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.
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