So yesterday afternoon, The Missus gives me a call to tell me she’s heading home. She’s been at some business meeting in Soho and has stopped by Virgin Megastore to by yours truly a treat.
“Syd Barrett’s died,” I tell her solemnly.
“The parrot’s died?” she replies confused, the rush hour noise in the background making our conversation almost impossible, “What do you mean the parrot’s died?”
I raised my voice a decibel and tried again and this time she understood. In an act of synchronicity, she was phoning to tell me that she’d just bought me the new Pink Floyd DVD “Pulse”. We watched it last night and somehow it wasn’t the same – songs like “Wish You Were Here” and “Shine On” have taken a new meaning. Before they were a raise your glass, wish you well type of ballad, now they’ve turned into elegies. I listed to those early Floyd albums yesterday afternoon and felt very nostalgic. They were the records I listened to quite early on – at about 14/15 – and remind me of a time when things weren’t so troublesome – or at least the troubles weren’t so adult, if you know what I mean.
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Well this is upsetting. News has just broken on the BBC website that founder of Pink Floyd and troubled genius, Syd Barrett, has died from complications arising from his diabetes. This is a very sad day. I love that first album. “Piper at the Gates of Dawn” is just an exercise in whimsy that there’s nothing else quite like it out there. And his credentials as a guitarist are underlined by the blistering “Interstellar Overdrive”.
Here are some viddies, courtesy of YouTube, featuring the guy:
For me, listening to the Floyd is a remnant of my early teenage years and Barrett is a happy memory. I’m off to dig out those old records and give them another listen. Shine on, you crazy diamond, wherever you are.
I got Soundscape Fever and it’s catching. But seriously, so inspired and altered by Robert Fripp’s recent UK mini-tour that I’ve thrown my self at my pedals with abandon. I even dug out my old webcam so I could film myself in the act…of making music, you mucky minded pups. I’ve been uploading a couple to YouTube because they don’t take up so much bandwidth and I plan to add the MP3 audio versions of the improvisations to my podcast – details on the left column of the screen. Anyway, here are the videos for your delectation:
Despite the fact that Alex the Wonderdog was attacked a few good months ago, the repercussions of the event still ripple around like a pebble tossed with mindless abandon into a still lily pond. My mother reported to me that Mrs G, the missus of MG, the owner of the mastiff that attacked Alex, had visited her shop again. She was prepared for the worst and Mrs G gave her both barrels – sounding off and complaining about the fact that my mother has been warning every dog owner in the area about them and their beast of a dog.
“How would you like it if your dog had attacked another dog and was being spoken about?” she asked my mother.
This provided us with light relief because my mother’s dog is a tiny Yorkshire Terrier called Cappy and the idea of him taking on the mighty Dwarf the Mastiff (for that is the attacking dog’s name) is both ridiculous and quite surreal. The mastiff is the largest dog I’ve ever seen and its back easily comes up above my waist. Meanwhile, Cappy the dog is short than the length of my forearm. Hardly an equal fight is it? And besides, we aren’t that daft as to let our dogs off the lead in a public place and let them attack other dogs, but that’s by the by.
My mother told Mrs G that she wasn’t going to discuss the matter in her place of work and retreated to the stock room, allowing her manager to take over. He saw the horrific damage done to Alex the Wonderdog and asked the lady to leave peacefully. The funny thing is that my mother keeps hearing stories of how this dog has attacked various other canines in the area. One lady told of how her son had been playing with their Doberman in the driveway of the house when Dwarf the mastiff ploughed in and ripped its face. Her son was in shock and the dog clearly in a state, but the lady got in her car and tore after him. When approached, Mr G flipped the blame back her way, accusing her of not having her dog on a lead. Clever bloke, eh? Wonder where he got that gem from?
But the fact of the matter is that Mr G is still letting his dog attack other animals. He won’t muzzle his animal and has bugger all control over it. They certainly don’t like my mother warning all and sundry about what’s happened. And so, I write this entry in the hope that someone whose dog might have been attacked in the area might come this way courtesy of Google – or any other fine search engine.
If you live in the Loughton or Debden area, specifically in the Rectory Lane/Willingale Road/Colebrook Lane area and have had your dog attacked by a large Mastiff – easy to identify because it is probably the biggest dog you’ll ever see – drop me a line because I have the name, address and contact details of the owner. If you have been affected by this moron who can’t control his dog, you must report him to the local dog warden and RSPCA, because if we keep on doing it, Mr G might just listen and muzzle his dog. While I am not particuarly pleased with him or his animal, I wouldn’t want the dog put down because of the owner’s stupidity and macho posturing. Now the following words are for the search engines so don’t freak out:
large big dog attack attacked debden loughton mastiff fight muzzle kill bite bitten tear torn ear
Recently, I’ve been cutting and pasting the various reviews I’ve done at “The Site That Cannot Be Named” and included them on this site. You could see this as a sign of the divorce coming through. I’ve packed my things and left, moving on to a new home. I’m not going back and I shall not waste any more of my time on it. Cast pearls before swine, etc etc etc. And so I am here now. To help people find the things, I’ve upgraded my filing system so that when you enter the archives you can see the various titles of postings. Clever, eh?
Yesterday was a good day. After much fruitless noodling, I realised that “Sweaty Betty” was good enough for inclusion into Disc 2 of my 4-CD boxset. It acts as a bridge into “Miranda Inspired” and it works very well, even if I do say so myself. Disc 2 is a 41 minute experience of 18 interconnected instrumental tracks. I like it – it has been a labour of love…a horrid laborious labour of love, with love turning to hate and then cold indifference. Of course, I jest.
Look…a shiny disc of wonderment and joy – guaranteed to send you to sleep in 20 minutes – or your money back!
My guinea pig came home from work and so I decided to give The Missus the premiere of the CD. She’d heard bits of it but not the whole thing. Unfortunately, she fell asleep 20 minutes in. I’ll take it as a compliment. Oh well, what’s the point, eh? So today, I sit down and work out what to call the eighteen songs. That’s a challenge, innit?
And so we move onto the endgame. Get yer pen and paper out to scribble some lyrics, fool.
Mr P arrived nice and early to collect his missing wallet. He was a short fellow in his fifties and had a tan better than my own. He waved a ten pound note in my direction as thanks. I smiled gratefully and told him not to be so silly. All I asked was that if he was to find my wallet, he’d return the favour. My reward was the feeling of a job well done. Of course, done think me so honest. If the wallet had no ID, I would have spent the cash in the pub, because I do believe in finders keepers. But if you can trace someone, that’s an entirely different matter.
At the moment, it has been hard to record anything. It’s too warm. My fingers keep slipping off the fretboard. But despite the heat, I’ve managed to record a short doodle called “Sweaty Betty” – the intention of this is to use it as a bridging piece to splice onto “Miranda Inspired”.
At the pub, we were talking about plans and ideas and I got it into my head that it might be cool if I could so live performances over the web. With broadband being the norm, doing something from the studio and webcasting it is very feasible. I just need some volunteers to watch/listen. Anyone out there? Anyone?
Today is the 8th anniversary of our marriage. Of course, this coming 5 September, me and The Missus have been stepping out together for a phenomenal 18 years. The scary thing is that neither of us can figure out where the time has gone. It still seems like yesterday that we were working together at Woolworths in Bakers Arms behind the record counter. When she got another job at Boots The Chemist up Wathamstow Market, I plucked up the courage to go ask her out. On the way back, I popped into Our Price in the arcade and bought Robbie Robertson’s first album. Those were the days.
So we keep any celebrations simple. We enjoy the sun and go to the pub. Sad, but even after all this time we can still go and natter for good three or four hours without getting bored of each other’s company. On the way to the pub I found a wallet in the curb. Normally, when I find lost money on the street, I trouser it. But because this was a wallet and there was a credit card inside, it actually belonged to someone and could be traced.
I had no luck in the phone book looking for Mr P, but I had the clever idea of phoning the credit card company and asking them to pass on my phone number onto him. Ten minutes later, Mr P phoned up and was very grateful to hear from me. He had my details and thanked me for being the only honest person in the world.
If you can’t do good things, what can you do?