Archive for September, 2005
My life is collapsing in on itself. The pink areas on the above photo show where I’ve been this week. I’ve covered, what, roughly a square kilometre..? I am becoming a hermit with ever decreasing spheres of living. Billy’s away visiting his grandparents this week, so there’s not even a reason to go the park.
Work, listening to football on the Internet, watching baseball on the Internet, work, some South Park, some Curb Your Enthusiasm, cigarettes, coffee, sleeping from 6am to 12pm. That is my week.
Well, that was my week until yesterday when I woke up with a pain in my right ear. That damn ear infection is back. It hurts and there’s a constant sound like when you pinch the end of a balloon to let the air out slowly. Trip to see the doctor, he had a good root around and prescribed some ear drops. Then I woke up this morning with a pain in my right eye. A trip to a different doctor. Now I’ve got pupils the size of the Arctic Circle due to all the eye drops. It’s like the right side of my head is useless. Blurry hearing, blurry vision.
Plus the side effect of having these chemicals in my ear nose and throat area is the constant chemical taste in my mouth. It’s yucky, mum! I want some milkshake and a Beano!
It’s all affected my memory too. I absolutely didn’t know if I’d shut the door to my flat on the way out. Could not remember. Had to re-climb the stairs to double check. Same thing happened at the doctors when I used the toilet. Did I flush it and put the seat down or not? I’m not sure.
Anyway, enough of my self-pity. Here’s a photo of the air freshener in said toilet that looks like it should be a spook from Ghostbusters or something.
I was procrastinating a bit earlier, and iTunes shuffled up Bruce Springsteen’s 4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy). It’s a wonderful wonderful song. And it made me shuffle off to Google Maps to have a look where Asbury Park is.
It looks like this:
And because I was in a procrastinating mood, I went to brucespringsteen.net, looked at the songs page and decided to do the same for every song he’s done with a location in the title (pedants will notice that I’ve not done Viva Las Vegas and Jersey Girl, but I decided not to cos they’re covers).
It was a good lesson in how to piss away a couple of hours…
A Good Man Is Hard To Find (Pittsburgh)
This is Pittsburgh:
Oooh! I recognise this from what I saw from the window when I was flying to Miami:
In San Diego. It’s that green bit in the middle:
Born In The U.S.A.
If you look hard, you’ll see it there; right in between Canada and Mexico:
A mate of my Dad’s went to see Bruce at Wembley Stadium in, I think, 1985. He brought me back a programme and there were pics of The Boss at Cadillac Ranch. If you’ve not seen photos, it’s a bit like a tidy version of Stonehenge, but with cars stuck almost vertically into the ground instead of stones. In the pic below, it’s that row of dots at the bottom. It’s near Amarillo, Texas, just off I-40, the old Route 66..:
It’s in South Carolina:
Does This Bus Stop At 82nd Street?
NYC, of course:
Incident On 57th Street
Mary Queen Of Arkansas
Kinda somewhere here:
On the Mexican side of the border with the US, it’s that city beneath the meandering river:
Again, kinda somewhere here:
New York City Serenade
So good they… etc.:
R.E.M. went all the way, Johnny Cash shot a man here just to watch him die..:
I’m so tempted to make a crap joke about this being Santa Claus’s sister:
A region of Mexico, kinda around where the arrow is pointing:
Streets Of Philadelphia
Yep, there they are:
Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out
In Belmar, New Jersey:
The E Street Shuffle
Also in Belmar. Look how the streets cross each other! This is like a Springsteen cosmic hotspot or something:
Well, on reflection, that really was a pointless waste of time. Thank you if you bothered to get this far… you must be a Bruce fan, too. Anyway, at least it’s another dumb thing ticked off my big list of dumb things to do.
(Most of) the info from Wikipedia.
In 1692, the last person was hanged in the US for witchcraft.
In 1949, the Soviet Union detonates its first nuclear weapon.
In 1955, ITV goes on air.
In 1980, Iraq invades Iran.
And celebrating their birthdays today: Nick Cave, Joan Jett, Chesney Hawkes, Ronaldo, Harry bloody Kewell, cutie Billie Piper.
I’m halfway to seventy.
And still making a stupid face (for my own comedic benefit) when I break wind.
A better world would be ours if…
1. White men in their twenties or thirties were banned from smoking cigars.
You don’t look like Jay Z, you don’t look like a rich ol’ fella on a yacht, you look like a drunk office worker who’s thrown caution to the wind for ten minutes.
2. Articles about the Pixies in music magazines were no longer allowed.
How many times do we need to know that Black Francis fired the group by fax? Zzzzz…
3. Skits on hip hop albums were…
4. Football players not being allowed to moan about anything ever.
You earn way too much money. Your life will always be cushy. You don’t have it bad.
5. Companies were not be allowed to change their logos just because some marketing dude in a fancy suit says the old one is old-fashioned.
This is something that gets my goat. After two years-ish, I still can’t get used to the new UPS logo. Every UPS van that goes by provokes a moment’s pause and a little sigh, thinking of what used to be. Which bunch of no-talent marketing shits decided that their lovely classy logo should change to something so ordinary and bland? After Eights, too. Why did they feel the need to change their clock logo and make it all modern and liquid-ly drawn?
It’s horrible to admit, but one can become attached the the corporate identity of certain products or firms. I really should not care about UPS’s logo, but I do. Maybe it’s because the way companies decide to present themselves shape the way we live our lives. Their blandness contributes to our cities lacking in character. This is maybe why expertly (or even crudely) hand-painted signs seems so delicious these days.
This has been on my mind for a while. In my new-found thirst for baseball knowledge, I was looking at the logos of the Major League Baseball teams. Of the thirty teams, I only really like a few of them (Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Chicago Cubs, Cincinnati Reds, and I’m a little bit attracted to the St. Louis Cardinals’ logo, too). Actually, come to think of it, five out of thirty logos is pretty good.
Then I looked at the logos of other sporting teams/clubs. There really are very few that are graphically strong. I quite like those of Cleveland Browns, Le Mans UC72, Racing Club de Avellaneda, and Yomiuri Giants, but on the whole, it’s a fairly ropey area of graphic design.
Sadly, I can’t really find any for English football clubs that are really really nice. Some have elements of niceness, but in the modern era of re-touching logos to be a bit more franchise-y, a lot of them have lost their charm. Specifically, and it saddens me to say this, the club badge of Liverpool FC.
When I was a kid it was like this…
Then in the nineties it changed to this…
And now it’s…
What used to be a simple elegant Liver bird with ‘L.F.C.’ written underneath slowly evolved into the current monstrocity.
What’s the point? I totally understand why there are the flames; that makes sense (in case you’re unaware, it’s to remember the 96 who died at Hillsborough). But all the other crap, the You’ll Never Walk Alone area, the scrolls, the actual shape of the shield and stuff. And, damn, that horrible green!
Anyway, that wasn’t meant to be a big rant. I meant to write a quick five-point piece about annoying things. Just seems that the annoyance got a grip.
Yesterday was Get Things Done Monday. for several weeks there have been a few things I’ve needed to do, but I’ve just put them off further and further. On Sunday night, I tried to get to bed early with a view to getting up and getting on.
Which I did. I put on a tie to constantly remind myself throughout the day that I was getting on, being organised, working, and playing Mario 64 was not an option.
I wrote a list and methodically worked through it from “sort out and send stuff to accountant” at the top to “send money to NatWest account” at the bottom. I even did stuff that wasn’t on the list like tidying up a bit.
While I was tidying up, I was sorting through a big stack of Mojo magazines. Seven of the 40 issues I’ve got from March 2001 to present have one or more of The Beatles on the cover (I don’t get it every month cos the shops here in Berlin only tend to get one or two copies, and if I’m late I miss out). That’s a lot. That tells me that even in 2005, The Beatles will sell copies of a magazine.
It just so happened that while I was doing this I had iTunes on shuffle and a couple of my least favourite Beatles songs came up. So I figured that in this post I could do what Mojo do, and write some stuff about The Beatles. So I will (pun intended, Fab-fans). And I thought that I’d write about The Beatles songs I don’t like. Which, of course, might prompt you lot to chip in with comments, which is something that I’ve grown to adore about doing this blog. And it’s kinda easier than writing about the ones I like or love, cos the ones I don’t like is a far shorter list.
Here we go, my five least favourite Beatles songs:
Not really the song itself, cos it’s kinda groovy, just the lyrics. I don’t really have to explain why I don’t lke the lyrics do I?
Come Together (Abbey Road)
If ever there was an over-rated Beatles song, this is the one I’d choose. I just do not understand why so many people like it. It’s got a rubbish tune, it’s got no balls (even though it kinda tries to persuade you that it has), it just seems so … empty. Paul Weller doing a turgid cover version sealed it for me, really.
While My Guitar Gently Weeps (The Beatles)
Does it now? “I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping.” Hmmmm, not really bothered that day, were you George?
I Me Mine (Let It Be)
I don’t just dislike George Harrison, I promise. I do like a lot of his songs. Just his stinkers are stinkier than Paul McCartney’s. This song sounds to me like half a song, well, half an idea, that’s been rustled up to be a full song. The change in tempo seems really forced, and it’s just not very groovy.
What’s The New Mary Jane? (Anthology 3)
Recorded during the sessions for the White Album and quite rightly left off, cos it’s a sack of shit. But, it’s still a Beatles song, and is completely the worst song they ever recorded. Truly fucking awful.
Anyway, like I say, it’s easier to pick the faults of a band who were pretty consistently ace. And this Beatles-related thing is ace too: a poster by exceedingly clever and creative bloke Daniel Eatock with all the lyrics from Beatles songs on it. (If you’ve got a couple of hours to spare, you should check out all of the stuff on his site and that of his old company, Foundation 33, it’s incredibly good.)
Right, time to put on the tie again and get to work.
New stuff online today. I’ve been asked to make a series of eight animations for submarinechannel.com, a lovely Dutch online thingy; a, ahem, “platform for cross-media productions.”
It’s called Valley Of The Cnuties, and the first two episodes are online. Basically, it’s a story of some creatures finding a new home. There’s more of a concept behind it, like, but I don’t need to spell it out for you. Hope you like.
For the past few days I’ve been thinking about what to write next, and ultimately I came up blank every day. Good thing is my procrastination has subsided a bit; been busy doing some work which you’ll see soon, maybe tomorrow in fact.
Life going on, things happening, la la la.
Oh, I’ve still got nothing to say, really…
I’ve rented plenty of DVDs over the past few days: Dawn Of The Dead (enjoyed it a lot), Scream (kinda shit, I thought), Aviator (mmmm, was that a gorgeous looking film or what?), Once Upon A Time In America (looooooong). I’m on a mission to explore the sections of the video shop that I don’t usually bother with, so if any of you can recommend good horror, westerns or asian movies, I’d be grateful. The shit thing about my local shop is that the westerns, horror, sci-fi and porn films are all in the back section; and I just know that when I come out of that section, some people are thinking, “Look at the beardy bloke with the nerdy specs and the Barbour coat, he’s so renting XXXL Boobs!”
Anything else to tell you? Not really…
Doesn’t melancholy sound like it should be a happy word? Melon: a jolly old fruit. Collie: a smiley friendly dog.
I’ll shut up now.
Because my brain is an empty vessel today, I thought I’d show you some more crap from the FFF hard drive archives of un-made stuff. Y’know, when I was looking through these folders a short while ago trying to find stuff to show you, it made me miss the old days of FFF, a couple of years ago when I was so into it all, so active. This isn’t self-deprication just to elicit some positive comments from you readers, it’s true: I don’t do half as much stuff on the site as I used to. I’ve just fell out of the habit of pushing and pushing myself to do new stuff for FFF and working at the same time. And, sadly, there’s ideas I’d love to animate really quickly cos they’d make me giggle, but I’ll never do them.
Like the idea of having the Tin Man from Wizard Of Oz at US Immigration:
“Sir, can you please remove the tin clothing”
“I can’t! I am tin!”
“Remove the tin! Now!”
“Listen, I know it sounds weird, but I’m made of tin. Look at my passport”
“And are you visiting the United States alone?”
“No, I’m with my friends…the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, and Dorothy, that cutesy young girl over there with the dog”
“You’re all gonna have to come with me…”
Anyway. Some stuff.
This is the Battenburg Twins. The idea here was to have a table from the sort of Sunday teatime with the grandparents I had when I was a kid (pork pies, pickle, Swiss roll, Carnation…). Just with evil little Battenburg fuckers running around.
I fell in love with this for several months in 2002. It’s called Pepinster (an actual real town name; it’s in Belgium somewhere on the train journey from Brussels to Cologne), and I worked on it for ages, too. Changing this and that, getting really into the details of the train station and the bowls club. Ultimately, that was all at the expense of having an actual well-formed idea. It was just gonna be a drawing of a village with lots of houses and shops and normal life going on. I always imagined this as my own little Under Milk Wood.
A relatively new idea that’s quickly got put on the backburner. Thor and Ana. An actual real dream fully formed as an idea. Thor and Ana would build a little town on a beach. I won’t tell you anymore in case I do actually get around to making it. But this is what they look like.
The Bench. This has the feel of one of those worthy BBC documentaries, I think. It would be 20-odd drawings of this park bench, each at a different hour of the day. These three people would be there at different times, but, just for you, they’re all together.
Finally, something called Lonely Man that looks totally different to other stuff I do. It was gonna be a kinda “talking head,” like in a documentary. This bloke would be being interviewed about his life, and as the interview progresses you’d see that his life is actually very very sad.
Anyway, that’s yer lot.
I had a ticket to see Wilco in London way back in 1997. Then, a few days before, my step father died and I went home and missed the concert. Since then, for one reason or another I’ve always been otherwise engaged with uncancel-able things whenever they’ve played. And since then again, they’ve release what is my favourite album of the decade so far, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
So, of course, like a total dick, I completely forgot about buying a ticket for last night’s Berlin show until three days ago.
Needn’t have worried, though, cos I got a ticket, and as it happens, it didn’t seem to be sold out anyway. If you know Berlin, it was at Postbahnhof. If not, then, pfff, the venue holds maybe 800-1000 people. I saw The Arcade Fire there earlier this year and it was rammed, but last night was nicely filled: room to move, but not sparse.
Long time readers of Flip Flop Flying will know that I like to complain about things at concerts, but last night was spot on.
I arrived, got a beer, wandered into the main room and ended up right down the front on the side. Really good view (I could see the shoes of the band), no tall people in front of me. Hurrah. And within ten minutes, the band were on.
And they were magnificent. A big chunk of songs off A Ghost Is Born (Spiders was utterly fantastic) and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and a smattering of songs off other releases. Played for nigh on two hours, encores (something I tend to dislike normally) were played and deserved due to the crowd’s massive amount of come-back-on-you-Wilcos type noise, and it was all over by a very respectable 10pm, and I was home in time to catch the miserable bottom of the 9th of the Red Sox/Yankees game.
Well, it’s Saturday. Football day. Hooray. That, for me, means another hour and a half sat near my computer listening to the Liverpoolfc.tv commentary on their match. Better than nothing, I suppose.
Occasionally though, usually for friendlies and matches that aren’t on telly, they do video coverage. That was the case for LFC’s last Champions League qualifier game, at home to CSKA Sofia. So, they have a commentator and am ex-player doing all the talking. One of those ex-players is the quite unlikeable Phil Neal. This is a little movie of him (I just filmed the Real player window on my computer screen) before that CSKA Sofia game trying to sing along with You’ll Never Walk Alone. I’m not sure that he’s aware that the microphone can hear him, and if he is, well, shame on him for trying to sing. That’s him on the right in the little box, by the way.
It’s painful, it really is.
After the grumpiness earlier, I’m a bit more upbeat now. I did some productive stuff. I took my watch to the menders and I got a ticket for the Wilco concert. Yay. That’s one of the great things about Berlin: you can still get a ticket for a decent concert two days before. Not always the case, but more often than not.
On my way to get the ticket I got a coffee from one of my local shops. One of the women who works there was using a rubber stamp and inkpad to put the shop’s logo on some plain white paper bags they use for bagels and sandwiches. As I was waiting for my coffee, I stood transfixed, watching her: inkpad, bag, inkpad, bag, inkpad, bag, inkpad, bag. It was amazingly relaxing watching someone do a tedious job.
So, to treat myself for having done such a sterling job with the watch and ticket, I went to a comic shop at and bought Harvey Pekar’s Best Of American Splendor book cos, well, I enjoyed the film, and felt that when in a funk, it’s probably a good idea to read someone who’s also in a funk.
All of the above happened whilst listening to the wonderful new Kanye West album, so smiles all round, really.
Anyway, I mentioned before about trying to draw a cow. I took a photo. Here is proof that I’m no good at drawing a cow without reference material.
And on the subject of drawings of animals. Here’s a photo of a circus flyer I picked up today. If they can guarantee this wonderful spectacle of a woman with a flag astride a tiger astride a horse: I’m there!
Finally, I thought maybe you’d like to see where all this blogging comes from. Click the below image for a full-on, big-but-crappy panorama of my office.
Everything’s dusty in here. Aaaach, I’m sick of it. But I’ve got too much crap to be bothered to move it all and dust around it. I’m in a funk. Cigarettes are slowly killing me, but I’ve not got the whatever it takes to actually use the Nicorette Microtabs that, comically, sit next to my ashtray to remind me to give up smoking. Billy and I have spent the last ten minutes having a staring contest. He keeps losing. He gives in way too easy and just starts licking my arm. I’m trying to draw a cow – with a pen, not a mouse – from memory. Try it, then Google ‘cow’ and have a look how close you got. Is it just me, or is it really easy to forget the way a cow actually looks? Saw a Christmas advert last night. First time. 7th September and Christmas adverts… I sound like my Mum (again). Will I ever learn to not coo at Apple products? I bought their new Mighty Mouse and it’s shit. That little teat of a scroller is so annoying. It’s hilarious that the manual gives a link to some ergonomics website when that scrollball will give users an arthritic finger. Anyway, the procrastination continues, but it’s procrastination with effort. I went to the video shop to rent Gone In 60 Seconds. I saw the first half of it in the hotel room in Miami, and curiosity finally got the better of me. I guess I should go out and try and buy a ticket for the Wilco concert this Saturday. Totally forgot to do that before, guess it’ll be sold out now, but might as well try, eh? Y’know, one of the most reliable things in this world is cornflakes. Cornflakes with cold semi-skimmed milk. Never ever will I tire of thee. Sorry. This is a dull post. Maybe I should delete all these words, but in a way, because I don’t really do a diary so much these days, I need to write these things here or I’ll not remember them. Congratulations to Northern Ireland, by the way.
Ever since I drew the Dilly Dally Hut, I’ve become King Procrastinator. It’s not like I even make an effort to not do what I’m supposed to be doing. Today, I haven’t even opened Photoshop yet. It doesn’t help that I’m over-sleeping a heck of a lot at the moment. I woke up a few minutes before noon today, when Billy put his whole weight on my chest and started licking my face. This is his way of saying, “I need a wee, daddy!”
But since then, I’ve managed to do everything except work. I’ve read lots of websites, I’ve played Snood, I’ve played some of the Yetisports games, I’ve watched an episode of Miami Vice, I’ve walked to the coffee shop twice, and I’ve been to the shops to buy CDs.
I’ve done all of this without even recognising that I’m procrastinating.
Even though I have now acknowledged this, I’m still doing it by typing these words.
I need help with this. Procrastination is taking over my life like it used to in the summer holidays when I was at art college. Except now, I’ve got stuff to do rather than nothing at all to do. Every day I sit here and plan to “really get going” on that project, ‘cept I don’t.
I’m even thinking about something else now. I’m procrastinating on my procrastination. And, you know what, if I do just go and lie down and read for a bit, I’ll probably end up putting the book down and closing my eyes.
Sometimes being a dog sounds tempting. None of this worry about doing nothing; just doing it and enjoying it.
Another singing person in my neighbourhood. Another man on a bicycle. Big bloke. Rode the bike with his knees really wide apart like he had a couple of grapefruits rammed down his pants. Anyway, he was singing a song I really really really hate.
I downloaded the song just to make sure, and it drove me mad. Like the mad you feel when you, whatever you do, can’t thread a needle.
That song: Don’t Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin.
Here is a little song I wrote
Thanks for letting us know that. Looking forward to the royalties, I’m sure.
You might want to sing it note for note
Or maybe not.
Don’t worry, be happy
You say that, but you’ve no prior knowledge of my situation.
In every life we have some trouble
When you worry you make it double
Well, not necessarily. Imagine you’re falsely accused of being a kiddy fiddler and your neighbours have formed an angry vigilante mob and have set fire to your car and are throwing bricks at your windows; I’m not sure that your troubles would be DOUBLED if you worried about that.
Don’t worry, be happy
Not possible if the above were true, really, Bobby.
Ain’t got no place to lay your head
That’s right, Bobby.
Somebody came and took your bed
Yes, thieves. In my home. They took everything. Bed included.
Don’t worry, be happy
The land lord say your rent is late
It is. I lost my job and have no money…
He may have to litigate
No money, no bed, seemingly soon I’ll be homeless and sued to boot!
Don’t worry, be happy
You’re just trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?
Look at me I am happy
Happy with a blackeye if you don’t shut your fucking trap, dude.
Don’t worry, be happy
I’m warning you!
Here I give you my phone number
When you worry, call me
I make you happy
Oh will you? Exactly how?
Don’t worry, be happy
It’s all so simple for you, isn’t it?
Ain’t got no cash, ain’t got no style
Hey, c’mon, now your getting personal. I’m homeless, Bobby; style’s the last thing on my mind.
Ain’t got no girl to make you smile
But don’t worry be happy
You keep saying this, but there’s no reason to believe you.
Cause when you worry
Your face will frown
Fuck me, you’re Einstein now, aren’t you?
And that will bring everybody down
So don’t worry, be happy now…
Honestly, dude, you ever seen the Incredible Hulk?
Don’t worry, be happy…
Don’t worry don’t do it, be happy
*rolls up sleeves*
Put a smile on your face
Put a fist in your face, more like…
Don’t bring everybody down like this
*takes off belt*
Don’t worry, it will soon pass
*uses belt like a whip*
Whatever it is
*leaves singer cowering on the ground*
Don’t worry, be happy
That’s just what I was gonna say to you…
Pfffff, aaaaaaaaanyway, did I say that all out loud? Sorry about that, it just rubs me up the wrong way, that’s all.
I wonder how many people called Katrina live(d) in New Orleans and the surrounding area. Must be kinda unfortunate to have that name, there, now.
I always feel a bit sorry for people who have a namesake that suddenly becomes famous. Imagine, you’re living your normal life, then suddenly, bang!, there’s another David Beckham who’s way more famous than you are. You get stopped by the police: “What’s your name, sonny?” “David Beckham” “Right, lippy, you’re coming down the Nick!”
Etc. with every famous namesake ever.
I do notice there’s a Craig Robinson who’s a comedian (he was in Friends once and the American version of The Office). No bad feelings or owt, but I do hope his career doesn’t take off.
Anyway, I’ve avoided talking much about what’s happened after Katrina. What to say, really?
We all feel the same about it more or less, don’t we?
I feel guilty about grumbling about not being able to land in Miami and having to spend one night in a hotel in Orlando due to the hurricane, especially now we’re hearing more and more about what conditions are like in the Superdome, and hearing more about the extent of damage. On the BBC earlier, I heard that the affected area is about the size of the UK. Good God! That is insane. Impossible to imagine something that big.
But it seems like not only is it the size of a nation, Mr Bush seems to think it is a foreign nation down there. Why else would he be dragging Condoleezza Rice down there for a photo opportunity, oops, I mean to assess the damage? Nothing to do with the feelings that Kanye West expressed, then…
And why take the defence secretary, too? Maybe just checking that the natives aren’t planning any military action against the US…
It certainly seems obscene that, at the drop of a hat, Bush can find a gazillion dollars to fund his evil schemes, but when it comes to helping the poor in his own country, he doesn’t seem to be able to find his chequebook so quick. And to think, there are still some people out there that think the US government’s interests in other nations’ affairs is purely out of the good of their hearts, (I’m not just US-bashing here. I like the USA. As you may have read a lot lately on this blog. And I’m pretty sure the UK’s government is doing it’s darnedest to be as bastardly as the US’s), doesn’t this just prove they don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves? Hmmm, Halliburton getting the contract to clean up after Katrina? Interesting…
This dribble of money that a government is willing to stump up is always put into perspective after things like this, and the tsunami last year, when you see how many normal people are donating money… when they’ve already donated it many times over by paying their fucking taxes!
Oh, I dunno, it’s all so depressing that the people who run the world don’t really bother that hard to cover up their intentions and priorities these days. And we still let them do it…
(Sorry, I’m not very good at expressing myself in matters like this. I can’t really find anything to say that’s probably not been said on a million other websites already. Gimme a singing skinhead or ill-mannered coffee shop owner, though, and I’m dynamite, baby! Back to that kinda crap in the next post I suspect…)
In the occasional previously-untitled series People In My Neighbourhood Who Sing (first entry here), there’s now two new entries:
1. Last night, my upstairs neighbours had a party. They’re relative new to the building, and their predecessors had lots of loud house music thudding parties that always seemed to be announced by a notice next to the letterboxes about an hour before the parties started. The new neighbours actually came ’round and smilingly apologised in advance and offered an invite to drop by if I wanted to. Anyway, I geared up for some pillow-strapped-to-my-head-trying-to-sleep action, but in the end, it was quite gentle. Especially considering I am a bit of an old curmudgeon when it comes to parties, with a moody pout on standby as soon as I hear footfall through the ceiling. So they were listening to some nice music (Out Of Time by Blur, Be My Baby by Vanessa Paradis), then suddenly, just as I was making some toast in the kitchen, beneath their open windows, I heard some real singing. A bunch of women (and possibly a man, too) singing something old-sounding and extremely jolly and melodic. I stood by the open window, listened to it all, and saw a couple of other neighbours at their windows too. It was lovely.
2. This one freaked me out, it was like one of those TV adverts where they have someone “bad”-looking who totally flips your preconceptions. It’s 9.30 on a Sunday morning, taking Billy out for a poo. Only other people around are yawning their way to cafes for breakfast. Then, a skinhead. Tall, strong build, the big Doctor Martens, pale blue jeans with turned-up cuffs, etc. He was striding along the pavement singing the Bacharach and David song, I’ll Never Fall In Love Again. Hurrah.
Anyway, after the whole Miami thing, I’ve had a few blogging-free days. And you know what? It’s really easy to get out of the habit, and forget what to do. Especially after a few posts that were based on atypical days of my life, coming back to the normal world of neighbours and dog-walking has been a bit odd. I need to plug in my brain again and stop thinking about Beyoncé’s bikini.