Hardly anybody likes going to a hospital. That is about a clear a fact as you can make. The only exceptions are those who work there who take something from helping others, and sickos who get off on the pain of others and themselves.
Not being in that latter camp, it wasn't a thrill that I spent a couple of hours in the out patients clinic this afternoon. The reason being related to something that happened a couple of years ago, when I collapsed at work, had a seizure and wound up in hospital. Some tests later, the verdict seemed to be that it was a one-off. Great. Only it happened again last month.
A lot of people would have us believe that the government want the National Health Service sold off. It seems numerous politicians have connections to private health providers and with the media stating that entering a British hospital gives you a survival rate equal to a British solider on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, the future isn't looking too rosy right now.
The issue for me is, you don't appreciate it until you use it. I wonder how many MPs have had cause to use our NHS hospitals in recent years? Having done so, I'm glad they're there. When I keeled over in the street and some random stranger rang 999, an ambulance arrived, from which two lovely paramedics checked me out and lugged me off to hospital. Here, tests were ran and once it was established my brain wasn't leaking from my nose, I was sent home. All this for the cost of my monthly National Insurance contributions, which won't rise because I had to use the services.
To today, where I was informed that this second fit was a bit of a head-scratcher. As part of solution-seeking, it was proposed that a small monitor be fitted under the skin of my chest - a procedure that takes ten minutes. Initially, this sounded a little bit scary, I admit. I mean, cutting me open, even just a little? Urgh.
But then I thought about it some more. A piece of machinery inside my body - hey, that makes me a cyborg. Kind of. Alright, not much of one, but you've got to make the best of the situation, haven't you? Maybe I'll tell people I'm having an arc reactor fitted. While on the topic, I'd like to tell Stan Lee and Joss Whedon, if they are reading, that I'm more than happy to help out on the next Avengers flick if Downey Jnr becomes too much of a dick to handle.
Wednesday 17 July 2013
Thursday 11 July 2013
Listless Age
No Ripcord has recently published their writers poll of the top 100 albums of the 1990s.I took part and was surprised that a fair number of my picks got in. I won't bore you all with the top 40 I was asked to send away, but the ten highest choices here:
10. The House of Love - Babe Rainbow
9. XTC - Nonsuch
8. Sugar - Copper Blue
7. My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
6. Ride - Nowhere
5. Teenage Fanclub - Bandwagonesque
4. World Party - Goodbye Jumbo
3. Talk Talk - Laughing Stock
2. Mansun - Six
1. Slowdive - Soulvaki
A totally unsurprising list, I'm sure the people who know me will agree. The truth is, I found it tough to think of 40 albums. There was no Radiohead, because they ceased to be relevant to me when I hit my 19th birthday, I found.
Oasis appear, naturally, though they didn't crop up in my list, because I blame them for my complete ambivalence at the time to Britpop. A lot of people here will respond here "Ah, but Definitely Maybe..." to which I can say that I listened back to the whole album recently and bar Live Forever and Slide Away remained fairly unmoved throughout.
The issue, now if probably not back then, is the total lack of groove in the band. Frankly, the rhythm section must be amongst the worst to ever grace the top of the charts. A rhythm guitarist who studied well at Johnny Ramone school of technique, a bassist who rarely strayed beyond the safety of root notes and a drummer... well, this says it best.
Yet all the same, I guess Noel Gallagher and Alan McGee deserve a wedge of credit for taking a bunch of pub players from Burnage and getting the music press to piss themselves bigging them up as the future of rock and roll. Image is everything, of course, and it is amusing in hindsight to think that they were bigged up as a bunch of lads from the hard streets of Manchester. Presumably, any journalist who bought that line had never took a walk around the pleasant (no sarcasm) streets of Burnage. Still, to a lot of London types, the second you head North of Watford, you may as well be in Bandit Country.
Manchester, I fear, has yet to recover from the shadow of Oasis. It's become a city too keen to attach labels of the past to new bands. Everyone has to be the "next Smiths" or next New Order, Joy Division, Stone Roses or Oasis. Like Liverpool, the shackles of history seem to grip tighter as we go along.
In conclusion: musically, I found the 1990s a crappy time to grow up. Thank fuck for Eric Cantona, who has more rock and roll in his small finger than Liam Gallagher every could.
10. The House of Love - Babe Rainbow
9. XTC - Nonsuch
8. Sugar - Copper Blue
7. My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
6. Ride - Nowhere
5. Teenage Fanclub - Bandwagonesque
4. World Party - Goodbye Jumbo
3. Talk Talk - Laughing Stock
2. Mansun - Six
1. Slowdive - Soulvaki
A totally unsurprising list, I'm sure the people who know me will agree. The truth is, I found it tough to think of 40 albums. There was no Radiohead, because they ceased to be relevant to me when I hit my 19th birthday, I found.
Oasis appear, naturally, though they didn't crop up in my list, because I blame them for my complete ambivalence at the time to Britpop. A lot of people here will respond here "Ah, but Definitely Maybe..." to which I can say that I listened back to the whole album recently and bar Live Forever and Slide Away remained fairly unmoved throughout.
The issue, now if probably not back then, is the total lack of groove in the band. Frankly, the rhythm section must be amongst the worst to ever grace the top of the charts. A rhythm guitarist who studied well at Johnny Ramone school of technique, a bassist who rarely strayed beyond the safety of root notes and a drummer... well, this says it best.
Yet all the same, I guess Noel Gallagher and Alan McGee deserve a wedge of credit for taking a bunch of pub players from Burnage and getting the music press to piss themselves bigging them up as the future of rock and roll. Image is everything, of course, and it is amusing in hindsight to think that they were bigged up as a bunch of lads from the hard streets of Manchester. Presumably, any journalist who bought that line had never took a walk around the pleasant (no sarcasm) streets of Burnage. Still, to a lot of London types, the second you head North of Watford, you may as well be in Bandit Country.
Manchester, I fear, has yet to recover from the shadow of Oasis. It's become a city too keen to attach labels of the past to new bands. Everyone has to be the "next Smiths" or next New Order, Joy Division, Stone Roses or Oasis. Like Liverpool, the shackles of history seem to grip tighter as we go along.
In conclusion: musically, I found the 1990s a crappy time to grow up. Thank fuck for Eric Cantona, who has more rock and roll in his small finger than Liam Gallagher every could.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
