Made me laugh…
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The other day I took delivery of a brand-spanking new Roland VG-99. I resisted as long as I could, but when I heard that Roland had started shipping the units in early October, my resolve crumbled like four-day-old shortcrust pastry. I’ve had a play around with my unit and the modelling are certainly better than the VG-88 and hark back to the days of the original VG-8. The VG-99 is a treat to myself for all the hard work I put in with the move and getting the shop up and running. I can’t afford it, but maybe I’ll sell my old VG-88 to fund it. Who knows?
All I have to do now is reconstruct my studio…
This entry is post-dated because I’ve been too busy with everything else to get around to posting anything meaningful. Looking back at the old photos of Brady Avenue have been a bit difficult and it is easy to get sentimental about what you’ve left behind. Now I am living in a larger place, which at the moment doesn’t particularly feel like my home. Well we quit Brady Avenue on 25 September and the move was as traumatic as expected. On 26th September, I rose at 5am to start my career as a professional shopkeeper, all the while keeping my hand in as a freelance writer. Life is harder now and the money is still just as tight, but at least I feel I have a purpose instead of leading the self-indulgent life I had before. Such is the life of creatives – please yourself and no-one else, really. Oh the tales I could tell regarding running a shop, but this is a small village and people would soon get a whiff of my online bellyaching. Again, maybe I should go underground?
Anyway, this sums up the end of my old life. A before and after picture of Studio Lock (which at the moment surrounds me in about thirty different boxes – and every day I keep telling myself that this is the day I will get my gear back together. It has been nearly a month since I touch a guitar. Oh dear, I suddenly realise how miserable I am without all my toys surrounding me. How shallow is that, eh?). Tough shit, Darren. You made your own bed, now lie in it, sonny Jim.
Before…
After…
My firstborn daughter came into this world at approximately 3.30am on this day. Verity Grace Lock weighed in at 7lb 8oz after a difficult labour and was delivered via an emergency cesarean. I think you’ll agree she is beautiful and she made me realise exactly what was missing in my life. Even as I type this, the thought of her fillls me full of love and my eyes become moist with emotion. I love her so much and I love her mother even more for bringing her to me.
Today I nearly choked on my cornflakes for in the mail were two items of post that contained big bills. The first was the total sum to be paid to the estate agents: a whopping £8500. Wowser, I am in the wrong job. The second item was an application form from Menzines Distribution for me to fill in so that the newspaper delivery for our newsagents-to-be are transferred to me – the downside to this is that Menzies want a holding deposit of £3200. Ouch! So that’s about £12500 spent before I’d even finished my morning cup of tea.
Don’t fear. I have meticulously budgeted for this business and the house move and everything. Figures have been checked umpteen times and even though I shall have a hudge wodge of cash to spend on this stuff, at the moment I don’t have a brass farthing. Or as we’d say in the East End, I don’t even have a pot to piss in. Luckily, the agents fee will be paid on completion. I just wish the Menzies bill could be paid then too. It is fortunate that I had the foresight to clear my credit card bill last year so I have a credit buffer to pay these bills. You see, it was all a plan. Yup, I’ve been planning this for many, many years.
But this is just a little cash flow problem. Gee, I almost sound like a businessman already.
Well the baby is late. It obviously takes after the Missus. So we had to travel to Whipps Cross maternity unit for the Missus to be prodded and poked. For once we actually arrived early and got seen in good time. The young female doctor recommended two things to bring on the birth. Funnily enough, both suggestions I’d already made to the Missus and she was well impressed with my medical knowledge. Anyway, we were told that either a hot curry or sex would bring on the baby. Well The Missus isn’t a big curry fan and my labido takes a hit every time I try and contempate making a move on my heavily pregnany wife. It’s just not the done thing. This is the mother of my child – we weren’t put here to rut like common beasts.
So without either myself or the hot curry forthcoming, The Missus is booked to return to the hospital on the 15th where some hormon gel will be squirted into her over three hour periods until everything starts moving in a downward direction. Nice, innit? This is exactly 10 days before we are due to move house I might add.
What me, worry?
…or should that be B-Day or Estimated Due Date or whatever. Today, the baby was due to arrive. It didn’t. Funnily enough this day also marked nineteen years since me and The Missus stepped out together. I’ll never forget that day: meeting up at Stratford bus station, heading into town via the Docklands Light Railway and the new skyline including a just-finished Canary Wharf. Things have changed a lot since then, they’ve also stayed very much the same. I’m still the same kid trapped in a man’s body and sometimes, if I catch her in my peripheral vision, I can spy The Missus tutting at my childish antics. Oh well, that’s the price of being a man. We never grow up!
So today we went to the pub for a couple of hours to celebrate. One of the bar staff threatened to stop serving us if we returned again without the baby born.