You are allowed to enjoy this…

And so our time here is coming to an end. Contracts have been inked, details have been hammered out and a completion date been set. The last couple of days have been particularly stressful for me as I have had to adopt a hard-nosed business persona to get what I want. The person I was dealing with was a little dishonest with the initial draft of the contract and I had to stand firm. Remembering shows such as “The Apprentice” I would ask myself “What would Donald Trump do?” and to a lesser extent “What would Alan Sugar do?”. My doggedness paid off and I got what I had made an offer on.
I might as well come clean now as I am on the home strait. I am quitting the freelance writing business and I am buying a busy shop in a little village. When you’ve achieved all you are going to achieve in your field it is time to change direction and do something completely different, I feel. Plus, I wanted to do something where I could do an honest day’s work (and get paid a decent wage for it, instead of scrabbling for freelance scraps like a dog) and still have time for BabyLockTM (who has yet to make an appearance). So that’s the big secret out of the bag.
The thing is that where we are going to is a small village and I don’t think it prudent to keep the blog going. It might scare off my customers! So maybe it is time to close this place down and only concentrate on my musical noodlings? The alternative is to go anonymous and create a pseudonym. I don’t know – the Internet isn’t as exciting as it used to be. It’s just a million mindless monkeys chattering for attention. I mean who the heck wants to read my self-centred bleatings, let alone download the tuneless drivel I record?
Anyway, let’s end on a positive note. Here’s a message posted on the blog from Luis of Spain:

First of all excuse me for my english. I´m from Spain. A love Robert Fripp like you. I find your music interesting, specially the soundscapes. This of 7/7/6 is extremly beautiful, fantastic, peacefull..
I have a Godin and an Axon (a unit like Roland).
Please tell me what equipment you use in this song and in general. Where do you obtein these sounds from?
Thanks.

Well Luis, thanks for your kind comments. It’s these words that fuel my creative fire. I certainly don’t do it for money, otherwise I’d have starved ages ago! But here’s my list of guitar equipment that I use in my recordings:
Godin xtSA guitar
Roland VG-88 Virtual Guitar System
Roland GR-33 Guitar Synthesiser
Boss DD-20 Giga-Delay
Boss RC-50 Loop Station
Hope this helps!

Apple…

to Pie

Now I am beginning to get nervous. Inventories have been checked. More fear as I realise that I am stepping into the brink and doing something completely different. Before it was just head nerves and now that has turned into gut nerves. You can feel the fear in different parts of your body. I could write loads and loads of posts about what’s really going on but I am still playing my cards to my chest. If I gave you the low-down you’d understand completely but once it is all done I’ll probably come clean and explain the furtiveness. However, this life-changing thing might mean that I’ll need to close the blog part of the site, but does anyone really care? My loyal reader probably will find somewhere else to go, won’t you? Or I could just start again and go anonymous…that would be fun.

As any intelligent person knows, Banks are just well organised parasites. I’ve got this new business account, see. I need it for my new business, naturally, but I have already incurred over £500 debit already. How so? Well my business manager didn’t tell me that the valuation/survey was going to be debited from this new account before we’d even started using it and so I have incurred an overdraft fee. He promised to clear it up, but I’ve still made a little blemish on my credit record. I was expecting the surveyor to send me the bill direct, but no, I get shtumped without even being asked.

This is why I am nervous as I expect to get really shtumped before this whole project is complete. Once the two houses are sold there are still estate agents to pay, mortgages and fees to clear, removal costs and whatever else comes along, as well as Capital Gains Tax. Ouch!

So at least now you all know why I am scared and why I get so easily fucked off these days.
Oh and by the way, my wife is heavily pregnant and is in no condition to move. Why o why do I think that after we sign the contracts the completion date is going to coincide with the due date? And yes, I have told the solicitor many times about the baby’s arrival and to plan around it. In fact, don’t even get me started on the solicitors or even the estate agents who have been a complete pain in the rump…

Grrr…

Deep blue ocean…deep blue ocean…deep blue ocean…

That’s better!

For the first time in a long while, I am completely fucked off. Of course, this happens at the hand of someone else who has thrown reason and sensibility out of the window a long time ago. My only defence is to attack their stupidity but I know this is wrong and that just exascerbates my own sense of helpless exasperation. What to do? I don’t know…no one knows…
Life-changing events move forward: we are at week 38 of the pregnancy, the final stages of the move are coming together, checking of inventories and registering for VAT and sending off a big check for the commercial mortgage means the frown is forever etched on my face.
I keep telling myself that I am doing this for a better life for my family and myself, but sometimes I think I am making a big mistake. It’s either going to the best or the worst thing I ever do and when you have someone who is supposed to be pulling in the same direction as you have a hissy fit at this late stage, it just makes you question yourself.
Oh well, I must remain on course, right?

OK – they weren’t diamond hard, nor blue or from the vacinity of the Moon. It was just a song title I nabbed to make the heading sound interesting. Ahhhh, but where did the song title come from? I’ll let you guys figure that out. Anyways, the apple in tree in our garden has been a permanent feature of the house during our several years here. Like duh, Darren. Like the apple tree was going to uproot itself and wander off in night.
But you get what I mean, no? For me, that tree is a remarkable calendar for the year. When the branches are bare, it must be January and time for me to cut them back while I still can. If the leaves are budding, it must be March. When the blossom arrives it’s April and May. When the first fruits start to fall it is July and by the time August and September has arrived the garden is littered with windfall. The leaves disappear by October and the whole process starts again.
I know it sounds mawkish and sentimental but I am going to miss that apple tree. When we arrived, the apples were bitter and almost inedible. You could make a pie from them if you used lots of sugar, but that’s about it. The fruit was small and unappealing. A couple of years ago, I said that the fruit was reaching maturity and had started to sweeten. Last year, the apples were a lot better and this year you can pick them off the tree and eat them fresh. It’s taken us several years for us to benefit from the fruit and now we are leaving. I wish I could take the tree with me, but obviously I can’t. So I am collecting seeds with the intention of growning my own apple tree and planting it at the new house to possibly mark the birth of our baby.
Today, despite the rain and general misery brought on by the black and overcast skies, we agreed that a nice apple pie would raise the spirits and so we ventured into the garden and the heavily pregnant Missus gathered some fruit, while I captured the event on videotape. Inside, I peeled and cored the apples and prepared my pastry, filling the dish with pastry then fruit, sprinkling sugar and cinnamon before trapping the contents inside with a pastry hood. I decorated the top with a little pastry apple symbol, which looked more like a fat man mooning at me. All the while, the Missus was acting all Steven Speilberg and videoing me in action.
The subsequent pie was delicious and one day I might just get around to editing that video and showing you exactly how you turn apples from the tree into a tasty pie…

Don’t worry about the title, it was just another feeble attempt at driving those desperate Google wankers wild. You know the same ones that come here searching for Abbie Titmuss videos just because I mentioned her once…Awww, crap I did it again. But yeah, more people come here searching for Abbie Titmuss than searching for me, which is a bit disconcerting.
Oh well, it’s that time of year when the newspapers write a lot about A-level results and how the nation is either full of potential genuises or the system is dumbed down. Now looking around this fair isle is it obvious to me that we aren’t getting any smarter as a nation. In fact, we positively celebrate the moron – though I think that tide might be turning somewhat. Anyway, more kids get A-level grades than ever before, blah, blah, blah. In my day, back in the late 1980s, fewer kids took A-levels and went to university and I think the statistic was something like on 5% of A-level takers would score an A grade. This figure has now been turned on its head.
Well maybe these kids are smart, but back in the day we had to do 100% exam with no coursework and some of those exams were tough going. I never really tried that hard with my exams – never did. I was only ever interested in writing and so naturally English was my subject. It was the subject I wanted to own. Out of my three A-levels, I only passed my English Literature with an average “C” grade, but then I only ever put in an average performance. I was too busy shtumping The Missus and being a teenager in love to put any value on these academic acheivements. I’m still the same. When I chose my A-levels back in 1987, for some reason I wanted to do two English A-levels. I think it was because I knew that I could pass these without minimum of effort, but the heads of the college wouldn’t let me do that. It was too much English, they said.
But my crowning achievement came in 1990 when I returned back after my original disastrous exams to get another A-level just so I could get enough points to get on my degree course. I went back and took English Literature and managed to pass it in six months with a “C” grade. That was it. I got my points, my two A-levels in English and entry into Ealing College of Higher Education (you know, that’s the one where all the rock stars went). The rest, they say, is history.
With hindsight, I should have tried harder. The Missus begged me to put more work into my Biology exams and I could have passed it easily. My Geography exams were a total abortion. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t work hard. I did. In fact, I concentrated on my Geography because I loved the subject and wanted to pass it and put it before my Biology exams. Somehow there was a mistake along the way because when all six of the class sat down and read the paper, you could hear each one of us exhale in panic almost in unison. What they taught us on that course didn’t appear in any of the questions. I know it is easy to blame other people, but I really do believe we were taught the wrong syllabus or something. Afterwards and outside the exam hall, I spoke to my equally blustered and confused colleagues and we all agreed something was amiss. Safe to say, we all failed. I’m still annoyed about that because if I’d have not bothered and concentrated on my Biology exam, I could have at least scraped a “D” grade there. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But that’s life.
Exams? Age makes me realise that they aren’t worth the paper they are printed on. Nothing beats experience and enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, here’s the latest version of that Crossroads tune I posted the other day. The end isn’t finished yet:

About a month ago, I decided to blow the dust off my JVC camcorder and get it ready for the arrival of BabyLockTM. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those expectant Dads who ends up making a documentary from the business end, as it were. I just wanted to refamiliarise myself with the camera so I could capture some footage of the newborn. I’d had the camera for about two years and not had much use from it. The Ashbory Bass video that I made for this site was created using it, but the rest of my vids for YouTube were made using a small webcam. So you can imagine that I was royally pissed off when I discovered that the camera had developed a fault and refused to work, despite being underused and stored in a cupboard. I knew the thing was kaput and it wasn’t worth trying to get it repaired because I bought it cheap in a sale. I normally buy more expensive electronic equipment but in this instance I thought I’d grab myself a bargain. Big mistake. I won’t do that again, so said knackered camera ended up in the bin.
So I was really cheesed off with having my gear pack up on me for no good reason. I don’t mind something dying through overuse or a schoolboy error, but the camera had practically seen around an hour’s shooting action. This time The Missus insisted I buy a new camera and so I had a look around. I vowed not to buy another cheap JVC, so I plumped for a Canon HV10, which boasts High-Definition footage on standard Mini-DV tapes, which was handy as I still wanted to access my old tapes I’d made. I got a decent web price on it and it arrived last week. I’ve been messing around with it since and here’s a very short HD clip of Mr Fox appearing on the green opposite Chez Lock and disappearing. It was all over quick and I was lucky to catch him in the afternoon sunshine. The clip was also taken through a glass window at a considerable distance so don’t expect the footage to be so HD sharp it will cut your eyeballs.