Recently I have been having bad dreams. I am not the sort of person to remember my dreams, but my dreams are creeping further into my consciousness. They seem to be insecurity/persecution type of variety and have involved numerous scenarios where The Missus has finally had enough of me and left – which left me waking up feeling thoroughly bereft and miserable for the rest of the day. The most disturbing one was a murder dream in which I killed a man and revelled in it. I think it was a re-run of the dog incident and my mind was trying to fix it with a grim conclusion. There’s nothing more disturbing in having a dream in which you are elbow deep in guts and enjoying every minute of it. That dream really disturbed me. It was a real horror gore show and no mistake. In it, I even got caught by the police and showed absolutely no remorse.
At this point, I begin to wonder if I should start a seperate site where I can write about these things anonymously because you’ve probably all deleted this link from your Favourites list in a frantic attempt to distance yourself from this nutjob. I hate dreams, I really do. The absolutely worst type of dream for me is the night terror which has me running from the bedroom away from an unseen assailant. It was a wonder I never fell down the stairs and broke my neck. But since having Alex sleeping by the side of the bed, those terrors have gone. Strange that…
My right knee is really giving me gip at the moment. It’s really sore and so is my right hip. I think it might have something to do with crossing my legs once too often. Or it might be that I am finally getting old and I am ready for the knacker’s yard. Yup – that’s how I feel.
So in the post I recieve the latest instalment of the Adrian Belew “Sides” trilogy. Now I was going to write a review and say this and write that and point out the other, but I realise that having any kind of meaningful opinion is thoroughly futile these days. However, I will say this: Adrian Belew is a very talented musician who could have distilled the three CDs into a very strong single album – instead we have three wishy-washy CDs. What was that? Three-album deal from Sanctuary and this was a way of fulfilling his contractual obligations? How I could I dare suggest such a thing? The shame, the shame. But there’s some good stuff over the three CDs but as a trilogy it just about hobbles home. Of course, it will have your common-or-garden King Crimson fan flicking their bean in semi-reverential orgiastic pleasure. Oh well, what do I know? Nothing. Just keep yer gob shut Darren and agree with everyone.
The Apprentice finally saw Syed getting the Royal Order of the Boot last night. He’d dodged the bullet for too long, but I will miss his peculiarly entertaining brand of B.S. I actually felt sorry for him on the boat trip when I saw his face drop and he came unravelled when he realised that Paul Tulip had got the advantage over him by using the ship’s TV station. The next show should be interesting when it is whittled down to just the final two: it sounds controversial but I can’t see Ansell or Tulip making in the cut as one is ineffective nice guy and the other one is full of the brown stuff. My money is on an all female finale with the mighty Badgertron bludgering her way into the Brentwood HQ of Sugar Esq.
Meanwhile, I have come to realise that there’s quite a few different versions of the song “Music for a Found Harmonium”. Now I am a big Penguin Cafe Orchestra fan (the band that originally recorded the song) and it seems that the track, although written by Simon Jeffes, has fallen into folklore and some believe it is a traditional Irish reel. Indeed, a number of Irish folk acts have recorded the song and I’ve even discovered that has recently been covered by former Robert Fripp students The California Guitar Trio. Their version isn’t bad, but isn’t a patch on Irish folk supergroup Patrick Street’s version – they just lack the passion of their Irish cohorts or the sunny jauntiness of the original performers. Jeffes is my musical hero of mine and when I discovered that Jeffes had died of a brain tumour in late 1997, I burst into tears like a big girl. You see, I do have a heart and emotions.
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So the other day, I sat down to do some recording with my guitar. Now my guitar is a Godin XTSA (that’s so the Googlers come) and has this acoustic transducer pickup. I use it with a Korg PX4A acoustic guitar processor pedal and it makes a very nice combination. So I sat down and I started doing some recording and then the batteries in the Korg unit packed up. So I trotted down stairs to retrieve 4 AAA batteries from the cupboard and get back to it. Then I noticed that my guitar was acting up. Everytime I hit the strings hard, a strange buzzing would happen, almost as if there was a loose wire or something. I immediately panicked and began systematically working through the signal chain to make sure no cables were damaged. I swapped guitar leads several times and the noise still ocurred. This lasted about an hour or so, with me faffing about with cables, until the thought struck me that the Godin uses a battery for its active electronics. So I checked my instruction booklet for the guitar and lo-and-behold, the cause of the buzzing noise was the kaput battery. Of course, a visit to the battery cupboard revealed that I didn’t have that particular battery in stock (you know one of those small square ones with two pin connectors). So that put paid to that because by now the shops had closed and it would have to wait. So on Saturday a visit to Woolworths was in order and after handing over my £3.49 (OUCH!) I got my new battery. With the battery replaced, the Godin was fine. Then I reached for my E-Bow and guess what? Yup – no battery juice left. It takes one of those self-same square batteries as the Godin!
Now for another tale of spooky synchronicity. Wooooh! I am not a big fan of the FriendsReunited website, but very occasionally (about every 3-6 months) I have a little browse on it, but none of my schoolpals who I want to contact are actually on it, so it is a supreme waste of time for me. However, my half sister has an entry on there and I check up on her to see how she’s getting on. Well, it surprised me that her latest update was on that very day – the 20th. How’s that for spooky, eh?
Today, I have to install a 32″ Digital TV for The Missus’ grandmother after her last one went a bit wonky. Should be fun – I just love tinkering with that electronics stuff.
Yesterday, the sun came out (finally) and we saw this an ample excuse to go to the pub, soak up some rays and get nicely toasted in all sense of the word. It was good to flex my cider muscle again and I managed to catch some sun on my face. We left prematurely though as a group of loud, obnoxious men sat at a table near us. They spoke rather loudly about how they had been stopped by the police and how the police had no right to search them or arrest them for swearing, even though the car that had been travelling in lacked any road tax, mot or insurance. It could be in the post, they reasoned, and so this made it perfectly acceptable to be driving in their vehicle. How dare the police do their job? Then the conversation moved onto other matters and the word “spade” entered my earshot – they were not referring to the garden implement by the 1973 derogatory term for a black person. This was my cue to move because I was likely to say or do something I would regret and get another beating. So I made a comment about feeding time at the zoo (because the racket was almost cacophanous now as they got excited about berating the performance of various black football stars who had been played that afternoon) and left the pub in the best manner I could think, doing an impression of a chimpanzee. This made The Missus laugh a lot, but no-one else seemed to notice my monkey impression. Oh well, what can you do about it? This underlying racism that pervades the white scum that lives in Loughton is depressing me greatly. With the council elections coming up, I can see the BNP capitalising on the ignorance and sheer stupidity that clouds the area. My mother reckons that all the locals here are inbred and that’s why they are so stupid and racist. Could be a good reason for it.
After that, some more cider in our own suntrap of a back garden before tea-time and Dr Who. This week’s episode “Tooth and Claw” left me dumbfounded. Not because it was brilliant, but because it was complete and utter toss. OK – all sci-fi is complete and utter toss – it is the nature of the beast – but the complete lack of plot development, the rushed feel of the story and the jokiness between the Doctor and Rose (especially after one character is eviscerated by the werewolf) left me a bit wanting. Compared to last season, this has been a big disappointment. Come on – next week’s the return to form, no? We’ve got Sarah Jane Smith and K9 to look forward to. My fingers and toes are crossed.
Next week in The Sun, you can collect a whole heap of promotional Dr Who DVDs. I’ll be cutting out my coupons and collecting. Won’t you? 😉
Finding titles for these entries are getting tougher. Of course, I want to keep you all entertained and I don’t want to repeat myself, but how to keep the titles fresh and engaging? So I thought I’d type something I did which has absolutely nothing to do with this blog entry. So there you go – if you read any weird titles that bear no relation to the following text, it is because I’m bereft of ideas and have fallen back to just stating the bleeding obvious.
In the post: a cheque for a fairly significant sum of money. However, this is no cause to celebrate as this has been earmarked for HM Taxman (or as we refer to them in this house: that money grabbing, cock-sucking, ass-sniffing, son-of-a-bitch whore-chasing cuntbucket who’d sell his own daughter to the highest bidder just for the fun of making an extra penny). Excuse that last outburst, it was a nervous tick. I could have used even fruitier parlance, but I didn’t want to frighten the horses. Anyhoo, when you live in a country where our tax money is squandered at ever opportunity – and don’t even get me started on the local council, grrrr – it is only natural to be a little upset when money you need is taken from you and given to someone who is just a freeloader. Oh my, I’ve just turned into a Tory – get the bolt gun and pierce my brains this very minute.
So there’s nothing more saddening to have a sum of money that could ease your immediate problems, but it is out of reach. Now I know what the tramp feels like when he stars in through the restaurant window, watching the bourgouisie quaffing their in-just desserts. Remember, it’s not what you do, it’s where you are born and who you are born to that counts. Poor hard done by Darren. Pull yourself together, you whinging pansy and get a grip man.
Brrrrrr – that’s better. Grip established. Whinge terminated.
Last night, over dinner, I subjected the Missus to the worst 45 minutes of her life. I previewed the first 32 minutes of the next CD and some off-cuts to her. I must admit that it all sounded rather good glued together and I can’t wait to get it all finished. What do they say about pride before a fall? Oh dear. You’ve heard some of the CD already through the various MP3s I’ve posted here, but this is a cleaner, more finished version. It’ll be good, I promise. Cross my heart and swear to die. Just need a name for it though. Still stumped with that one.
Today, I sold out again of my mega-compilation Sows’ Ears & Silk Purses. I’ve got some copies I made last year to send over and I think I’ve sold near 50 copies all together, which isn’t bad considering I am a completely musicless nobody with no talent or ear for a tune. Ho, ho, ho – con of the century, I say. But I’ve not had any complaints. Again, I think I’ve about broke even on that particular title – but it is expensive to put together as it is 4-CDs and the postage to the US costs a flipping fortune.
When talking to the Missus, we discussed the podcasts things I do and she asked me about traffic. I honestly don’t know how many people access those files, so I put a secret podcast file up to see exactly how many people dowload it without any prompting or links from this page. Some of the podcast files have had nearly 500+ accesses, but that’s difficult to quantify because people could come to them via other sources, such as search engines or whatever else. Anyway, it should be interesting to get some kind of initial figure. My first and only video podcast has been particulary well received with 850 access from Video Google and well over 150 access direct form this site. Not bad, I say.
OK – I know it is wrong to laugh at other people’s misfortune, but there is something about this news story that tickled my funny bone. It’s not the fact that the lady fell into the volcano, but the way the incident was described in court.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/coventry_warwickshire/4927502.stm
It reminds me of that old, old joke. You know, the kind of joke that has whiskers on it.
Two men are talking in the pub and the first man reveals that he’s been married three times, but is now a widower.
“You lost three wives?” asks the second man, “That’s terrible. How did they die?”
“The first one died after she accidentally ate some poison mushrooms,” the first man explains.
“And the second?” asked the second man concerned.
“It was a terrible thing. My hobby is rambling, you see. And my second wife, she ate some poison mushrooms too,” replied the first man.
“Oh my, that’s terrible luck,” replied the second man. There’s a long pause before he asks, “So what happened to the third wife?”
“She died of a fractured skull,” explained the first man, supping from his pint before adding, “The stubborn cow wouldn’t eat the mushrooms…”
Meanwhile, The Missus continues to make me do work… 🙁 Ahhh, mon petit champignon…
Today I tried my hand at the ancient art of roast potato balancing…
Remember kids, it’s not big and clever to play with your food.
So it was the new series of Dr Who tonight. The first episode “New Earth” was OK-ish. I liked the story and it was genuinely scary in places, but the comedy moments with the spirit of Cassandra passing between the Doc and Rose kind of spoilt the momentum. While funny, it just seemed to sit awkwardly amongst the drama. Also, I found Tennant a damn site more irritating this time around than in the Xmas Invasion. He was beginning to get a touch of the Sylvester McCoy’s about him and that wasn’t a good thing. Anyhow, TV critic extraordinaire (and purveyor of shite BBC4 TV shows), Charlie Brooker, promised that next week’s episode was a return to form.
Today, in the post, forms for me to sign from Barclaycard about the recent fraud attempts on my credit card. Despite telling the man on the phone, very specifically and slowly and precisely so that he noted the correct fraudulent transactions on my card, the form was a complete bollocks-up as the only fraudulent transaction stated on it was a purchase I had made myself legitimately. Oh well, I guess they forgot to give the chimp a nana that day. So I will duly print out my statement from the website and mark the transactions that are fraudulent (wait a minute, isn’t that someone else’s job?)
Sold a load of DVDs on eBay for a good price and had another filter of my record collection. I intend to put those up real soon, but it might take me a while as there are so many CDs to photograph and enter. Oh well, it is good to have a clear out.
Did some more recording on SvenHate – yesterday’s guitar demo – and did middle and an ending. I am not sure about it, but the Missus seems to like it. So I just need to give it some spit and polish and get a final mix together.
Tomorrow: an Easter roast chicken dinner cooked to perfection by yours truly wolfed down with a bottle of my favourite champagne. I might be down to my last tenner, but my favourite brand of bubbly was on offer at Sainsburys – how could a boy resist? And what better way to celebrate the resurrection of the Easter Bunny who was nailed to a giant wooden egg for our sins…of course, I jest. I know Easter is about Jesus, really. I am just being a very naughty boy. 😉