It’s been a sad few days recently. Firstly, old Champagne Charlie got the boot from the Lib Dems. While I am not of that wishy-washy political persuasion, I still have a lot of respect for Kennedy, their ex-leader. He proved that you could really be a man of the people, have the courage of your convictions and have a drink problem. Sir, I salute you. I don’t believe alcoholism is a problem in the political arena because most politicians lie and decieve without being under the influence. Plus, when you’ve had a snifter, you are often more than likely to tell the truth. I would have loved to have seen him continue. Meanwhile, the cowardly cretins that mounted a whispering campaign to remove him prove that their party isn’t that progressive afterall and is really the Tory party in disguise. Now Ming the Merciless is in the frame to lead. I hear that to counter this the Tories have approached Darth Vader to helm their party once they’ve ditched Cam the Man.
The other sad news was the untimely death of Tony Banks. I was hoping that it was the bouffant-haired keyboardist from Genesis, the man ultimately responsible for blandifying the band’s sound, but instead it was Lord Stratford who had the fatal stroke. Tony Banks was another man of the people, not afraid to say what he felt, a man who christened William “Vague” Hague a “foetus” and someone who did a lot of good for people and animals. Like the John Smiths of this world, we didn’t need to lose another good guy. Why couldn’t Gorgeous George Galloway drown in the CBB swimming pool or Thatcher the Milk Snatcher choke on the fresh mice that are delivered to her cage at mealtimes everyday? No…the bastards are left to roam the earth.
Talking of strokes, I had a stroke once. And if I am a good boy, the Missus said she’d let me have another one next week… (That joke was on loan from the Bob Monkhouse Museum and was brought to you courtesy of a National Lottery Grant).
Meanwhile, Golden Wonder, the purveyor of quality crisps, has gone into liquidation. I am a Salt and Vinegar guy myself and the company’s familiar light blue packets of potato shaped joy could melt the roof of your mouth off. They were a MAN’s crisp. And no more Nice ‘n’ Spicy Nik-Naks…I can’t face such a bleak crisp future. It’s a sad day at Chez Lock and I am wearing my black armband. I salute you all.
In my professional life, the one company that always gave me regular writing work, Paragon Publishing, a recent subsidiary of Highbury House, looks as if its days are numbered too. Parent company Highbury House is millions of quids in debt and the vultures are gathering. While I am sad to lose the work, I am even sadder at the thought that this company owes me a considerable amount of hard cash in work completed for them. I’ve submitted my invoices but I hear nothing. All I do hear is rumour from the newspapers telling tales how Highbury’s magazines were late to the shelves because the printers refused to set the presses rolling until money had exchanged hands. A piddling little freelancer like me has not fricking chance, does he?
If this money doesn’t come my way and the company goes into receivership, I’ll just have to write off the cash and tighten my belt. The problem is that the money owed goes towards my tax bill for next year and without it, I am in serious brown stuff (and I don’t mean HP – though things might be getting a little too saucy for me). So I seriously see a future time where I might just have to sell of my musical gear to stop the taxman getting mediaeval on my lilly-white ass with a hefty fine. The tax man fines first and asks questions later.
And so I have taken the advice given by the Missus over Xmas very seriously. The two-word advice she gave me was to “grow up”. Now to the outsider this makes me sound like I am in my romper suit and dribblng rusk down my chin, but it was a warning to discard the superfluous BS that dogs me. And so I have already sold a load of old crap that was littering the place, did a major tidy of the living room, spent less time on the Internet and have taken the bold decision to sell part of my bloated, unnecessary record collection. (See eBay link for details)
While I know it won’t go to any way to clearing my tax debt, I am hoping that I can get some cash behind me just in case of a worst case scenario. The thing I fear most is losing my home. If only I could get that job or at least get some steady writing jobs (with the impending dissolution of Highbury/Paragon, the pond gets smaller and the fish increase in numbers, chasing their tails for smaller and smaller morsels) then things might just be OK. I’ve been applying but I’ve not had a job interview since August 2003. Sometimes I think I’m cursed, other times I think I should just quit the media industry and try elsewhere. I seriously believe that I might just be over the hill at 34.
While this is all going on, I actually feel quite positive and chirpy. It’s a really strange feeling. It’s almost as if I can sense something really good is going to happen. Weird, ain’t it? Don’t you often get a sense of euphoria before you drop dead or something? 🙂
