plimptons on Friday night and then The Winchester Club on Saturday night. If anyone fancies a drink, I'll probably be buying with wreckless abandon in the hope of making friends with acquaintances and trying to find somewhere to spend the night.
Two of my friends took me out for a beer
They'd invited other people I knew
To come and meet me
I didn't mind
That hardly any of them arrived
But the other two spent the whole night
Going on about it
I said I do not care
If there's never anybody else there
I'm going to enjoy it for what it is
Not not for what it isn't
Mental jud
This way a round'll be cheap
And we'll be sure that we all get a seat
When we go out dancing, 'cos we're going out dancing
Mental judo
Its my birthday see, and whilst there's probably dinner and acquaintances closer to the time in London, there's a great density of friends in Glasgow, and don't forget you get extra bonus points for social interaction, rather than just being seen.
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