All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
"And so now the fighting starts, we come here with a hungry heart......" or so the famous so goes. Come to think of it, you won't have heard it, its one of our band's number's. The last day of the calender year and a New Years Eve gig looms over me this evening. I am in no mood. Wondering whether it might go completely wrong, as someone's already let us down and we wonder how many people will turn up to it. Just the same as any other gig we put on then, really. This morning I went to work again. It was actually okay, and I only worked till 2, but find myself entirely shattered right now before I have to do my evening 'job' of 'entertaining' people. 'People'.
All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
It's always a funny one New Years Eve, I never seem to enjoy myself amazingly much. It always astounds me that some people will rarely go out all year and just save it up for New Year and then try and make the rest of us who do go out all year feel like they absolutely have to have a great night out.
All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
I mean, the pressure to have a good time is just immense. People organise their night down to the finest detail months before and tell everybody that it's going to be the best night ever. Its such a tall order. And if you are out and are having a pretty crap night with them they'll think there's something wrong with you because you're not having the best night ever.
All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
People send out invitations actually saying that it will be the best night ever on them - how do they know? You surely can't judge the best night of your life ever before it has actually happened. At least wait until the morning or a few days later to judge how good a night was, find out if you're going to end up being sick all over the taxi home or shit yourself in the pub before you start writing reviews. Things like that can really put a dampener on an evening if they happen. I know.
All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
Of course, it might be okay mightn't it? It might indeed be the best night of my life.
All work and no play makes Tom a dull boy.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Friday, 30 December 2011
Friday 30th December
I have agreed to work Saturday. Tomorrow. Saturday. I have never worked in any job on any Saturday before. Saturday is off-limits. Surely. If anything is sacred in a man's life then surely it is Saturday. The real day of rest. The day after the lads go out on a Friday, and if you're into football or have a steady girlfriend then Saturday is the day you do that stuff. Friday is 'Lads' night, Saturday is for recovering and doing other stuff.
To work on a Saturday totally takes the value away from a Friday night - the best night of the week, the night that everybody finishes work for the week and goes out with their mates and gets drunk. Fridays are wonderful, but so are Saturdays. It doesn't matter if you are hungover, you have the WHOLE weekend ahead of you. What a feeling of freedom when you wake up on a Saturday morning. No-one should have to go to work on a Saturday morning.
But I am. I can't complain really I suppose. I chose to do it of my own choice.
Today has passed much the same as yesterday and Wednesday, bar from the fact that I am a little drunk today and haven't been for a few days - well, it is a Friday night - I have continued to open post, struggle to get into my trousers, sweat a lot, and complain about things a lot.
To work on a Saturday totally takes the value away from a Friday night - the best night of the week, the night that everybody finishes work for the week and goes out with their mates and gets drunk. Fridays are wonderful, but so are Saturdays. It doesn't matter if you are hungover, you have the WHOLE weekend ahead of you. What a feeling of freedom when you wake up on a Saturday morning. No-one should have to go to work on a Saturday morning.
But I am. I can't complain really I suppose. I chose to do it of my own choice.
Today has passed much the same as yesterday and Wednesday, bar from the fact that I am a little drunk today and haven't been for a few days - well, it is a Friday night - I have continued to open post, struggle to get into my trousers, sweat a lot, and complain about things a lot.
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Thursday 29th December
Wondering if my body was really made for working. I used to get a terrible bad back a couple of years ago when I did a physical job and now, doing a job where I sit down all day, I am getting a bad back too. Perhaps my body just wasn't made for any kind of work.
The Ancient Greeks used to think that there were two levels of people in the world, defined by their physical attributes. Those who were made to do all the hard stuff like working in a physical setting, doing long hours and lifting stuff about, and those who sit around all day philosophising and thinking. Maybe they were right, and I'm the modern-day evidence?
It is of course worth pointing out that the people that decided on this arrangement were......the philosophers who sat about all day, and not the ones who it was decided should work hard all their lives. I've probably just got a bad back.
The Ancient Greeks used to think that there were two levels of people in the world, defined by their physical attributes. Those who were made to do all the hard stuff like working in a physical setting, doing long hours and lifting stuff about, and those who sit around all day philosophising and thinking. Maybe they were right, and I'm the modern-day evidence?
It is of course worth pointing out that the people that decided on this arrangement were......the philosophers who sat about all day, and not the ones who it was decided should work hard all their lives. I've probably just got a bad back.
Wednesday, 28 December 2011
Wednesday 28th December
Fitting into my smart trousers was tremendously difficult today. My heart sank this morning as I was readying myself for my first day back at work after Christmas. I managed to get the trousers over my ankles and to pull them snugly up to my bottom, but when it came to doing the zip and the button up it became clear there was a problem afoot. I seem to have put on weight since last Friday, and that really is going some. In the end I managed to do up the button through a mixture of brute force, will power, and breathing in deeply. It was like trying to dress a pregnant hippo in a pair of children's swimming shorts.
I didn't breathe out all day through fear of my button firing itself across the room at work, thereby revealing my underpants to my new colleagues. In the end it felt like I had managed to not breathe out for well over 8 hours. That is greater than the lung capacity of an adult Sperm Whale! Surely some kind of record should be winging itself my way after that performance? Maybe I could negotiate a pay rise with management as I had to do my work for a whole day without breathing - thus saving the company a big chunk on their annual oxygen bill.
I almost felt like running out and taking my trousers off right there and then in the car park when it got to 5 'o' clock and I could finally leave, such was the agony I was in.
Tomorrow I might try and cause myself unnecessary pain by wearing shoes 2 sizes too small for me.
I didn't breathe out all day through fear of my button firing itself across the room at work, thereby revealing my underpants to my new colleagues. In the end it felt like I had managed to not breathe out for well over 8 hours. That is greater than the lung capacity of an adult Sperm Whale! Surely some kind of record should be winging itself my way after that performance? Maybe I could negotiate a pay rise with management as I had to do my work for a whole day without breathing - thus saving the company a big chunk on their annual oxygen bill.
I almost felt like running out and taking my trousers off right there and then in the car park when it got to 5 'o' clock and I could finally leave, such was the agony I was in.
Tomorrow I might try and cause myself unnecessary pain by wearing shoes 2 sizes too small for me.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Tuesday 27th December
I failed to exercise this morning, and instead ate more cheese and went straight into another day-long drinking session. If anything, this might possibly have had the opposite effect to if I'd bothered to get on the exercise bike for a couple of hours or gone for a walk. Have just read back the last week or so's entries to 'RTBC' - something I haven't generally done so far - and aside from proving that I have haven't really had much of interest to say, they have also proven that I have drunk heavily every single day for over a week. No wonder I feel so lethargic. I would ideally like to have spent a day in a state of detox, a kind of preparation for the week ahead, going back to work etc. But plans are plans, and sometimes it is the socially correct thing to do, to get pissed and laugh a lot. And hardly something to turn down!
So this afternoon I nipped around the corner to mate's house, where I spent a day playing board games and eating curry, which was the premise of the get-together. Only an hour or two in and I had devoured several cans of beer and was already on the neat whiskey. It was a fun time and, in a way, nice to see people other than family members for the first time in a couple of days. Christmas I think can sometimes seem like being stranded on an island and having only a select few people to co-inhabit with, even if they have been good company and it has only been a matter of days.
My friend has recently got into making curries from scratch, and I get the idea that at the moment most of his meals are taking to an Indian stance to enable him to perfect his new-found hobby. He managed to muster up a good little meal, and a fun day. The booze was flowing, the dice were rolling and plates were quickly cleaned. The mammoth game of Monopoly, however, seemed to be cut slightly short when the board got knocked over in a drunken lunge to the table by the host. Somehow, this seems to be the main way that games of Monopoly ever end when I play them, when someone accidently knocks the board over. In an unexpected shock of momentary disaster, the game that you had just put several hours of your life into, buying, selling and developing property, and gleefully screwing your mates over with outrageous rates of rent comes to a sudden end. I guess it's a good thing really, as otherwise games of Monopoly will very rarely end within 4 days of starting.
Coat-less in the material sense, but fully dressed in the beer sense, I shimmied home in the crisp and cold night air, having realised it was late and I have work in the morning. What an odd feeling it is to say that, and what a hindrance - in a way.
So this afternoon I nipped around the corner to mate's house, where I spent a day playing board games and eating curry, which was the premise of the get-together. Only an hour or two in and I had devoured several cans of beer and was already on the neat whiskey. It was a fun time and, in a way, nice to see people other than family members for the first time in a couple of days. Christmas I think can sometimes seem like being stranded on an island and having only a select few people to co-inhabit with, even if they have been good company and it has only been a matter of days.
My friend has recently got into making curries from scratch, and I get the idea that at the moment most of his meals are taking to an Indian stance to enable him to perfect his new-found hobby. He managed to muster up a good little meal, and a fun day. The booze was flowing, the dice were rolling and plates were quickly cleaned. The mammoth game of Monopoly, however, seemed to be cut slightly short when the board got knocked over in a drunken lunge to the table by the host. Somehow, this seems to be the main way that games of Monopoly ever end when I play them, when someone accidently knocks the board over. In an unexpected shock of momentary disaster, the game that you had just put several hours of your life into, buying, selling and developing property, and gleefully screwing your mates over with outrageous rates of rent comes to a sudden end. I guess it's a good thing really, as otherwise games of Monopoly will very rarely end within 4 days of starting.
Coat-less in the material sense, but fully dressed in the beer sense, I shimmied home in the crisp and cold night air, having realised it was late and I have work in the morning. What an odd feeling it is to say that, and what a hindrance - in a way.
Monday, 26 December 2011
Monday (Boxing Day)
A trip to Reading today to watch Brighton lose 3-0.
There's always an added excitement about going to an away game. It takes longer to get there - longer to get geared up for it, there is more anticipation of the game ahead, the prospect of a different ground and different people, and the tense feeling of being in the minority as an away supporter.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, we didn't play very well and lost quite easily. This resulted in the downside of going to away matches - you have a long journey back home after losing. But that is most definitely part of the game. For every bad loss you endure, when your team gets around to winning, the taste is all the sweeter.
This evening I return home to once again partake in drinking and eating. Tomorrow I will attempt to eat much less. Bit worried about fitting into my trousers for work on Wednesday.
There's always an added excitement about going to an away game. It takes longer to get there - longer to get geared up for it, there is more anticipation of the game ahead, the prospect of a different ground and different people, and the tense feeling of being in the minority as an away supporter.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, we didn't play very well and lost quite easily. This resulted in the downside of going to away matches - you have a long journey back home after losing. But that is most definitely part of the game. For every bad loss you endure, when your team gets around to winning, the taste is all the sweeter.
This evening I return home to once again partake in drinking and eating. Tomorrow I will attempt to eat much less. Bit worried about fitting into my trousers for work on Wednesday.
Sunday, 25 December 2011
A Quick Note On Christmas Day
"ITS CHRISTMAS!!!", or so sang woolen-jumpered unkempt beard-faced talentless brummie nut-advertising oaf Noddy Holder - I'm not particularly fond of that song. But providing you hear it on the 25th of December it is at least factually correct.
Anyway, Merry Christmas to one and all from the team here at 'Reasons To Be Cheerful'. That 'team' of course being me. The me who is just about recovering from being seriously drunk in the early afternoon after a trip to the pub and then further drinking at home, and is now suffering from terrible wind, which I have been holding in all afternoon as to not offend my Grandfather and now seems to be trapped, causing me awesome stomach pain. I am also in a quickly sobering state, I am dehydrated, over-full of chocolate, my massive hangover from this morning seems to be coming back with nagging predictability and the Doctor Who Christmas Special turned out to be not as good as I thought it would be.
But all of this was expected really. So I guess Christmas has turned out to be not actually that bad this year. It was quiet, underwhelmed, and the pub was nice and jolly at lunchtime. I trust, dear reader, that you all had at least a bearable one too.
I am now going to take some charcoal tablets and tuck into the rest of the Guinness. Night all.
Anyway, Merry Christmas to one and all from the team here at 'Reasons To Be Cheerful'. That 'team' of course being me. The me who is just about recovering from being seriously drunk in the early afternoon after a trip to the pub and then further drinking at home, and is now suffering from terrible wind, which I have been holding in all afternoon as to not offend my Grandfather and now seems to be trapped, causing me awesome stomach pain. I am also in a quickly sobering state, I am dehydrated, over-full of chocolate, my massive hangover from this morning seems to be coming back with nagging predictability and the Doctor Who Christmas Special turned out to be not as good as I thought it would be.
But all of this was expected really. So I guess Christmas has turned out to be not actually that bad this year. It was quiet, underwhelmed, and the pub was nice and jolly at lunchtime. I trust, dear reader, that you all had at least a bearable one too.
I am now going to take some charcoal tablets and tuck into the rest of the Guinness. Night all.
Saturday, 24 December 2011
Rich Teas And Loadsa Booze
"Twas Christmas Eve babe......" And it totally twas, but now it is Christmas Day. Due to an unfortunate, although actually quite handy, loophole on this blogsite I actually have until six in the morning to complete this blog without it officially being the next day. I think I accidently told it I was american when I signed on to it.
But it is Christmas Day, if only 2 hours into it, and very soon the excited children of the land will be waking up to a magical feeling of excitement and joy, which is entirely fantastic - and I remember those moments as a child implicitly. Unfortunately, as a mid twenties man - neither a child nor a parent - I am entirely filled with scepticism, sarcasm and misery in the face of festivity. I am once again drunk, which has been a common and wonderful theme this week, and due to the fact that I couldn't get through to the job centre today, will be committing benefit fraud this Christmas. Lovely stuff.
Today, having gained an enormous hangover last night, I got up early and went to my Grandad's house, where my cousin's young children took immense joy in jumping all over me. I really wasn't in the best condition for it, but I also enjoy seeing them so much that it didn't really bother me. Perhaps a rare example of Christmas spirit from me?
My Grandfather, as well as somehow managing to serve the hottest and weakest tea in the world - his kettle seems to boil water at about 130 degrees Celsius, and a single teabag will be made to last almost a week, is always extremely well stocked with Rich Tea biscuits. Perhaps a rarity these days, the Rich Tea is surely the most boring biscuit you can possibly be burdened with the task of eating. Tasting similarly, if not slightly more bland, than cardboard, it is a biscuit that is surely going to die out sometime soon. Only old people eat them, and they are dying out - with any luck the Rich Tea will die with them - it has had its day. Of course, I tucked into a polite couple of them nevertheless. I think the best way to eat a Rich Tea is to imagine it is a different type of biscuit, like a Digestive or a Bourbon or something. Just imagine it is something else more interesting that you're eating and you'll do fine. This technique can also be transferred to any substandard home-cooked meals too if ever necessary.
In the afternoon I spent some time down down the pub with a couple of guys from the band, and just about mustered the strength to head out to another pub in the evening to get pretty drunk again. Every year on Christmas Eve I tend to hook up with the same group of lads who I used to go to school with. I wouldn't say I was particularly close friends with all of them - I only see them generally a total of 1 time a year - but it is always nice to meet up like this. I guess I'm a big fan of tradition sometimes.
So then, Christmas is here again, it is late and I'm drunk again. How predictable everything is. Think I might turn on the telly, stick it on Dave, and maybe watch an episode of QI I haven't seen at least 12 times already.
But it is Christmas Day, if only 2 hours into it, and very soon the excited children of the land will be waking up to a magical feeling of excitement and joy, which is entirely fantastic - and I remember those moments as a child implicitly. Unfortunately, as a mid twenties man - neither a child nor a parent - I am entirely filled with scepticism, sarcasm and misery in the face of festivity. I am once again drunk, which has been a common and wonderful theme this week, and due to the fact that I couldn't get through to the job centre today, will be committing benefit fraud this Christmas. Lovely stuff.
Today, having gained an enormous hangover last night, I got up early and went to my Grandad's house, where my cousin's young children took immense joy in jumping all over me. I really wasn't in the best condition for it, but I also enjoy seeing them so much that it didn't really bother me. Perhaps a rare example of Christmas spirit from me?
My Grandfather, as well as somehow managing to serve the hottest and weakest tea in the world - his kettle seems to boil water at about 130 degrees Celsius, and a single teabag will be made to last almost a week, is always extremely well stocked with Rich Tea biscuits. Perhaps a rarity these days, the Rich Tea is surely the most boring biscuit you can possibly be burdened with the task of eating. Tasting similarly, if not slightly more bland, than cardboard, it is a biscuit that is surely going to die out sometime soon. Only old people eat them, and they are dying out - with any luck the Rich Tea will die with them - it has had its day. Of course, I tucked into a polite couple of them nevertheless. I think the best way to eat a Rich Tea is to imagine it is a different type of biscuit, like a Digestive or a Bourbon or something. Just imagine it is something else more interesting that you're eating and you'll do fine. This technique can also be transferred to any substandard home-cooked meals too if ever necessary.
In the afternoon I spent some time down down the pub with a couple of guys from the band, and just about mustered the strength to head out to another pub in the evening to get pretty drunk again. Every year on Christmas Eve I tend to hook up with the same group of lads who I used to go to school with. I wouldn't say I was particularly close friends with all of them - I only see them generally a total of 1 time a year - but it is always nice to meet up like this. I guess I'm a big fan of tradition sometimes.
So then, Christmas is here again, it is late and I'm drunk again. How predictable everything is. Think I might turn on the telly, stick it on Dave, and maybe watch an episode of QI I haven't seen at least 12 times already.
Friday, 23 December 2011
Friday
I am drunk. Truly drunk. Not giggly drunk. More nudge me and I will definitely fall over, drunk. Today I finished work at half past two. It was wonderful to finish so early considering the hard work I have put in this week. I definitely deserved it.
After work, I went straight to Brighton to have a few pre-xmas drinks with some mates. Had a fantastic time, and this has been the first time n months I have gone drinking without really worrying about how much I'm spending. Long may it continue. I actually feel like a proper person this evening.
Looking forward to a few days off (oh yeah) and actually writing an interesting blog for the first time in ages.
After work, I went straight to Brighton to have a few pre-xmas drinks with some mates. Had a fantastic time, and this has been the first time n months I have gone drinking without really worrying about how much I'm spending. Long may it continue. I actually feel like a proper person this evening.
Looking forward to a few days off (oh yeah) and actually writing an interesting blog for the first time in ages.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
The Diaries (Diarrhea's?) Of A Working Man, Day 2
So, second day of work and already I'm going to work with an ale-related illness. Was feeling the effects of a skinfull of beer in Brighton last night this morning as I walked to work. 'Work', what a weird word to be using, I keep saying it like I've never said it before. Work, work, work. Seems to roll off the tongue nicely. Day 2 was very much the same as Day 1 in terms of content. If anything, it passed even more smoothly than yesterday, but didn't pass as smoothly as.....well, you get the idea.
I sat at a different table today, with a new bunch of people to barely mutter a word to all day unless someone fancied a moan about the lack of paper-clips - which seem to be like currency in this place. More valuable than money and jewels and any countless riches you can think of, and much better at clipping bits of paper together as well. The bloke I was sitting next to today was obsessed with paper-clips. Every 5 or 10 minutes he'd get up and go hunting for more, eventually returning with a bucketful of them and enthusiastically sharing them out amongst his colleagues, but also making sure he had a slightly bigger pile of them than anybody else did.
I managed to get through my hangover without event and during my lunch-break today, to escape the stuffy building, I went for a little walk around the industrial estate. It was a pleasant and sunny winter day as I explored the delicate tapestry of warehouses, scrapheaps and factories that make up Lancing Industrial Estate. My hangover was gone, the sun was out, and I was a working man again. Even the massive sweat patches on my armpits didn't dampen my spirits. They made me feel self-concious and embarrassed, but didn't dampen my spirits.
I haven't actually signed off the dole yet. Need to phone them tomorrow, as I think you have 5 days to declare if you've gained employment. So technically, I am committing benefit fraud. I might even leave it until the last possible day to declare it. Oh yes! Take that Coalition Government! Both barrels of the 'Sadler Shotgun'!
Unlikely to ever use that phrase again.
I sat at a different table today, with a new bunch of people to barely mutter a word to all day unless someone fancied a moan about the lack of paper-clips - which seem to be like currency in this place. More valuable than money and jewels and any countless riches you can think of, and much better at clipping bits of paper together as well. The bloke I was sitting next to today was obsessed with paper-clips. Every 5 or 10 minutes he'd get up and go hunting for more, eventually returning with a bucketful of them and enthusiastically sharing them out amongst his colleagues, but also making sure he had a slightly bigger pile of them than anybody else did.
I managed to get through my hangover without event and during my lunch-break today, to escape the stuffy building, I went for a little walk around the industrial estate. It was a pleasant and sunny winter day as I explored the delicate tapestry of warehouses, scrapheaps and factories that make up Lancing Industrial Estate. My hangover was gone, the sun was out, and I was a working man again. Even the massive sweat patches on my armpits didn't dampen my spirits. They made me feel self-concious and embarrassed, but didn't dampen my spirits.
I haven't actually signed off the dole yet. Need to phone them tomorrow, as I think you have 5 days to declare if you've gained employment. So technically, I am committing benefit fraud. I might even leave it until the last possible day to declare it. Oh yes! Take that Coalition Government! Both barrels of the 'Sadler Shotgun'!
Unlikely to ever use that phrase again.
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
Wednesday
Was a bit nervous this morning on my way to this job for the first time, but it turned out to be okay. Didn't really pay attention to the usual start-of-job talk at the beginning, and managed to slot very easily into the task at hand, which was really quite mundane. This job essentially just involves me opening post all day, taking the innards out and putting them into different piles. Very easy, but 8 hours of it was a tad grinding towards the end.
The work at hand is all to do with the issuing of pensions in Italy, so this gave the job an added perk - sniggering at the gnarled faces of old people all day. This novelty wore off within about half an hour and I was stuck talking this bloke called Tim, who was sitting next to me. He was pleasant enough, and told me of his previous jobs and about how qualified he was, and also about a car accident he was in last year - which sounded bad - he even showed me a few of his scars. As the day progressed, it seemed Tim liked telling this story a lot, and told nearly everyone who walked by about his accident, and showed them his scars. I found this a quite funny, and wondered to myself whether he was one of those people who get sexually excited by car accidents.
The day wore on and, although the final hour seemed especially long, eventually came to a close. Just another job, really. Not bad, not good.
Off out now to Brighton for the evening. What better way to start my second day at a job than by being horrifically hungover? We shall see.
The work at hand is all to do with the issuing of pensions in Italy, so this gave the job an added perk - sniggering at the gnarled faces of old people all day. This novelty wore off within about half an hour and I was stuck talking this bloke called Tim, who was sitting next to me. He was pleasant enough, and told me of his previous jobs and about how qualified he was, and also about a car accident he was in last year - which sounded bad - he even showed me a few of his scars. As the day progressed, it seemed Tim liked telling this story a lot, and told nearly everyone who walked by about his accident, and showed them his scars. I found this a quite funny, and wondered to myself whether he was one of those people who get sexually excited by car accidents.
The day wore on and, although the final hour seemed especially long, eventually came to a close. Just another job, really. Not bad, not good.
Off out now to Brighton for the evening. What better way to start my second day at a job than by being horrifically hungover? We shall see.
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
And So, A Development
And so, a development.
Spent yesterday in an extremely down mood. Life is really starting to get to me at the moment, and I'd resigned myself to spending the next few weeks in a kind of self-imposed hibernation, trying to keep out the pressures of the outside world and make the most of a shit thing. I visited the shops briefly in the morning and had a quick job search in the afternoon - not that there is much about. Spent so long applying for jobs and failing to get any sort of reply that I'd just about given up. Even checked the copies of my CV I'd sent out to see if I'd written somewhere on them "DON'T EMPLOY THIS MAN, HE IS A CUNT". It would certainly have explained the lack of replies.
Anyway, late yesterday afternoon I checked my phone - which is hardly buzzing with activity at the moment, I'm almost missing the great text debacle of a few weeks back (even if they were all from my mum) - I'd missed a call from Reed's agency, the two-faced swine's who have for so long mucked me about recently. They left a message for me. They want me to start this week at the place I was due to well over a month, and several let-downs ago, for perhaps a month's worth of work. This, while seemingly good news, caused some conflict within me. I mean, they have mucked me about a considerable amount so far, and when I was originally due to start the contract was going to be for 3 or 4 months. The likelihood is that I will have to sign back on immediately after this time is up as well. So, with the obvious problem with that - it takes maybe 6 weeks for you jobseeker's claim to come through - I was wondering if there was any point in signing off, especially if I'm left in the lurch after a couple of weeks.
In my quandary, I decided to text my cousin and a couple of mates for advice. Basically, they were all in agreement that I should probably give it a go, just for a bit of money - which I knew really was the right thing to do - although one of them said I should toss a coin for it, which was hardly considered advice. So there you have it, tomorrow I start work again! To be fair I think I've said this before so it may change by the end of the day. Perhaps I should have posted this at the end of the day.
I'm actually quite nervous about it all - as well as a tad irritated by the timing, this is the first week since August that I've actually got a full week of daytime plans. I do understand the irony of this. But I'm not nervous for the actual job, because I imagine I'll able to do it with my eyes closed, but I haven't worked for a long time and I've learned to rely on my dole money. I have slagged off being on the dole, but it is at least regular, and reliable.
Tomorrow I have been told to dress 'smart-casual', but tending more towards the smart end of the scale, including shoes, no jeans, and a shirt - which as far as I'm concerned, in just 'smart'. As a consequence of this I have decided not to eat anything today so I have a fighting chance of getting into one of my shirts tomorrow morning. Wish me luck, RTBC fans......
Spent yesterday in an extremely down mood. Life is really starting to get to me at the moment, and I'd resigned myself to spending the next few weeks in a kind of self-imposed hibernation, trying to keep out the pressures of the outside world and make the most of a shit thing. I visited the shops briefly in the morning and had a quick job search in the afternoon - not that there is much about. Spent so long applying for jobs and failing to get any sort of reply that I'd just about given up. Even checked the copies of my CV I'd sent out to see if I'd written somewhere on them "DON'T EMPLOY THIS MAN, HE IS A CUNT". It would certainly have explained the lack of replies.
Anyway, late yesterday afternoon I checked my phone - which is hardly buzzing with activity at the moment, I'm almost missing the great text debacle of a few weeks back (even if they were all from my mum) - I'd missed a call from Reed's agency, the two-faced swine's who have for so long mucked me about recently. They left a message for me. They want me to start this week at the place I was due to well over a month, and several let-downs ago, for perhaps a month's worth of work. This, while seemingly good news, caused some conflict within me. I mean, they have mucked me about a considerable amount so far, and when I was originally due to start the contract was going to be for 3 or 4 months. The likelihood is that I will have to sign back on immediately after this time is up as well. So, with the obvious problem with that - it takes maybe 6 weeks for you jobseeker's claim to come through - I was wondering if there was any point in signing off, especially if I'm left in the lurch after a couple of weeks.
In my quandary, I decided to text my cousin and a couple of mates for advice. Basically, they were all in agreement that I should probably give it a go, just for a bit of money - which I knew really was the right thing to do - although one of them said I should toss a coin for it, which was hardly considered advice. So there you have it, tomorrow I start work again! To be fair I think I've said this before so it may change by the end of the day. Perhaps I should have posted this at the end of the day.
I'm actually quite nervous about it all - as well as a tad irritated by the timing, this is the first week since August that I've actually got a full week of daytime plans. I do understand the irony of this. But I'm not nervous for the actual job, because I imagine I'll able to do it with my eyes closed, but I haven't worked for a long time and I've learned to rely on my dole money. I have slagged off being on the dole, but it is at least regular, and reliable.
Tomorrow I have been told to dress 'smart-casual', but tending more towards the smart end of the scale, including shoes, no jeans, and a shirt - which as far as I'm concerned, in just 'smart'. As a consequence of this I have decided not to eat anything today so I have a fighting chance of getting into one of my shirts tomorrow morning. Wish me luck, RTBC fans......
Monday, 19 December 2011
Sunday, 18 December 2011
Sunday
Another television-rich, time-wasting day. I have in the last few days been growing ever fonder of sitting in front of the telly. Yesterday I was worried about being dragged into a sad, self-indulgent fattening chasm of a routine that it seemed I was doomed to fall into. Today, I can announce that I have indeed succumbed to this routine, and I have in fact decided to embrace it! So bollocks to real life and healthy living, I am going to sit in front of the TV for two weeks and get really fat! Oh yeah! You won't even recognise me when I emerge in January. I am going to eat ONLY fatty foods, will exercise roughly....erm.....NOT AT ALL, and will attempt to watch at least 5 or 6 Christmas-themed films a day. Let's see what happens.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
The Holidays......
Today has been a frightening preamble to what may be to come over the festive period, especially given the probably over-documented lack of job. I have from dawn till dusk and hours past this day done absolutely nothing other than eat food and watch Christmas-themed films on telly. The TV guide is jam-packed with this kind of stuff for at least the next two weeks and I wonder what catastrophic effects this could have on, not only my mental state, but also my weight.
I could quite easily go into this fortnight a hip and healthy young man, and come out of it in a state of mind that thinks happy endings always happen in any given situation - only not always as you imagine them, and you will probably end up with not the same girl that you think you're in love with but another unsuspected dazzling alternative - and, be about three good meals off being a Sumo Wrestler.
I could quite easily go into this fortnight a hip and healthy young man, and come out of it in a state of mind that thinks happy endings always happen in any given situation - only not always as you imagine them, and you will probably end up with not the same girl that you think you're in love with but another unsuspected dazzling alternative - and, be about three good meals off being a Sumo Wrestler.
Friday, 16 December 2011
Tea-Bagging
I heard an interview with the former England wicket-keeper Jack Russell recently, in which he said during the earlier days of his international career, while touring in the sub-continent, and supplies and wages being tight, he used to make a single tea bag last an entire tour. This amazed me. I mean, what must his tea have actually tasted like? Just hot water with milk in after about three cups I suppose.
Upon further thought, I realised that the truth of the circumstances he described must be a little warped - tea bags are not expensive, are generally very readily available anywhere in the world (and this couldn't have been much different in the 80's, surely), and he was a paid sportsman. So, really I suppose this just certifies that Jack Russell not only shares the name of a type of dog, but was also a bit weird. Either that, or Jack Russell made a tea bag last an entire tour by only having one cup of tea during it.
Nevertheless, I am an extremely bored individual at the moment, and seem to have an awful lot of spare time on my hands, so today I have decided to test the lifespan of a tea bag under controlled conditions. Well, me drinking tea from the same tea bag all morning, while watching 'The Wright Stuff'.
Cup No. 1: I like a strong cup of tea with very little milk. I make it quite dark and let it brew for a significant amount of time. I am making my tea with PG Tips pyramid style bags, which were presumably designed to maximise the flavour and time to brew. Probably. Cup No. 1 is strong, aromatic, and life-giving. Tea is quite simply wonderful, and I could not live without it.
Cup No. 2: Still very drinkable. Just about resembling the same colour, along notable not as strong a flavour. Still aromatic.
Cup No. 3: Took a long while to brew, tastes a lot like nothing. Not very nice. Warm and wet though, sometimes that can be all you need from a cup of tea.
Cup No. 4: The bag has split slightly where I've been trying to crush some vestige of flavour out of this withered and pitied excuse for an ingredient to a hot drink. It tastes of nothing and there are bits floating in it. There is no colour and I am enjoying it very little.
Cup No. 5: I refuse to drink this piss.
And so there you have it. Like a budget episode of 'Mythbusters' I have proved that a tea bag cannot last a single morning, let alone a 5 month tour of the subcontinent.
Upon further thought, I realised that the truth of the circumstances he described must be a little warped - tea bags are not expensive, are generally very readily available anywhere in the world (and this couldn't have been much different in the 80's, surely), and he was a paid sportsman. So, really I suppose this just certifies that Jack Russell not only shares the name of a type of dog, but was also a bit weird. Either that, or Jack Russell made a tea bag last an entire tour by only having one cup of tea during it.
Nevertheless, I am an extremely bored individual at the moment, and seem to have an awful lot of spare time on my hands, so today I have decided to test the lifespan of a tea bag under controlled conditions. Well, me drinking tea from the same tea bag all morning, while watching 'The Wright Stuff'.
Cup No. 1: I like a strong cup of tea with very little milk. I make it quite dark and let it brew for a significant amount of time. I am making my tea with PG Tips pyramid style bags, which were presumably designed to maximise the flavour and time to brew. Probably. Cup No. 1 is strong, aromatic, and life-giving. Tea is quite simply wonderful, and I could not live without it.
Cup No. 2: Still very drinkable. Just about resembling the same colour, along notable not as strong a flavour. Still aromatic.
Cup No. 3: Took a long while to brew, tastes a lot like nothing. Not very nice. Warm and wet though, sometimes that can be all you need from a cup of tea.
Cup No. 4: The bag has split slightly where I've been trying to crush some vestige of flavour out of this withered and pitied excuse for an ingredient to a hot drink. It tastes of nothing and there are bits floating in it. There is no colour and I am enjoying it very little.
Cup No. 5: I refuse to drink this piss.
And so there you have it. Like a budget episode of 'Mythbusters' I have proved that a tea bag cannot last a single morning, let alone a 5 month tour of the subcontinent.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Thursday
Dennis Quaid is essentially a poor man's Harrison Ford. He talks in the same way, in the same tone, looks a little bit like him, only he makes shitter films. This evening I watched 'The Day After Tomorrow' and thought it was totally rubbish. I have a terrible headache today, which has produced yet another short entry here, and a wasted evening.
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Wednesday. Hangover. More Alcohol. My Father.....
Today, dear reader, I have accomplished very little, having been rendered rather unwell - possibly by the copious amounts of free alcohol I was served last night at the pub my band played a show at. Having just about recovered over the course of the day, I have just been out to meet my father for a few drinks.
Being one of my few sources of gaining an actual level of drunkenness these days - despite my protests I seem to barely dip into my pocket when I see Dave - I have once again drowned my dear dear body in the sweet waters of beer. A warming feeling, helped along by some good music playing in the pub and managing to direct some of the occasionally awkward conversation onto more trivial things. Perhaps more detail on all of the last couple of day's worth of goings on tomorrow.
Being one of my few sources of gaining an actual level of drunkenness these days - despite my protests I seem to barely dip into my pocket when I see Dave - I have once again drowned my dear dear body in the sweet waters of beer. A warming feeling, helped along by some good music playing in the pub and managing to direct some of the occasionally awkward conversation onto more trivial things. Perhaps more detail on all of the last couple of day's worth of goings on tomorrow.
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
Dreaming Of Jeremy
Last night I had a dream featuring Jeremy Clarkson. I don't often even remember dreams, so this must have been quite an important one. I just wonder what it all meant. In the dream JC and myself seemed to be good friends - and I actually hate him quite a lot, as regular RTBC fans will know.
In the dream me and Jezza bumped into each other in a car park, and were chatting like old friends. He mentioned reading a recent blog which I'd written which slammed him rather badly. He pretended to be angry about it at first, and I was trying to worm my way out of it by waving responsibility and blaming someone else, but then burst into laughter and slapped me on the back. He said he didn't mind about it and then bought me a pint in a pub I don't remember us walking to.
We laughed and joked a little more, and talked about football - despite the fact that he didn't like football. Exactly what was a man I didn't like doing in my dream talking about something he didn't like? It was awfully decent of him. He then challenged me to a car race. I said I was sorry but I don't drive. Holding back the hilarity, he replied 'I know!!', before once again we both fell into emphatic fits of laughter at his brilliant joke. How we laughed. He made his excuses and left. What a top bloke!
But what exactly does this all mean? I am as embarrassed to share this personal moment as I am perplexed about it. Perhaps it was my subconscious just telling me to let my Clarkson grudge go? If it is, then I'm sorry to let it down, but I have decided to maintain my grudge nevertheless.
In the dream me and Jezza bumped into each other in a car park, and were chatting like old friends. He mentioned reading a recent blog which I'd written which slammed him rather badly. He pretended to be angry about it at first, and I was trying to worm my way out of it by waving responsibility and blaming someone else, but then burst into laughter and slapped me on the back. He said he didn't mind about it and then bought me a pint in a pub I don't remember us walking to.
We laughed and joked a little more, and talked about football - despite the fact that he didn't like football. Exactly what was a man I didn't like doing in my dream talking about something he didn't like? It was awfully decent of him. He then challenged me to a car race. I said I was sorry but I don't drive. Holding back the hilarity, he replied 'I know!!', before once again we both fell into emphatic fits of laughter at his brilliant joke. How we laughed. He made his excuses and left. What a top bloke!
But what exactly does this all mean? I am as embarrassed to share this personal moment as I am perplexed about it. Perhaps it was my subconscious just telling me to let my Clarkson grudge go? If it is, then I'm sorry to let it down, but I have decided to maintain my grudge nevertheless.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Monday - Shelter From The Storm
Journal of my life, 12/12/11 AD. Today it has rained a bloody lot, and not the spitting, drizzly rain mind, the massive soaking wet bobs of it. I have twice been rained on extensively today and it wasn't pleasant.
During this inclement day I have visited the hospital to sign-up for voluntary work, which it looks like won't happen until Feb, but it still seems worth it even for a few hours a week to go along with a job I'll hopefully have by then. After this I went and visited a friend for a cuppa before heading to the pub for a little while. When I was at the pub one of the blokes I drink with in the after work club (kind of) bought me a couple of pints. He'd just had a successful few days work and was keen to help me out since I'm so short at the moment. On his way out he also dished out twenty quid to me, which was an amazing, if unexpected, gesture.
I tried to turn him down but he wouldn't have it, saying that 'we help each other out' and that it would help me throughout the festive period. It was pointless to argue, as much as I initially did, and so I accepted. What an amazing gesture. I was entirely stoked by it, and dearly hope I can afford to buy him a pint back soon, and perhaps one day return the gesture somehow. This single act this evening has restored a great deal of trust in human nature for me, which for the last few days I have been struggling with.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Sunday
Have spent the day swilling ale in the lanes of Brighton with a few friends. This is really the best part of this time of year. You can forget your Christmas decorations, your X-factor finals, and all that plastically rubbish, there is nothing more wintry than sitting in front of a roaring log fire drinking a winter ale. I think I mention this yesterday. I have essentially done the same thing two days running and it has been magnificent, despite the fact that I now can't afford to do anything else for at least a week.
Tomorrow, I am due to visit the hospital to discuss my hours for voluntary work.
Tomorrow, I am due to visit the hospital to discuss my hours for voluntary work.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
Saturday
Today was the first day I've been outside the house for a few days, a situation that is surely getting to me. Only went to the pub but was quite nice. Starting to feel the pinch of no money and it being winter. Its too cold or wet to do most free things and so it seems there's not a lot you can do without spending money. One of the best things about this time of year is warming yourself on dark beer inside a cosy pub.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Friday (Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)(Again)
I honestly cannot think of any reason to be cheerful whatsoever today.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Zombie Apocalypse 2: Day Of The OAP
Walking around in Marks and Spencers today with my mother, and helping my Grandad go shopping, I was reminded of some of those old George Romero films, with the slow walking zombies in the shopping mall. They were everywhere. Hordes of similarly-dressed, slow-walking old people infesting the well known retailer like the living dead, stocking up with stodge to get them through the festive season. I walked around the store with a fixed-grin attached to my face as I imagined a scenario where I had to fend for my life by probably battering them senseless with an arm off a manikin or something.
Of course, just because they walk slow is no guarantee that you will easily be able to escape. Everyone knows the feeling of trying to walk somewhere quickly and getting stuck behind an old person and having to reign in your youthful pace. The frustration you feel is immense. Earlier I was despatched to the other side of the shop by my mum to get some milk. I walked briskly to my destination weaving in and out of the lingering olds - dodging the coffin dodgers if you will - and gaining quite a pace.
When I got there, with my calcium-rich goal clearly in sight, I made the for the gap in the aisle and......just when I was almost there an old lady with a trolly walked straight out in front of me, I slowed to an almost stop. Another walked out, just to her side, and then there was one behind, too. I was forced to take their pace for the final stretch to the milk. It took me longer to travel the last few feet of my journey than it did to cross the entire store.
Not entirely sure what my point is here, having gone off on a bit of a tangent from the point I was going to make and have since forgotten, other than if you're stuck in some kind of a Zombie Apocalypse situation, like in 'Dawn Of The Dead' where the zombies move really slowly, just don't get too complacent.
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
Pointing Percy At The Postman
Today I fear I have further embedded the idea in the postman's mind that I am a total pervert. A month ago I am convinced he'd thought - incorrectly, I might add - that he'd interrupted me during a private/solo exercising session. (http://tomsadler-rtbc.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-wasnt-wanking.html) Today, I seem to have gone one step closer by actually exposing myself to him.
Now, there is an honest and perfectly reasonable explanation to this.
I decided to take a late morning shower, having just been to the barbers. Because of being covered in a light dusting of trimmed hair I had put all of my clothes in the wash bin just outside the bathroom door as I'd gone in. See, all perfectly reasonable. Having finished my shower, I dried myself off and realised that all of my underwear was on the clothes airer downstairs. I decided that a short, naked jog downstairs to retrieve them was a perfectly fine thing to do, seeing as there was nobody else in.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the full-length frosted-glass panelled front door, I noticed that the weekly Advertiser had been popped through the door. I leant down to pick it up and, upon leaning back up again found myself staring face to face with the postman, who must have been just next door when I commenced my run. Not only did he catch me a few weeks ago in a state of, apparently, post-masturbatory exhaustion, but he has now seen my naked outline from behind frosted glass. He must think that when I'm at home I'm constantly engaged in some kind of perverted act.
With any luck, the frosted glass protected him from seeing any kind of detail. I mean, it would be difficult not to see the 6ft outline of a man's naked body from only a few feet away, but with any luck he'd struggle to identify my penis in a line-up. In the instant I saw him I just kind of yelped and slunk away into the living room, and left him probably worried about sticking his hand in my letterbox in case I was hiding behind the door and waiting to shove something into his hand.
In his eyes I am the naked, wanking, pervert from number 10. I honestly wonder what kind of perfectly innocent or mistimed act he might stumble upon me doing next and then, I suppose from his point of view given the evidence, make perfectly reasonable assumptions about my character.
I am nothing if not a constant victim of poor luck and bad timing. And inaccurate claims of perversion.
Now, there is an honest and perfectly reasonable explanation to this.
I decided to take a late morning shower, having just been to the barbers. Because of being covered in a light dusting of trimmed hair I had put all of my clothes in the wash bin just outside the bathroom door as I'd gone in. See, all perfectly reasonable. Having finished my shower, I dried myself off and realised that all of my underwear was on the clothes airer downstairs. I decided that a short, naked jog downstairs to retrieve them was a perfectly fine thing to do, seeing as there was nobody else in.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the full-length frosted-glass panelled front door, I noticed that the weekly Advertiser had been popped through the door. I leant down to pick it up and, upon leaning back up again found myself staring face to face with the postman, who must have been just next door when I commenced my run. Not only did he catch me a few weeks ago in a state of, apparently, post-masturbatory exhaustion, but he has now seen my naked outline from behind frosted glass. He must think that when I'm at home I'm constantly engaged in some kind of perverted act.
With any luck, the frosted glass protected him from seeing any kind of detail. I mean, it would be difficult not to see the 6ft outline of a man's naked body from only a few feet away, but with any luck he'd struggle to identify my penis in a line-up. In the instant I saw him I just kind of yelped and slunk away into the living room, and left him probably worried about sticking his hand in my letterbox in case I was hiding behind the door and waiting to shove something into his hand.
In his eyes I am the naked, wanking, pervert from number 10. I honestly wonder what kind of perfectly innocent or mistimed act he might stumble upon me doing next and then, I suppose from his point of view given the evidence, make perfectly reasonable assumptions about my character.
I am nothing if not a constant victim of poor luck and bad timing. And inaccurate claims of perversion.
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
Rantings On Tuesday
It is 10pm and I have just drunk a cup of tea. In hindsight, the drinking of caffeine-filled drinks could be the reason that I seem not to be able to sleep until quite late every night.
I woke up at a reasonable hour again today, and set about a very similar regime to yesterday. A morning spent scouring the internet for available jobs revealed very little for me to apply for, unlike the last couple of weeks when there was a lot more. The bloke at the job centre last week told me that as get on into December they tend to dry up a bit, as firms seeking Christmas staff will have already hired their quota for the month. He said to keep applying, but not to be surprised if I have to sit out being on the dole into January, which was never really the plan.
All this makes me even more angry about how Reed (the job agency) have treated me, having promised me a job, a job which I had thought of as a definite which I could use as a back-up plan. My back-up plan seems to have failed. It was over 3 weeks ago (http://tomsadler-rtbc.blogspot.com/2011/11/job.html) that I was given a definite start date, and since then they seem to have done nothing more than muck me around - firstly telling me I was starting a week later, and then that they need to get some paperwork back from the auditor. Next, they told me they needed my reference details so that they could send it to the auditor, then they told me they were waiting on that and then I could definitely start working. The last time I phoned they said it would be very soon again.
That was last Wednesday and, to be honest, I have all but given up on that prospect. If they phone then fine, if not then bollocks to them. I applied to do voluntary work at the hospital today, at least this can keep me busy in the weeks ahead, and it will no doubt be fun to help out somewhere that they need it.
I woke up at a reasonable hour again today, and set about a very similar regime to yesterday. A morning spent scouring the internet for available jobs revealed very little for me to apply for, unlike the last couple of weeks when there was a lot more. The bloke at the job centre last week told me that as get on into December they tend to dry up a bit, as firms seeking Christmas staff will have already hired their quota for the month. He said to keep applying, but not to be surprised if I have to sit out being on the dole into January, which was never really the plan.
All this makes me even more angry about how Reed (the job agency) have treated me, having promised me a job, a job which I had thought of as a definite which I could use as a back-up plan. My back-up plan seems to have failed. It was over 3 weeks ago (http://tomsadler-rtbc.blogspot.com/2011/11/job.html) that I was given a definite start date, and since then they seem to have done nothing more than muck me around - firstly telling me I was starting a week later, and then that they need to get some paperwork back from the auditor. Next, they told me they needed my reference details so that they could send it to the auditor, then they told me they were waiting on that and then I could definitely start working. The last time I phoned they said it would be very soon again.
That was last Wednesday and, to be honest, I have all but given up on that prospect. If they phone then fine, if not then bollocks to them. I applied to do voluntary work at the hospital today, at least this can keep me busy in the weeks ahead, and it will no doubt be fun to help out somewhere that they need it.
Monday, 5 December 2011
The Vinyl Virus
It's amazing how quickly and uneventfully whole days can sometimes pass. I got up at a reasonable time this morning, spent time looking for jobs, exercising, doing a few bits around the house, nipped to the shops, and now it is already way into the evening. Days all seem the same at the moment. I have also managed to gain a cold again, seemingly on some kind of monthly cycle of getting one, getting over one, having a week so without one, then getting another one.
Today's reason to be cheerful (in an attempt to live up to the premise of this blog), is my rediscovery of vinyl. Recently I've been having problems with a CD player I use in my loft, where I keep all of my music gear and like to hang out listening to records. It has started to stop reading the discs and become almost inoperable in recent weeks. My attempted repair job - whereby I employed my regular method of trying to repair things I knew nothing about, and so took it apart, blew on some of the innards and put it back together again - rendered it entirely inoperable.
I rummaged around in another part of the loft looking for something to replace it with, and managed to put together a mix-match of hi-fi system parts to put something usable together, only I was missing a CD playing part. I did, however, find a record player which I hooked up immediately and delved into a stack of records I found elsewhere in this treasure trove of my family's old crap, and wow, what an experience. I'd never really played vinyl before very much, having grown up when tapes were just being replaced almost exclusively by CDs.
I loved the opening of the complete package, with amazing artwork and readable sleeves. The sliding it from the sleeve and placing the needle on the record was sublime, as was the faint cracking as the first track came into volume. And this was despite the selection of records available, a large chunk of which looking like it must have been from my Mum's record collection - The Monkees, Abba, the Grease soundtrack and loads of bloody Rod Stewart, were all notable by their inclusion - but I found a few more to go with the two or three records I'd bought myself, and amongst them were a load of Springsteen records I hadn't heard before. Spent an hour or so listening to bits and bobs from them and decided to save some for later.
I know a few people who buy a lot of vinyl, and a lot of bands - notably from the indie/punk scene I think - still like to release their stuff on vinyl, and they say that vinyl sounds a lot better than CD or even digital. I'm not so sure of this at all, and think perhaps a lot of their fondness for vinyl in that respect is more out of pomposity than sound quality. But there is a real treat attached to listening to records I think, with just the process of putting it on, and the tangibility of the product. Sadly, since I have got thousands of albums on CD I don't think I'll be switching to vinyl any time soon, but I may well buy the odd one. Just for that extra effect on the experience.
It did make me wonder what the next medium of music will be though. Right now everything is digital, and people seem to download music more than anything else now. CDs are still around but seem to be phasing out - I know a lot of friends who are gradually getting rid of their CDs as they've got digital copies. Before CDs there was the cassette tape, probably the worst sounding and also a real pain in the arse to listen to music on - especially if you wanted to find a certain track on an album or something, and had to spend ages fast forwarding and rewinding until you found it. Before that, of course, there was vinyl for a very long period, and even further back they recorded music onto copper wire.
I hope vinyl carries on in some way or form, as much as I hope CDs, the medium I have grown up listening to music on, will also be remembered fondly.
Today's reason to be cheerful (in an attempt to live up to the premise of this blog), is my rediscovery of vinyl. Recently I've been having problems with a CD player I use in my loft, where I keep all of my music gear and like to hang out listening to records. It has started to stop reading the discs and become almost inoperable in recent weeks. My attempted repair job - whereby I employed my regular method of trying to repair things I knew nothing about, and so took it apart, blew on some of the innards and put it back together again - rendered it entirely inoperable.
I rummaged around in another part of the loft looking for something to replace it with, and managed to put together a mix-match of hi-fi system parts to put something usable together, only I was missing a CD playing part. I did, however, find a record player which I hooked up immediately and delved into a stack of records I found elsewhere in this treasure trove of my family's old crap, and wow, what an experience. I'd never really played vinyl before very much, having grown up when tapes were just being replaced almost exclusively by CDs.
I loved the opening of the complete package, with amazing artwork and readable sleeves. The sliding it from the sleeve and placing the needle on the record was sublime, as was the faint cracking as the first track came into volume. And this was despite the selection of records available, a large chunk of which looking like it must have been from my Mum's record collection - The Monkees, Abba, the Grease soundtrack and loads of bloody Rod Stewart, were all notable by their inclusion - but I found a few more to go with the two or three records I'd bought myself, and amongst them were a load of Springsteen records I hadn't heard before. Spent an hour or so listening to bits and bobs from them and decided to save some for later.
I know a few people who buy a lot of vinyl, and a lot of bands - notably from the indie/punk scene I think - still like to release their stuff on vinyl, and they say that vinyl sounds a lot better than CD or even digital. I'm not so sure of this at all, and think perhaps a lot of their fondness for vinyl in that respect is more out of pomposity than sound quality. But there is a real treat attached to listening to records I think, with just the process of putting it on, and the tangibility of the product. Sadly, since I have got thousands of albums on CD I don't think I'll be switching to vinyl any time soon, but I may well buy the odd one. Just for that extra effect on the experience.
It did make me wonder what the next medium of music will be though. Right now everything is digital, and people seem to download music more than anything else now. CDs are still around but seem to be phasing out - I know a lot of friends who are gradually getting rid of their CDs as they've got digital copies. Before CDs there was the cassette tape, probably the worst sounding and also a real pain in the arse to listen to music on - especially if you wanted to find a certain track on an album or something, and had to spend ages fast forwarding and rewinding until you found it. Before that, of course, there was vinyl for a very long period, and even further back they recorded music onto copper wire.
I hope vinyl carries on in some way or form, as much as I hope CDs, the medium I have grown up listening to music on, will also be remembered fondly.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Sunday
Bit hungover today. Managed a lot of drinking amidst the football and music yesterday and aren't too sure how I managed to get so drunk without spending loads of money. It's a blur. The day has been spent accomplishing very little. Have watched a couple of films, sat around a lot and eaten food. Just another Sunday.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Gig Night
Played a good show tonight. We were tight(ish!), the venue was good, we made a little bit of money back and we all seemed to have a good time. Having had a good rehearsal during the week I was well up for this evening. we seem to be getting much better at just powering through a set, where sometimes previously there would be more awkward moments between songs when were all deciding what song to play, or tuning up etc. There is still an element of this, but we seem to be cutting it out and playing a much tighter show. Put simply, we are getting better. I also had a fair amount to drink, and had been to see Brighton win - once again - today. All in all, a very good evening.
Shameless publicity I know, but;
www.strummerville.co.uk/bad-billy-band
- a link to a track picked up by 'The Joe Strummer Foundation For New Music' that we recorded, our record is due out sometime in the early new year.
Shameless publicity I know, but;
www.strummerville.co.uk/bad-billy-band
- a link to a track picked up by 'The Joe Strummer Foundation For New Music' that we recorded, our record is due out sometime in the early new year.
Friday, 2 December 2011
Friday (Again)/Lancing Pubs
Found myself having a few pints in 'The New Sussex Hotel' in Lancing this evening with a friend who works nearby, and the place was packed. A few years ago this pub was - under its former name 'The Three Horseshoes' - the biggest dive in Lancing. It was even closed for a few weeks after the landlord's son committed a violent racist attack on the premises. Was good to see it so crowded this evening, selling well-kept beer, and having live music on. The new owners moved in a year or so ago and have completely turned the place around. It is a great thing to have a nice and reliable pub in my home town to rival the one I usually - and most likely still will - drink in, 'The Crabtree'.
Lancing has a wealth of pubs and for a while now has only had one really worth visiting, and nowhere will rival the quality of the beer at The Crabtree, but it is fantastic to raise the number of decent pubs to two - and always good to see a business success story locally. Can't image who decides to holiday in Lancing and stay at the bloody place though, as it advertises rooms upstairs as part of the enterprise.
Today, exactly two weeks after I announced I was signing-on for the last time, I had to go and sign on. Felt pretty dejected today as I trudged through the doors once again.
Lancing has a wealth of pubs and for a while now has only had one really worth visiting, and nowhere will rival the quality of the beer at The Crabtree, but it is fantastic to raise the number of decent pubs to two - and always good to see a business success story locally. Can't image who decides to holiday in Lancing and stay at the bloody place though, as it advertises rooms upstairs as part of the enterprise.
Today, exactly two weeks after I announced I was signing-on for the last time, I had to go and sign on. Felt pretty dejected today as I trudged through the doors once again.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Jeremy Clarkson And My Broken Phone
My mother is currently in Africa and has been sending me texts periodically. It has been nice to hear from her but every time she has texted me, the text seems to have been sent 5 or 6 times - only a mild inconvenience I know. Yesterday afternoon she texted me again, it was nice to hear she was still having an amazing time, is due back Saturday, and wishes me good luck for starting my new job tomorrow - which I told her I now wasn't starting and was looking forward to seeing her when she got back. A couple of minutes later I received another text from her, telling me she was still having an amazing time, is due back Saturday, and wishes me good luck for starting my new job tomorrow - 'yeah alright mum, no need to rub it in!', I joked to myself. Moments later I received another, and then another - a mild inconvenience to delete them from my inbox. At this point I headed into my band rehearsal, and put my phone in my bag.
Two hours later, I retrieved my phone from my bag to discover that I had 76 unread messages! Wow, I thought, I have never been so popular in my life! It was the same message. I deleted them all, and on the way home they kept arriving, and I kept deleting them as they did. I tried texting mum to tell her to stop or turn her phone off or something, but just kept deleting them, and in the end turned my phone off, having by then received hundreds of the bloody things.
This morning I turned my phone on, for a few moments nothing happened and I thought, 'Ahh, crisis over.....' and then, my phone vibrates. Oh dear. There was obviously a backlog from last night coming through! Every 7 to 12 seconds - I timed it in the end - I received another text, and was frantically trying to delete them as they arrived, at one point shouting "JUST FUCK OFF MUM!!!!!!" as they arrived. Which struck me as being quite funny.
At last count I must have gotten over a thousand of the sodding things, have sent several messages to Mum to try and sort it out at her end, and a few emails. I tried to phone my network, but couldn't get through, eventually just giving up and turning my phone off again, hoping it just goes away.
Another thing I hope goes away, and doesn't come back, is Jeremy Clarkson. I have never really liked him, and for a while found his outspoken, right-wing brand of xenophobic, anti-environmental nastiness quite offensive. But after a while I realised that everything he says is almost caricaturial in it's simplicity, and he only says the kind of things he does to sell swathes of his books to his devoted if ignorant fans every Christmas. I even almost started to enjoy watching 'Top Gear', which is one of the most ridiculous television shows about.
But yesterday, live on television (BBC's 'The One Show'), he spoke of how he thought the public sector workers who were on strike, as legitimately as protest and striking surely must be in a democracy, should be shot. And then added that he thought they should be executed in front of their families. Now, this is most likely just a badly-timed example of Clarkson's 'humour', and possibly ill-judged, as surely nobody can genuinely believe in such fascist ideals in this day and age? As well as broadcast them on early evening TV.
I mean even Nick Griffin would probably have heard that and said, "oooo, well that's a little strong there I think Jeremy, I mean I agree on your foreign policy ideas, but maybe suggesting executing our striking public sector workforce in front of their own frightened families is probably a bit beyond pale".
Clarkson has just come back with a vengeance in my mind as not just this kind of whimsical right-wing cartoon character which I assumed he was playing to, but to being the small-minded, greedy little fascist he must surely be. And perhaps this will come back to haunt Clarkson's good friend, the Prime Minister David Cameron, who has already dismissed the strikes on the grounds of idealogical nonsense. You might imagine them both sharing views along the lines of that which Clarkson said, which is a scary thought.
Clarkson will get away with this easily, and will no doubt defend his views in the future. His job at the BBC will never be under threat as he makes them too much money, and his brand of politics seems to fairly represent the views of the Sun newspaper for whom he writes. It does make me think of the hypocracy of the BBC though. Just over a year ago Carol Thatcher was sacked by the BBC after using the word 'Gollywog' to describe a black tennis player, this was deemed offensive and she was sacked. I would argue that, essentially, fascist comments made by Clarkson are just as offensive as this. The criteria of the BBC seem to be that if you say something bad, but happen to be a bit weird, have a speech impediment, and everyone hates your mum, then you should be sacked to make an example - but if you say something bad, but happen to make them a lot of money, then, so what.
Ah, received another 53 texts in the hour since I last checked my phone. I hope no-one's paying for this.
Two hours later, I retrieved my phone from my bag to discover that I had 76 unread messages! Wow, I thought, I have never been so popular in my life! It was the same message. I deleted them all, and on the way home they kept arriving, and I kept deleting them as they did. I tried texting mum to tell her to stop or turn her phone off or something, but just kept deleting them, and in the end turned my phone off, having by then received hundreds of the bloody things.
This morning I turned my phone on, for a few moments nothing happened and I thought, 'Ahh, crisis over.....' and then, my phone vibrates. Oh dear. There was obviously a backlog from last night coming through! Every 7 to 12 seconds - I timed it in the end - I received another text, and was frantically trying to delete them as they arrived, at one point shouting "JUST FUCK OFF MUM!!!!!!" as they arrived. Which struck me as being quite funny.
At last count I must have gotten over a thousand of the sodding things, have sent several messages to Mum to try and sort it out at her end, and a few emails. I tried to phone my network, but couldn't get through, eventually just giving up and turning my phone off again, hoping it just goes away.
Another thing I hope goes away, and doesn't come back, is Jeremy Clarkson. I have never really liked him, and for a while found his outspoken, right-wing brand of xenophobic, anti-environmental nastiness quite offensive. But after a while I realised that everything he says is almost caricaturial in it's simplicity, and he only says the kind of things he does to sell swathes of his books to his devoted if ignorant fans every Christmas. I even almost started to enjoy watching 'Top Gear', which is one of the most ridiculous television shows about.
But yesterday, live on television (BBC's 'The One Show'), he spoke of how he thought the public sector workers who were on strike, as legitimately as protest and striking surely must be in a democracy, should be shot. And then added that he thought they should be executed in front of their families. Now, this is most likely just a badly-timed example of Clarkson's 'humour', and possibly ill-judged, as surely nobody can genuinely believe in such fascist ideals in this day and age? As well as broadcast them on early evening TV.
I mean even Nick Griffin would probably have heard that and said, "oooo, well that's a little strong there I think Jeremy, I mean I agree on your foreign policy ideas, but maybe suggesting executing our striking public sector workforce in front of their own frightened families is probably a bit beyond pale".
Clarkson has just come back with a vengeance in my mind as not just this kind of whimsical right-wing cartoon character which I assumed he was playing to, but to being the small-minded, greedy little fascist he must surely be. And perhaps this will come back to haunt Clarkson's good friend, the Prime Minister David Cameron, who has already dismissed the strikes on the grounds of idealogical nonsense. You might imagine them both sharing views along the lines of that which Clarkson said, which is a scary thought.
Clarkson will get away with this easily, and will no doubt defend his views in the future. His job at the BBC will never be under threat as he makes them too much money, and his brand of politics seems to fairly represent the views of the Sun newspaper for whom he writes. It does make me think of the hypocracy of the BBC though. Just over a year ago Carol Thatcher was sacked by the BBC after using the word 'Gollywog' to describe a black tennis player, this was deemed offensive and she was sacked. I would argue that, essentially, fascist comments made by Clarkson are just as offensive as this. The criteria of the BBC seem to be that if you say something bad, but happen to be a bit weird, have a speech impediment, and everyone hates your mum, then you should be sacked to make an example - but if you say something bad, but happen to make them a lot of money, then, so what.
Ah, received another 53 texts in the hour since I last checked my phone. I hope no-one's paying for this.
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Job-Hunting, Striking, And Reasons To Be Cheerful
Another fretful day of job-hunting, where I was once again given hope of work, only to have it swiped away from my open arms, was followed by a very tight and encouraging band practice. It's nice when something good like that can brighten a day that otherwise would have been full of despair. Sometimes that's all it takes, one good thing to happen to drag you through a shitty days, and make things look just that little bit better before you go to bed.
And, as much as I keep moaning about not having a job - and perhaps I do have valid reason to moan after having been desperately seeking one for nearly 3 months - things could definitely be worse. I have my health, I have my friends - even if I can't afford to go out and do anything with them, I have my band, a house to live in, some clothes that sort of fit me, and probably loads of other good stuff.
Bob Dylan once said that, "A man is a success if he can get out of a bed in the morning, go to bed at night, and do whatever he wants to do during the day", and, to an extent, he was probably right. You shouldn't focus so much on material wealth - although sometimes it does facilitate certain aspects of life. I don't have a job, and therefore money to do a lot of things, but it isn't the end of the world, I just need to try harder and not get too bogged down.
Was encouraged greatly by the numbers of people that seemed to have turned out for the public sector strike today, and it really does show a solidarity from the working class of the country that they aren't happy to take the fall for our failing economy, where perhaps the more wealthy seem to escape more easily. It is a solidarity that I hope will eventually change this country, and prove something to the rich that govern us that something is deeply wrong.
There is a disparity in this country. Unfortunately those that govern us, or rather those in Government (or in our Houses of Parliament) are seemingly so removed from society as a whole that they are hardly qualified to judge it, and even condemn it. Our Prime Minister, for example, as well as his cabinet - and this is no different in the opposition party either - are all from wealthy, middle and upper class backgrounds, where they have never experienced the hardships that life throws at those less fortunate. I'm not saying they haven't worked hard to get where they are - as they obviously have - but it is a different kind of hard work to that that the vast majority of the population have to undertake on a daily basis, where small decisions for the politicians, like those which have sparked this latest strike, are proved to be massive decisions for the average worker. Whether it is entirely accurate or not, and I think it most probably is, those less well off seem to take the brunt of the punishment for our economic crisis where the rich seem to get away easier.
Maybe it is the same for all, and maybe we do ALL have to accept the hardships of digging our way out of this recession, that's not my argument. But these decisions will ALWAYS hurt the poor more. Where you can avoid any section of society hurting - and where someone else is comfortably off - then surely that is wrong. It isn't 'socialism' or ''left-wing' or any other title you may want to give it, it is just humanity and empathy in the face of greed.
Today, Mr Cameron brushed aside the millions of public sector workers striking as just 'left-wing nonsense', just in the same way he brushed aside the riots in August as just a work of troublemakers. Perhaps there is a deeper disparity in society than he, and many others, will ever see from atop of their perch. If you stand at the top of a skyscraper you will see blue skies, vista's, and magnificence - get down to the street level and get immersed in it, and you will see plunder and murder.
Just a thought. Right, now I'm going to let myself down and watch 'Meet The Fockers' on television.
And, as much as I keep moaning about not having a job - and perhaps I do have valid reason to moan after having been desperately seeking one for nearly 3 months - things could definitely be worse. I have my health, I have my friends - even if I can't afford to go out and do anything with them, I have my band, a house to live in, some clothes that sort of fit me, and probably loads of other good stuff.
Bob Dylan once said that, "A man is a success if he can get out of a bed in the morning, go to bed at night, and do whatever he wants to do during the day", and, to an extent, he was probably right. You shouldn't focus so much on material wealth - although sometimes it does facilitate certain aspects of life. I don't have a job, and therefore money to do a lot of things, but it isn't the end of the world, I just need to try harder and not get too bogged down.
Was encouraged greatly by the numbers of people that seemed to have turned out for the public sector strike today, and it really does show a solidarity from the working class of the country that they aren't happy to take the fall for our failing economy, where perhaps the more wealthy seem to escape more easily. It is a solidarity that I hope will eventually change this country, and prove something to the rich that govern us that something is deeply wrong.
There is a disparity in this country. Unfortunately those that govern us, or rather those in Government (or in our Houses of Parliament) are seemingly so removed from society as a whole that they are hardly qualified to judge it, and even condemn it. Our Prime Minister, for example, as well as his cabinet - and this is no different in the opposition party either - are all from wealthy, middle and upper class backgrounds, where they have never experienced the hardships that life throws at those less fortunate. I'm not saying they haven't worked hard to get where they are - as they obviously have - but it is a different kind of hard work to that that the vast majority of the population have to undertake on a daily basis, where small decisions for the politicians, like those which have sparked this latest strike, are proved to be massive decisions for the average worker. Whether it is entirely accurate or not, and I think it most probably is, those less well off seem to take the brunt of the punishment for our economic crisis where the rich seem to get away easier.
Maybe it is the same for all, and maybe we do ALL have to accept the hardships of digging our way out of this recession, that's not my argument. But these decisions will ALWAYS hurt the poor more. Where you can avoid any section of society hurting - and where someone else is comfortably off - then surely that is wrong. It isn't 'socialism' or ''left-wing' or any other title you may want to give it, it is just humanity and empathy in the face of greed.
Today, Mr Cameron brushed aside the millions of public sector workers striking as just 'left-wing nonsense', just in the same way he brushed aside the riots in August as just a work of troublemakers. Perhaps there is a deeper disparity in society than he, and many others, will ever see from atop of their perch. If you stand at the top of a skyscraper you will see blue skies, vista's, and magnificence - get down to the street level and get immersed in it, and you will see plunder and murder.
Just a thought. Right, now I'm going to let myself down and watch 'Meet The Fockers' on television.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
A Quick Entry
Just a quick entry tonight. I am typing and looking at the keyboard and for some reason my eyes have gone a bit weird and it looks like my feverishly typing hands are miles away from me - must be pretty tired.
I seem to write most of these blogs whilst 'Family Guy' is on on BBC3 late at night. I just want to use this opportunity to say how brilliant I think it really is. I find myself very often slating American comedy shows - thinking that British humour is far superior. But recently I have realised my pomposity, and that there are some really very good American comedy shows about, and that the bad ones are just as bad as some of our bad comedies, and there are surely plenty of those. I love several American comedies, come to think of it - Family Guy, The Simpsons and American Dad are obvious ones, but I also enjoy Scrubs, My Name Is Earl, and some more traditional type sitcoms like Frasier and Everybody Loves Raymond - the later two have been my early morning menu on Channel 4, as I have attempted to train myself to get up early in the mornings on weekdays in case I manage to get a job. I realise I need to change my pomposity in my comic tastes, and to judge programs on strength of material rather than where they come from or who has made them.
Good. That's that then.
Today I have delved further into some job options, visiting briefly another agency for an interview and having further negotiations with Reed, which seems suddenly more hopefull. More to follow with any luck....
Night all.
I seem to write most of these blogs whilst 'Family Guy' is on on BBC3 late at night. I just want to use this opportunity to say how brilliant I think it really is. I find myself very often slating American comedy shows - thinking that British humour is far superior. But recently I have realised my pomposity, and that there are some really very good American comedy shows about, and that the bad ones are just as bad as some of our bad comedies, and there are surely plenty of those. I love several American comedies, come to think of it - Family Guy, The Simpsons and American Dad are obvious ones, but I also enjoy Scrubs, My Name Is Earl, and some more traditional type sitcoms like Frasier and Everybody Loves Raymond - the later two have been my early morning menu on Channel 4, as I have attempted to train myself to get up early in the mornings on weekdays in case I manage to get a job. I realise I need to change my pomposity in my comic tastes, and to judge programs on strength of material rather than where they come from or who has made them.
Good. That's that then.
Today I have delved further into some job options, visiting briefly another agency for an interview and having further negotiations with Reed, which seems suddenly more hopefull. More to follow with any luck....
Night all.
Monday, 28 November 2011
Reason's To Be [Not Very] Cheerful [, Apparently]
I realise that 'Reason's To Be Cheerful' hasn't overly lived up to its title lately, and I'm not sure if today will be any exception. It is late November and Christmas is all around. Decorations are being erected gleefully and the television is awash with festive adverts trying to flog posh food to adults and crappy toys to children. I always picture this time of year in my mind as a kind of steep mountain, which you continue to struggle up to the top all through December, past Christmas, onto New Year's Eve and........and none of it lives up to everybody's expectations, you realise this year's was exactly as disappointing as last year's, and you are left slightly fatter and less well off than you were in the Autumn! But I'm not really into it, but other people love it and must be excited at the weeks to come, and it was always great being a child at this time of year.
Upon awakening this morning I couldn't remember what day it was, and peeling away the curtains to bedroom revealed few answers other than a grey and unappealing sky. Realising there was nobody else in the house I assumed it must be Monday and so slotted myself back into last week's routine of drinking copious amounts of tea and scouring the internet clean of available jobs. Applied to a few more and phoned a couple of the agencies.
Found it hard to really motivate today and it was a bit of a slog to achieve the few things that I did. I can't stand the greyness of everything this time of year. It certainly affects my moods, and it can't help having my job-finding problems. The clear and sunny days are few and far between, and it is mostly bitingly cold, and either raining or the cover of a deep grey blanket of cloud. The leaves have fallen from the trees and most of the birds have migrated. It is quiet, dull, and cold.
Perhaps that is the advantage of Christmas then, the opportunity to add a bit of colour and sound to everything, and break up the long dark winter. For people to have something to look forward to and bring them together.
Upon awakening this morning I couldn't remember what day it was, and peeling away the curtains to bedroom revealed few answers other than a grey and unappealing sky. Realising there was nobody else in the house I assumed it must be Monday and so slotted myself back into last week's routine of drinking copious amounts of tea and scouring the internet clean of available jobs. Applied to a few more and phoned a couple of the agencies.
Found it hard to really motivate today and it was a bit of a slog to achieve the few things that I did. I can't stand the greyness of everything this time of year. It certainly affects my moods, and it can't help having my job-finding problems. The clear and sunny days are few and far between, and it is mostly bitingly cold, and either raining or the cover of a deep grey blanket of cloud. The leaves have fallen from the trees and most of the birds have migrated. It is quiet, dull, and cold.
Perhaps that is the advantage of Christmas then, the opportunity to add a bit of colour and sound to everything, and break up the long dark winter. For people to have something to look forward to and bring them together.
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Depression
Was very sad to hear about the death of Gary Speed, the former footballer, who seemed to have committed suicide overnight. He was only 42 and enjoying a successful career off the pitch following his retirement from playing. It just shows quite how devastating depression can sometimes be.
I have personally suffered from depression, as do many - if to varying levels or severity - and perhaps even maintain an aspect of it as being merely part of me as a person. But there have been times when I have suffered from it particularly badly, and to someone who has never had or dealt with this destructive illness, it is very difficult to describe how it feels. People will say to you 'just cheer up' or 'it isn't that bad' or something, thinking you are just a bit down in the dumps, when it is really a severe chemical imbalance in the brain that can be totally impervious to anything that is said or done.
You can be in the best place in the world and still feel sad, or in a room full of people and still feel lonely, or receive the greatest love you have ever felt and still feel unloved. And you know these things and don't understand how or why you feel this terrible, confused way. You can sometimes see no end, and sometimes no reason to try and reach the end. Nothing matters, and yet you can be so sensitive that everything matters. Anxiety, paranoia and mood swings are all symptoms, and it can make you very difficult to spend time with, let alone live with.
I am perhaps being slightly dramatic in language, but it all seems to be the nature of the beast. Gary Speed is a good example of how the disease can creep up unexpectedly, and for those around, unidentifiably. I hope his untimely death can, if anything, raise awareness for the condition, and help people to seek treatment for it when needed. Because there is help and a way around it out there.
I have personally suffered from depression, as do many - if to varying levels or severity - and perhaps even maintain an aspect of it as being merely part of me as a person. But there have been times when I have suffered from it particularly badly, and to someone who has never had or dealt with this destructive illness, it is very difficult to describe how it feels. People will say to you 'just cheer up' or 'it isn't that bad' or something, thinking you are just a bit down in the dumps, when it is really a severe chemical imbalance in the brain that can be totally impervious to anything that is said or done.
You can be in the best place in the world and still feel sad, or in a room full of people and still feel lonely, or receive the greatest love you have ever felt and still feel unloved. And you know these things and don't understand how or why you feel this terrible, confused way. You can sometimes see no end, and sometimes no reason to try and reach the end. Nothing matters, and yet you can be so sensitive that everything matters. Anxiety, paranoia and mood swings are all symptoms, and it can make you very difficult to spend time with, let alone live with.
I am perhaps being slightly dramatic in language, but it all seems to be the nature of the beast. Gary Speed is a good example of how the disease can creep up unexpectedly, and for those around, unidentifiably. I hope his untimely death can, if anything, raise awareness for the condition, and help people to seek treatment for it when needed. Because there is help and a way around it out there.
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Saturday
A late one this evening. Had a good day of drinking and seeing friends - despite my lack of funds (looks like I won't be doing much this week then!). First of all I had a good time at the football in Brighton with my cousin, and we even won too. My first win of the season. Last year Brighton won almost every game they played but this year good results so far have been few and far between, so it was nice to witness my first one in late November, although I have only been to 3 matches so far.
Had a few drinks with some other friends afterwards and am, despite being at home at midnight, feeling really rather merry! I shall now attempt to make myself some cheese on toast without inadvertently burning the house down.
Had a few drinks with some other friends afterwards and am, despite being at home at midnight, feeling really rather merry! I shall now attempt to make myself some cheese on toast without inadvertently burning the house down.
Friday, 25 November 2011
Friday
For me, today carried on much the way as yesterday. I applied for another stack of jobs, another bit of a mixture but, surely, if I sling enough - and please, excuse the expression - but if I sling enough shit at the wall - and in this case I am the shit, and the job market is the wall - then, surely, some of it will stick. Surely. Unless they've invented some kind of shit-proof paint in the last 3 months. Basically, if I apply for enough then the law of averages at least should dictate that one of them will come good. (Don't worry RTBC fans, just because I am describing myself as 'shit' in a metaphor, doesn't necessarily mean my self-worth has plummeted again.)
Today, I also lighted some scented candles to try and get rid of a weird smell in the bathroom, tried to invent a new type of pizza - which it turned out had already been invented, and filled in some holes with poly-filler. All in all a pretty productive day for a worthless piece of shit.
Today, I also lighted some scented candles to try and get rid of a weird smell in the bathroom, tried to invent a new type of pizza - which it turned out had already been invented, and filled in some holes with poly-filler. All in all a pretty productive day for a worthless piece of shit.
Thursday, 24 November 2011
Counter-Strike!
This morning, after considering giving up, sitting in front of the telly, drinking more wine, and maybe never doing anything ever again - maybe just sit on the sofa until I reach old age, or they cut off the electricity or the house falls down, I decided to hit the offensive. Spent literally all day applying for jobs, all different kinds. Several admin ones, a couple of warehouse jobs, post room jobs, a cleaning job, a caretaker job at a library, a ward clerk at the hospital, and even a stage hand for the Worthing panto production of Peter Pan. Because of the way Reed have treated me this week, and whether or not they sort this job out that I was due to start today, I am determined to find something else if I can so then maybe I can turn this one down.
I have really been lapse in the last few weeks because I've been waiting for this one to come along, and this really shouldn't have stopped me doing something as simple as sending off applications. Almost even applied for a job as a Santa Claus for the shopping centre in Brighton, but spending a month humouring naive children pissing on my knee seemed beyond the call of duty. There were also roles going for elves, but I think I may be too tall. Or is is dwarves that are small?
Either way, I'm glad I was positive today. I was very down last night, and a year ago - when I was struggling pretty badly from depression - I would have reacted quite differently today than I have done. I hope my outlook continues this way, even if work isn't immediately forthcoming. Although I have been actively looking for a job for nearly three months, and somehow still haven't found anything, and we are approaching a difficult time of year for the terminally unemployed.
I suppose self-confidence is the key, and for people in my situation, when you are constantly being rejected by employers, must all start to lose themselves after a while. A good example this was the other night. I went to see a mate's gig, a real studenty affair, and it was pretty sparse in there. When we got there we waited around for my friend to play, I noticed a particularly attractive girl on the other side of the bar. At some points in my recent history, and given the right mixture of booze and confidence, I probably would have gone over to her and tried to chat her up in an instant, but this time I could think of nothing to say. Zero self-confidence. Realising I had nothing, I just left it all night until I was quite drunk. I kept staring over at her, trying to gain a little eye contact, and kept thinking to myself, 'just keep it cool'. What a prat!
I was leaning against the bar at the time, when I was nudged on the shoulder by the bloke behind the bar. I was leaning on the flap on the bar, and he needed to get through, which put me in mind of the 'Only Fools And Horses' sketch where Del Boy falls through the bar. He was saying something like 'keep it cool' at the time as well. I thought, "well, I'm not falling through the bloody bar too!, It wasn't even that funny when Del Boy did it!", so I decided to grow a pair and go talk to the girl when she stood up. Managed something really crap about music or something which she half-smiled about, but in more of a 'fuck off' kind of way than a 'please, tell me more' kind of way, and that was that. I almost wish I had fallen through the bar, at least I would've had a talking point if I did.
Like chatting up women, or standing on stage like my friend, I think getting a job after 3 months on the dole will probably be as much about my self-confidence as it will be luck or talent. Just got to keep plugging away I guess.
I have really been lapse in the last few weeks because I've been waiting for this one to come along, and this really shouldn't have stopped me doing something as simple as sending off applications. Almost even applied for a job as a Santa Claus for the shopping centre in Brighton, but spending a month humouring naive children pissing on my knee seemed beyond the call of duty. There were also roles going for elves, but I think I may be too tall. Or is is dwarves that are small?
Either way, I'm glad I was positive today. I was very down last night, and a year ago - when I was struggling pretty badly from depression - I would have reacted quite differently today than I have done. I hope my outlook continues this way, even if work isn't immediately forthcoming. Although I have been actively looking for a job for nearly three months, and somehow still haven't found anything, and we are approaching a difficult time of year for the terminally unemployed.
I suppose self-confidence is the key, and for people in my situation, when you are constantly being rejected by employers, must all start to lose themselves after a while. A good example this was the other night. I went to see a mate's gig, a real studenty affair, and it was pretty sparse in there. When we got there we waited around for my friend to play, I noticed a particularly attractive girl on the other side of the bar. At some points in my recent history, and given the right mixture of booze and confidence, I probably would have gone over to her and tried to chat her up in an instant, but this time I could think of nothing to say. Zero self-confidence. Realising I had nothing, I just left it all night until I was quite drunk. I kept staring over at her, trying to gain a little eye contact, and kept thinking to myself, 'just keep it cool'. What a prat!
I was leaning against the bar at the time, when I was nudged on the shoulder by the bloke behind the bar. I was leaning on the flap on the bar, and he needed to get through, which put me in mind of the 'Only Fools And Horses' sketch where Del Boy falls through the bar. He was saying something like 'keep it cool' at the time as well. I thought, "well, I'm not falling through the bloody bar too!, It wasn't even that funny when Del Boy did it!", so I decided to grow a pair and go talk to the girl when she stood up. Managed something really crap about music or something which she half-smiled about, but in more of a 'fuck off' kind of way than a 'please, tell me more' kind of way, and that was that. I almost wish I had fallen through the bar, at least I would've had a talking point if I did.
Like chatting up women, or standing on stage like my friend, I think getting a job after 3 months on the dole will probably be as much about my self-confidence as it will be luck or talent. Just got to keep plugging away I guess.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
Bad News, Loser (Wednesday)
On my last day of freedom I went for a walk, had a large breakfast, met a friend at the pub and bought a round for some of the locals I occasionally drink with, and got some shopping in too. Thought it would be nice to celebrate the fact that I start a new job tomorrow and that this was my last free day before it, as it has been a rather long desolate slog in recent weeks to survive on my dole money and own company. Got home and phoned the girl at Reed, who had sorted out my placement, to gain a few details. She told me that I now wasn't starting a job tomorrow. Nice.
Apparently they were still waiting to get my 'datapack', whatever that is, audited, and couldn't do anything about it. 'Hopefully', she said, I'll hear from them next week, but it was, she said, out of their hands. Just like it was seemingly 'out of their hands' to bother to pick the phone up at some point since last Friday to tell me of this difficulty. It certainly also seems a little unfair that I was one of the first to apply for this job and, if they eventually get around to processing my information, I will likely be the last to start. I have phoned and emailed them constantly to remind them of my application and asking for a start date, which they eventually gave me as this Thursday. I seriously got the impression they weren't actually going to phone me today to inform me otherwise either. So it was lucky I phoned them up before cancelling my jobseeker's allowance, which would have left me doubly fucked.
I literally cannot put to words, and even for a mundane temporary job, just how dejected and pissed-off I am feeling this evening. Have been looking so forward these last few days to starting work again, perhaps providing a ladder to climb out of this barren and worthless existence I am dwelling in at the moment, and suddenly something else has got in the way.
'Hopefully' I will start work next week, but that is hardly a guarantee. No 'Reasons To Be Cheerful' tonight I'm afraid readers.
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Tuesday
Spent an evening in Brighton watching a friend play a set in a pub and had a few drinks. Was nice to get out and about somewhere different and mix with a different crowd. Have found that I have tended to do the same sort of stuff in recent weeks due to my lack of dosh. Have my last dole payment through tomorrow - I will phone up and cancel my dole tomorrow ahead of Thursday's start - and am looking forward to it being the last for a while. Will be great to get my last payment through though, and hopefully it'll mean I'll be able to get out and about over the next few days.
It is once again late, and I am tired.
It is once again late, and I am tired.
Monday, 21 November 2011
Monday
Gained a lot of respect for Hugh Grant today when I saw him making his statement for the Leveson Inquiry into the News International phone hacking scandal. He made his points well and I certainly warmed to him as a result. I hope this inquiry comes down hard on News International and the other tabloid newspapers involved in the ever-expanding case. Rupert Murdock and his News International corporation stand for all that is wrong in our western capitalist society, and for too long they have stood above and beyond the law, monopolising and manipulating for corporate greed.
We are the 99%
We are the 99%
Sunday, 20 November 2011
A Few Notes On Last Night's Show
Last night's gig could have gone better I think. There were very few people in the audience, which left the atmosphere a little thin, and it is sometimes very hard to really get into an original set of music in front of a small crowd. There were a few mistakes also, really nothing too serious, but it seemed to leave the band on a bit of a downer - except for our amazingly enthusiastic keyboard player, who sometimes you get the impression nothing could really get him down. I almost wish sometimes a little more of his indomitable character could rub off on to the rest of us just a little.
To songwriters - and I really think this is a factor towards it - like myself, the singer and bass player, a bad performance or even a poorly received performance can sometimes take a lot out of us. When you are pouring your heart out and it seems like no-one is really hearing you, or you are not expressing yourself in exactly the way that you want to, it can be a real numbing experience.
I think anyone who writes songs, or does anything like that that really comes from the soul, can be very open to the slightest disappointments. I really believe that to be able to write an honest song, a song with feeling and emotion, you have to be able to open yourself up for all to see - and opening yourself up in that way means that, as well as something truly profound and beautiful being able to find its way out of you, you can also be quite susceptible to emotions and feelings finding their way in. And this isn't just for songwriters. I think all musicians, as well as comedians, writers, or anybody who is able to share something very personal with others has this burden.
But it can also be a gift. For every bad emotion that is, I suppose, amplified, there is always a good emotion that is amplified too. For a musician, bad gigs are really bad, but then you will eventually get a good gig that is truly amazing, and it is difficult to express the feeling you get when you come off stage buzzing from a good performance and a similarly acknowledging crowd.
I wouldn't describe the show we played last night as either particularly good or bad in hindsight - even considering a little disagreement a couple of the guys in the band had today as a result, but it put me in mind to consider how affected we can be by things which, essentially, are out of our control, and as to how very small and insignificant things can change our moods for hours on end.
In our case, we were treated very well by the venue, fed and watered royally, all our friends and fans that made it enjoyed our company and performance. And that at this level that is, really, the important thing - no matter how totally great and amazing we really are. And we really are totally great and amazing.
Another important characteristic of musicians and performers is Narcissism.
To songwriters - and I really think this is a factor towards it - like myself, the singer and bass player, a bad performance or even a poorly received performance can sometimes take a lot out of us. When you are pouring your heart out and it seems like no-one is really hearing you, or you are not expressing yourself in exactly the way that you want to, it can be a real numbing experience.
I think anyone who writes songs, or does anything like that that really comes from the soul, can be very open to the slightest disappointments. I really believe that to be able to write an honest song, a song with feeling and emotion, you have to be able to open yourself up for all to see - and opening yourself up in that way means that, as well as something truly profound and beautiful being able to find its way out of you, you can also be quite susceptible to emotions and feelings finding their way in. And this isn't just for songwriters. I think all musicians, as well as comedians, writers, or anybody who is able to share something very personal with others has this burden.
But it can also be a gift. For every bad emotion that is, I suppose, amplified, there is always a good emotion that is amplified too. For a musician, bad gigs are really bad, but then you will eventually get a good gig that is truly amazing, and it is difficult to express the feeling you get when you come off stage buzzing from a good performance and a similarly acknowledging crowd.
I wouldn't describe the show we played last night as either particularly good or bad in hindsight - even considering a little disagreement a couple of the guys in the band had today as a result, but it put me in mind to consider how affected we can be by things which, essentially, are out of our control, and as to how very small and insignificant things can change our moods for hours on end.
In our case, we were treated very well by the venue, fed and watered royally, all our friends and fans that made it enjoyed our company and performance. And that at this level that is, really, the important thing - no matter how totally great and amazing we really are. And we really are totally great and amazing.
Another important characteristic of musicians and performers is Narcissism.
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