Of course, it wasn't always so. I've had exciting moments in my life: I've gazed out over the Pacific Ocean, climbed on stage and played music I wrote, I've been in love and loved in return. Highlights of my life. And I'm sure that's how it is for most of us: we cherish such memories as the peaks amongst the boredom and tedium that makes up 99% of our time on earth.
Currently, I'm trying to find some of these from the last 12 months, but it seems to be a haze of static and grey. There may be something tangible in there somewhere if I look hard enough. Then again, I never was any good at those magic eye puzzles.
Something that does eventually emerge is a moment last summer. I bought a car. A really beautiful car that gave me a buzz just sitting in it and shallow as it is, I liked the attention it got me. I liked it when strangers would nod in approval and say "nice car". Of course, for every one of them, another would have said "twat", but I'm used to that already.
Driving on the M6 between Lancaster and Carlisle last summer, I saw no cars ahead and none behind. Temptation struck me hard and I pressed my right foot down. As I recall it, I got to about 110 mph before my nerve finally gave way. The burst of giggles that followed, with the adrenaline still working it's magic, was probably more dangerous than the speed.
A couple of months ago, the cam belt went. Currently, she's sat in a brick coffin, waiting for the decision of whether repairs are plausible or not. I miss her. Part of me thinks I should spend whatever it takes to get her back on the road, the other thinks I should give it up and use the cash to try to shake my life up, somehow.
Thursday, 29 April 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Rock Music
I've always been keen to tell anyone that would listen that British Sea Power are, to me, the only band to really strike any kind of chord with me from the last 10 years. Without doubt, the best of the first decade of the 21st century.
Whenever possible, I've tried to catch them when they pass through town, hence finding myself again at MohoLive last night. Originally, it was to be a Friday night but for whatever reason, it was shifted to a Monday. This was a bad thing. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels a bit dead on their feet after the first day back at work.
Also, the venue itself is a dump. Crap beer, crap sound and throughout the gig, the lighting was producing seizure-inducing headaches and at points, I had to stare at the ceiling to alleviate the irritation a little while.
It wasn't their fault I didn't really enjoy the gig nor, in all honesty, the fault of the venue. The evening had started with me getting upset and frustrated, questioning just what my ethical stance is on certain matters and whether I'm a good person or not. (answer: uncertain but not looking likely)
The band mined their first and third albums for their set, throwing in what I assume are a few promising new numbers (or b-sides I haven't heard). Eventually, at the death, they cleared my mental mugginess by thrashing through The Spirit of St Louis and I smiled for the first time that day.
British Sea Power remain the only band out there now that really matter to me. I hope next time I see them, it's in a better venue and I'm in a better frame of mind.
Whenever possible, I've tried to catch them when they pass through town, hence finding myself again at MohoLive last night. Originally, it was to be a Friday night but for whatever reason, it was shifted to a Monday. This was a bad thing. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels a bit dead on their feet after the first day back at work.
Also, the venue itself is a dump. Crap beer, crap sound and throughout the gig, the lighting was producing seizure-inducing headaches and at points, I had to stare at the ceiling to alleviate the irritation a little while.
It wasn't their fault I didn't really enjoy the gig nor, in all honesty, the fault of the venue. The evening had started with me getting upset and frustrated, questioning just what my ethical stance is on certain matters and whether I'm a good person or not. (answer: uncertain but not looking likely)
The band mined their first and third albums for their set, throwing in what I assume are a few promising new numbers (or b-sides I haven't heard). Eventually, at the death, they cleared my mental mugginess by thrashing through The Spirit of St Louis and I smiled for the first time that day.
British Sea Power remain the only band out there now that really matter to me. I hope next time I see them, it's in a better venue and I'm in a better frame of mind.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Ghosts
Back when I was 17 and a sixth former, I used to make a habit of going to the pub with a good friend of mine on Friday afternoons. Neither of us had any classes and the idea of using the free time to study seemed a bit absurd, despite the fact we were both desperate to pass our A levels and get out of our hometown. The folly/arrogance of youth, perhaps.
With that in mind, we'd jaunt off into town to enjoy a pint or two, play pool and feed the jukebox. Certain songs were stapes, two being Paint It, Black by the Stones and Australia by the Manic Street Preachers.
The latter was down to both of us expressing a desire to head down there at some point. In my own family, my dad's aunty had moved there in the 1950s, and at the start of the 20th century, two of my great-great uncles had left England to work out some kind of new life on the other side of the world.
I bring this up because the last few weeks have seen a return to my own feelings of cashing in my chips and buying a ticket there. There is next to nothing to keep me here, except that I'd rarely (if ever) see some family members again, but I have no career, no home and no connections worth staying here for. Perhaps if I can beat my own doubts and fears, I'll end up doing it.
Such thoughts were doing laps in my head last night. Saturday had been a good day: company of someone I can bear to be around for any length of time, tickets to the game, drinks for the rest of the day. Sunday started well enough but progressed with a different kind of hangover, defences I had spent the last few weeks trying to build up crashing down like sandcastles at high tide. Somewhat fittingly, it rained for what seems the first time in weeks.
Though I never sleep well Sunday nights, with the dread of the Monday providing a waking nightmare, it was worse than usual. Lying awake at 5am with the tweets of birds like klaxons, I wanted to charter a plane to spray a pesticide capable of killing all living creatures on the streets within 200m of my flat.
Like Peter Gibbons in Office Space, I am not a Monday person.
With that in mind, we'd jaunt off into town to enjoy a pint or two, play pool and feed the jukebox. Certain songs were stapes, two being Paint It, Black by the Stones and Australia by the Manic Street Preachers.
The latter was down to both of us expressing a desire to head down there at some point. In my own family, my dad's aunty had moved there in the 1950s, and at the start of the 20th century, two of my great-great uncles had left England to work out some kind of new life on the other side of the world.
I bring this up because the last few weeks have seen a return to my own feelings of cashing in my chips and buying a ticket there. There is next to nothing to keep me here, except that I'd rarely (if ever) see some family members again, but I have no career, no home and no connections worth staying here for. Perhaps if I can beat my own doubts and fears, I'll end up doing it.
Such thoughts were doing laps in my head last night. Saturday had been a good day: company of someone I can bear to be around for any length of time, tickets to the game, drinks for the rest of the day. Sunday started well enough but progressed with a different kind of hangover, defences I had spent the last few weeks trying to build up crashing down like sandcastles at high tide. Somewhat fittingly, it rained for what seems the first time in weeks.
Though I never sleep well Sunday nights, with the dread of the Monday providing a waking nightmare, it was worse than usual. Lying awake at 5am with the tweets of birds like klaxons, I wanted to charter a plane to spray a pesticide capable of killing all living creatures on the streets within 200m of my flat.
Like Peter Gibbons in Office Space, I am not a Monday person.
Friday, 23 April 2010
Investigating The Church
No, I haven't suddenly found the light and will be spending my Sunday mornings thanking my creator for giving me life. Instead, I've recently been digging into the back catalogue of the Australian band. And I do speak to my creators anyways: my parents usually ring up on Sunday evening to see how I am.
So, the Church. I would imagine I'm like many in that my first exposure was through Donnie Darko using their most well-known song Under The Milky Way. It shimmered in that way I like, but it's only been in the last few months that I've begun to investigate further. There seemed to be a lot to like: their bassist/singer and twin guitar line-up matches the Chameleons, another superb outfit who deserved more success then they got.
Every year I seem to get obsessed with a band: previously it's been XTC, the Comsat Angels and Talk Talk. I'll buy up all the albums, pore over articles to learn the most banal details and buy any books.
With over 20 albums released since 1980, being obsessed with the Church could get expensive, especially as most of those are only available via import (they never made too much of an impact in the UK). It made sense to start with what I knew, so I picked up Starfish - their most popular album in sales terms and featuring the aforementioned Milky Way. As commercial breakthroughs go, it's surprisingly edgy and I wasn't surprised on learning that much of it was recorded 'live' in the studio. Several songs reflect the LA environment they'd been dropped in whilst recording (Destination and North, South, East and West in particular). It's a quite glorious album and one I've had on constant play in the last few months.
Much impressed by the album, I decided to go backwards and picked up the album before: Heyday. Despite a terrible album cover, it's another fine album. It's perhaps more 'produced', what with horns and strings peppering some songs, which themselves have a more psychedelic edge: jangling guitars are much the order of the day. It lags a little in some moments, but numbers such as Already Yesterday, Disenchanted and Tantalised are the equal of anything going on in the UK indie scene at the time.
Finally, last week I received The Blurred Crusade in the post. Their second album (Heyday being the fourth), it shows more a post-punk vibe which I'm led to believe carries over from their debut Of Skins and Heart - from which I only know the fab single The Unguarded Moment.
I've had a week to digest The Blurred Crusade, and I'm impressed. The opening one-two of Almost With You and When You Were Mine is about as good as it can get. There's a confidence of a band hitting their stride, switching between the dreamy soundscapes of Fields of Mars and more rocking numbers like A Fire Burns.
All three albums have provided a welcome escape for me these last few weeks. While bassist/singer Steve Kilbey generally seems to be singing about not much at all (especially on the earlier stuff), it does manage to have the effect of taking your thoughts somewhere else, which sounds vague, but is as good an explanation as I can manage. The guitar team of Peter Koppes and Marty Willson-Piper are also magical, putting together some interplay that matches my all-time favourite guitar team of Reg Smithies and Dave Fielding.
So, my new favourite band and one I plan on investigating much, much more. For all the tedium, wasted time and heartbreak of 2010, the music of this band have provided a much needed escape. I thank them.
So, the Church. I would imagine I'm like many in that my first exposure was through Donnie Darko using their most well-known song Under The Milky Way. It shimmered in that way I like, but it's only been in the last few months that I've begun to investigate further. There seemed to be a lot to like: their bassist/singer and twin guitar line-up matches the Chameleons, another superb outfit who deserved more success then they got.
Every year I seem to get obsessed with a band: previously it's been XTC, the Comsat Angels and Talk Talk. I'll buy up all the albums, pore over articles to learn the most banal details and buy any books.
With over 20 albums released since 1980, being obsessed with the Church could get expensive, especially as most of those are only available via import (they never made too much of an impact in the UK). It made sense to start with what I knew, so I picked up Starfish - their most popular album in sales terms and featuring the aforementioned Milky Way. As commercial breakthroughs go, it's surprisingly edgy and I wasn't surprised on learning that much of it was recorded 'live' in the studio. Several songs reflect the LA environment they'd been dropped in whilst recording (Destination and North, South, East and West in particular). It's a quite glorious album and one I've had on constant play in the last few months.
Much impressed by the album, I decided to go backwards and picked up the album before: Heyday. Despite a terrible album cover, it's another fine album. It's perhaps more 'produced', what with horns and strings peppering some songs, which themselves have a more psychedelic edge: jangling guitars are much the order of the day. It lags a little in some moments, but numbers such as Already Yesterday, Disenchanted and Tantalised are the equal of anything going on in the UK indie scene at the time.
Finally, last week I received The Blurred Crusade in the post. Their second album (Heyday being the fourth), it shows more a post-punk vibe which I'm led to believe carries over from their debut Of Skins and Heart - from which I only know the fab single The Unguarded Moment.
I've had a week to digest The Blurred Crusade, and I'm impressed. The opening one-two of Almost With You and When You Were Mine is about as good as it can get. There's a confidence of a band hitting their stride, switching between the dreamy soundscapes of Fields of Mars and more rocking numbers like A Fire Burns.
All three albums have provided a welcome escape for me these last few weeks. While bassist/singer Steve Kilbey generally seems to be singing about not much at all (especially on the earlier stuff), it does manage to have the effect of taking your thoughts somewhere else, which sounds vague, but is as good an explanation as I can manage. The guitar team of Peter Koppes and Marty Willson-Piper are also magical, putting together some interplay that matches my all-time favourite guitar team of Reg Smithies and Dave Fielding.
So, my new favourite band and one I plan on investigating much, much more. For all the tedium, wasted time and heartbreak of 2010, the music of this band have provided a much needed escape. I thank them.
Thursday, 22 April 2010
Drunk in Time
Last night, due to my internet connection not working (thanks a lot, 3, you useless tossers), I ended up watching a film called "The Butterfly Effect".
It was pretty much standard Hollywood fare, the whole hook being the main character is able to go back in time by reading extracts from his childhood diaries. Therefore, he tried to 'save' his childhood squeeze from being abused by her father and brother. Naturally, it never works and a series of hilarious episodes show the consequences of fucking about in the past, including him ending up minus arms and legs and her as a drug-addled prostitute. Nothing surprising to anyone who's watched The Twilight Zone or that Halloween Simpsons where Homer makes a time machine from a toaster.
This led me to consider that the digital age, where we can talk to people anywhere on the world via MSN, Yahoo, Google or whatever, also allows us to 'save' these conversations and pore over them months later. Or perhaps it's just me. Needless to say, this was what I was doing late into the night, looking over messages, thinking 'what if I'd not said that?' 'what did they mean by that'?
It may well be dangerous ground to go over, but when you have little else to think about during the day (work isn't much of a distraction), it happens. Hindsight is a cruel mistress, and I'm left to wonder that if I'd acted a little different in 2009, I wouldn't be so sick of it all in 2010.
Then I remember, I would more than likely have done exactly the same things, said the same words. I'm reliably stupid like that.
It was pretty much standard Hollywood fare, the whole hook being the main character is able to go back in time by reading extracts from his childhood diaries. Therefore, he tried to 'save' his childhood squeeze from being abused by her father and brother. Naturally, it never works and a series of hilarious episodes show the consequences of fucking about in the past, including him ending up minus arms and legs and her as a drug-addled prostitute. Nothing surprising to anyone who's watched The Twilight Zone or that Halloween Simpsons where Homer makes a time machine from a toaster.
This led me to consider that the digital age, where we can talk to people anywhere on the world via MSN, Yahoo, Google or whatever, also allows us to 'save' these conversations and pore over them months later. Or perhaps it's just me. Needless to say, this was what I was doing late into the night, looking over messages, thinking 'what if I'd not said that?' 'what did they mean by that'?
It may well be dangerous ground to go over, but when you have little else to think about during the day (work isn't much of a distraction), it happens. Hindsight is a cruel mistress, and I'm left to wonder that if I'd acted a little different in 2009, I wouldn't be so sick of it all in 2010.
Then I remember, I would more than likely have done exactly the same things, said the same words. I'm reliably stupid like that.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Spindrift Stinging My Remaining Eye
Of course, if anyone is actually reading this, I fully expect you to be saying "You miserable git. What have you got to be so fed up about? At least you've got a job and live in a nice part of Manchester."
Well, yes, you're probably right. In reply, I offer the words of one of England's great poets, Mr Nigel Blackwell:
"I try to put everything into perspective
Set it against the scale of human suffering
And I thought of the Mugabe government
And the children of the Calcutta railways.
This works for a while
But then I encounter Primark FM
Overhead a rainbow appears
In black and white."
I would like to point out that I've only been in a branch of Primark once, and I did not purchase anything. Honest, your honour.
Well, yes, you're probably right. In reply, I offer the words of one of England's great poets, Mr Nigel Blackwell:
"I try to put everything into perspective
Set it against the scale of human suffering
And I thought of the Mugabe government
And the children of the Calcutta railways.
This works for a while
But then I encounter Primark FM
Overhead a rainbow appears
In black and white."
I would like to point out that I've only been in a branch of Primark once, and I did not purchase anything. Honest, your honour.
Monday, 19 April 2010
Splitting Off Into Small Groups
I've seen Idlewild twice before, in 2002 and 2005. The latter occasion, they were supporting REM at Old Trafford Cricket Ground, the former was at a fair-sized arena venue with the band at their commercial peak, teenage girls screaming at them.
It was at this time I'd got into them myself. Years earlier, in my first year as a journalism student, one of my friends raved constantly about them. Listening to the first album, it seemed a bit teenage to me, and I was looking to leave that behind along with all my other small town habits.
Yet their second/third albums showed (to me) more focus and the gig in 2002 was enjoyable. It wouldn't have been a surprise if they'd stepped up to Coldplay-levels of popularity, but either by choice or circumstance, it didn't happen. Which is why, in 2010, they're playing to a few hundred people in a cramped club in Manchester.
A friend of mine told me he was going, did I want to tag along? I figured it could be a laugh, so why not? As it turned out, it seemed to would be a nice way to end an enjoyable weekend and an excuse to take a Monday off work.
It turned out to be a nice enough time, though not as exciting as I would have hoped. This wasn't the fault of the band, who played with gutso and energy, but somehow I felt entirely detached from what was going on. A few years ago, I would probably have lept into the fray along with the others, emerging covered in sweat, beer and bruises.
Now, I stood back from it all at the bar, drinking crappy over-priced beer from a plastic cup and wondered if bands do get frustrated when the audience react so much more to 12-year-old songs than those from their current album. Maybe I'm just annoyed they didn't play These Wooden Ideals or Let Me Sleep Next To The Mirror. Of course, it could be just that I'm not a hardcore fan and was in a room full of them. A bit like being a vegetarian at the National Butchers' Convention. Or not.
So, I did the obvious thing: drank too much and woke up feeling like crap, meaning half my day off is lost to feeling sorry for myself and the constant reminder that I can't hack it like I was 21 anymore.
I haven't been to many gigs in the last 12 months: Morrissey in Tallinn (good, but too short), Wild Swans twice in Liverpool (excellent both times) and this. In a week, I'm seeing British Sea Power and I really hope I can summon up a bit of enthusiasm for it.
It was at this time I'd got into them myself. Years earlier, in my first year as a journalism student, one of my friends raved constantly about them. Listening to the first album, it seemed a bit teenage to me, and I was looking to leave that behind along with all my other small town habits.
Yet their second/third albums showed (to me) more focus and the gig in 2002 was enjoyable. It wouldn't have been a surprise if they'd stepped up to Coldplay-levels of popularity, but either by choice or circumstance, it didn't happen. Which is why, in 2010, they're playing to a few hundred people in a cramped club in Manchester.
A friend of mine told me he was going, did I want to tag along? I figured it could be a laugh, so why not? As it turned out, it seemed to would be a nice way to end an enjoyable weekend and an excuse to take a Monday off work.
It turned out to be a nice enough time, though not as exciting as I would have hoped. This wasn't the fault of the band, who played with gutso and energy, but somehow I felt entirely detached from what was going on. A few years ago, I would probably have lept into the fray along with the others, emerging covered in sweat, beer and bruises.
Now, I stood back from it all at the bar, drinking crappy over-priced beer from a plastic cup and wondered if bands do get frustrated when the audience react so much more to 12-year-old songs than those from their current album. Maybe I'm just annoyed they didn't play These Wooden Ideals or Let Me Sleep Next To The Mirror. Of course, it could be just that I'm not a hardcore fan and was in a room full of them. A bit like being a vegetarian at the National Butchers' Convention. Or not.
So, I did the obvious thing: drank too much and woke up feeling like crap, meaning half my day off is lost to feeling sorry for myself and the constant reminder that I can't hack it like I was 21 anymore.
I haven't been to many gigs in the last 12 months: Morrissey in Tallinn (good, but too short), Wild Swans twice in Liverpool (excellent both times) and this. In a week, I'm seeing British Sea Power and I really hope I can summon up a bit of enthusiasm for it.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
92m + 40s
Of course, some days just work for you. The weather is good, you sleep well, the football results go your way. You spend a day talking to friends, some cute girl smiles at you on the bus and you have a new album to enjoy. The pizza tastes good and the beer goes down like the nectar of the gods. If I were to go play golf right now, I'd probably hit a hole in one, and I've never played (non crazy) golf before in my life.
A lot of the time, my mind would be preoccupied with what awaits me next week. But I have Monday off, and tomorrow I'll bounce up to town to see Idlewild play. Fuck the world, today is great and I'm going to enjoy the remaining four hours or so with a bottle of JD.
A lot of the time, my mind would be preoccupied with what awaits me next week. But I have Monday off, and tomorrow I'll bounce up to town to see Idlewild play. Fuck the world, today is great and I'm going to enjoy the remaining four hours or so with a bottle of JD.
Friday, 16 April 2010
"Ashes Block Out The Sun..."
I try not to engage with people. Today, at the desk next to mine, was a conversation about which of two very well known fast food chains does the best chickenburgers. All I can do is hope it washes over me and I don't react. Rap the beat on the table, keep calm, I plug headphones in for a few minutes and listen to the song Hotel Womb by the Church.
Friday always crawls. The weekend is within reach: on the one hand, it shouldn't matter as most weekends I don't do much (it's not uncommon for me to not have a single in-person conversation over the two days) but it's my time to do as I please. This one is worse than normal, as a friend of mine is going through his last day here. This is very bad news, as conversations with him are one of a handful of things that break up the seconds.
Now, all I do is stare at the wall, wondering if I do it long enough some complex pattern will emerge, like a concrete Turin shroud. Elsewhere, there's groups of people stranded in airports because of an "act of God". The song that finishes reminds me of a guy I know was due to go to LA today, but his flight was cancelled. This eases my jealously a little, though I then feel guilty for being so in the first place. I wonder if I really tried, I could be a better person and in turn escape this somehow.
Outside, the sun beats over the sprawl. People keep commenting on it, that summer is early. I think of last summer, of half-baked plans unfurling. A memory of being sat on the end of my hometown's pier, staring out to sea with an empty space next to me. That leads to me a similar moment six years earlier, when there was a difference. It seems more like sixty years - I barely recognise those two people and I'm sure she'd agree too.
Enough. I do some checking, make a phone call. The idea is good. Two tickets to see Burgess and Lever from the Chameleons at FAC 251 in June.
Friday always crawls. The weekend is within reach: on the one hand, it shouldn't matter as most weekends I don't do much (it's not uncommon for me to not have a single in-person conversation over the two days) but it's my time to do as I please. This one is worse than normal, as a friend of mine is going through his last day here. This is very bad news, as conversations with him are one of a handful of things that break up the seconds.
Now, all I do is stare at the wall, wondering if I do it long enough some complex pattern will emerge, like a concrete Turin shroud. Elsewhere, there's groups of people stranded in airports because of an "act of God". The song that finishes reminds me of a guy I know was due to go to LA today, but his flight was cancelled. This eases my jealously a little, though I then feel guilty for being so in the first place. I wonder if I really tried, I could be a better person and in turn escape this somehow.
Outside, the sun beats over the sprawl. People keep commenting on it, that summer is early. I think of last summer, of half-baked plans unfurling. A memory of being sat on the end of my hometown's pier, staring out to sea with an empty space next to me. That leads to me a similar moment six years earlier, when there was a difference. It seems more like sixty years - I barely recognise those two people and I'm sure she'd agree too.
Enough. I do some checking, make a phone call. The idea is good. Two tickets to see Burgess and Lever from the Chameleons at FAC 251 in June.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Wheels
I'm not sure if it's a case of becoming older, but I find my patience wears thin with the general public these days. Currently, nothing irritates me more than the people who get the bus between St Peter's Square and Piccadilly Gardens.
Really, I can happily be as lazy as anyone, but for fucks sake you can SEE the destination. You can WALK it, probably quicker then it will take on the bus. If I were the driver, I would refuse to let them board on the principle of the matter (the principle in question being that I am right).
On my way home today, I boarded the 16:25 bus at Southern Cem for the short hop down Barlow Moor Road and home. The bus arrived at 16:22, so the driver waits up for the correct time. I'm cool with this: nothing more irritating then getting to the stop on time only for the bus to be 200m down the road.
However, our man behind the wheel pulls out a copy of "Photography Today" and spends the next five minutes deciding what equipment to get for whatever hobby he gets up to on his days off.
I felt like pleading with him: "Please, can we go now? I know it's nothing to you, but I just want to go home so I can have a shower, lie in the dark and forget what an abject failure I've made of my life." Just for a few seconds.
Then I figured he probably feels the same, and this is his small revenge against the human race.
I got home at 16:35 and I don't know what happened to the rest of the day.
Really, I can happily be as lazy as anyone, but for fucks sake you can SEE the destination. You can WALK it, probably quicker then it will take on the bus. If I were the driver, I would refuse to let them board on the principle of the matter (the principle in question being that I am right).
On my way home today, I boarded the 16:25 bus at Southern Cem for the short hop down Barlow Moor Road and home. The bus arrived at 16:22, so the driver waits up for the correct time. I'm cool with this: nothing more irritating then getting to the stop on time only for the bus to be 200m down the road.
However, our man behind the wheel pulls out a copy of "Photography Today" and spends the next five minutes deciding what equipment to get for whatever hobby he gets up to on his days off.
I felt like pleading with him: "Please, can we go now? I know it's nothing to you, but I just want to go home so I can have a shower, lie in the dark and forget what an abject failure I've made of my life." Just for a few seconds.
Then I figured he probably feels the same, and this is his small revenge against the human race.
I got home at 16:35 and I don't know what happened to the rest of the day.
Democracy Today
At work today, while I was attempting to measure the erosive power of my breath on the wall, it was mentioned by some of my co-workers that there's to be some kind of televised debate between the leaders of the three main political parties tonight.
Here, I suggested it would turn out like the Jack Johnson/John Jackson presidential race in 'Futurama'. This earned looks of confusion, and I went back to silent clockwatching.
This happens a lot to me, not through anyone's fault, but my own misguided attempts at breaking the numbing tedium. A simple "what have you been up to?" in the kitchen while making coffee can bring the response "I have just been thinking about the absurdity of my existence in an unfeeling, meaningless universe," at which point I'll put on an anguished face. "Because everything seems so BLOODY POINTLESS SINCE SHE'S BEEN GONE FROM MY LIFE". Cue affected sobs.
Of course there's no laughs, because they don't know if I'm being serious or not, though there is an element of self-pitying truth. And also because there's no joke to get. Perhaps it's just my way of ensuring I get left alone as much as possible.
Here, I suggested it would turn out like the Jack Johnson/John Jackson presidential race in 'Futurama'. This earned looks of confusion, and I went back to silent clockwatching.
This happens a lot to me, not through anyone's fault, but my own misguided attempts at breaking the numbing tedium. A simple "what have you been up to?" in the kitchen while making coffee can bring the response "I have just been thinking about the absurdity of my existence in an unfeeling, meaningless universe," at which point I'll put on an anguished face. "Because everything seems so BLOODY POINTLESS SINCE SHE'S BEEN GONE FROM MY LIFE". Cue affected sobs.
Of course there's no laughs, because they don't know if I'm being serious or not, though there is an element of self-pitying truth. And also because there's no joke to get. Perhaps it's just my way of ensuring I get left alone as much as possible.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Start
This is to be a very infrequently updated blog. I have started it for reasons not worth going into as this point in time.
It will probably be about the incredible tediousness of my life. I'm an office chimp doing the 35 hour a week thing. It is written not for sympathy, but for amusement. Occasionally I may write about the things are break up the tedium, namely music, DVDs, football and the odd book.
It will probably be about the incredible tediousness of my life. I'm an office chimp doing the 35 hour a week thing. It is written not for sympathy, but for amusement. Occasionally I may write about the things are break up the tedium, namely music, DVDs, football and the odd book.
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