Bathroom was successfully wallpapered. Hurrah! It was a relatively easy job and there was only only little bodge along the way. In our bathroom hung two ugly plastic towel holders that we never used. Today was the day that I was going to remove them and throw them away – I could not way, the anticipation was palpable. So I removed the first no problem, but the second was a toughie has the final screw seemed to be cemented into the wall. I had the bright idea of using a set of pliars to gently loosen the screw, but instead I managed to dislodge a thumbsized piece of the wall. It must have been a magic screw – too tough for a screw driver, but too weak for the pliars, despite me being gentle. Oh well, thick blown vinyl wallpaper covers a multitude of sins. The Missus was dead impressed with the result when she came home from the 9 to 5. Who knows – maybe next week I’ll tackle the hallway? Look, there goes a pig in a helicopter.
Am I boring you with these tales of DIY? You would tell me if I am boring you, wouldn’t you? So why do you come here avid reader? What juicy titbits do you hope to read? Nah….I’m giving nothing away. If you want to know what’s really going on, you’ll have to ask. I realise that I have been neglecting me old blog, despite paying for it. A guy off the radio was saying that it is incredibly arrogant to keep a blog because you expect people might want to read what you write and that your life is THAT important. Hmmmmm….
Now the thing about writing or any creative pursuit (whether it be blogging or whatever) is that you have to have a degree of arrogance. Writers have to be conceited otherwise the page would remain empty. You create not because you are paid to, or that you think someone might be reading (or listening) but because you have the drive to do it. Why write a novel? Because you expect people to read it? No…most novels get written because the writer WANTS to tell the story. Like music, which often gets recorded because the musician does it for themselves. I know I record the songs/albums that I want to hear and fuck what everyone else thinks. If you care what anyone else thinks you don’t get anything done. See…arrogance…conceit…
Or maybe I really am an arrogant so-and-so. I know my shyness is often seen as aloof arrogance. Who knows? But the thing is that I am trying to resume the blog and that I’ve got to forget that certain folk might be reading and to stop worrying what people might think. The bottom line is that I pretend that I don’t care, but I do care and I need to toughen up and really not give a fuck. OK?
That’s some tough talking, Darren, but I thinks you is still a pussy…
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So the second day in the bathroom commenced with me regrouting tiles and then waiting for grout to dry. While this happened, I cracked open the white gloss and started on the woodwork in the room. When that was done, back to painting over the old, yellowed tiles. Today’s task done with no melting bits. Hurrah!
Meanwhile, a new music site has started and so the obligatory Darren Lock page appears: http://www.sellaband.com/lock/. Plus, the other night it struck me that I had actually registered a web domain and completely forgot about it and so I have revived my “Dead Rock Star” blog, where I am posting chapters from the novel I wrote in 2005.
Now I am off for a cup of tea, a biscuit and a lie down to get rid of these paint fumes out of my tubes… ACK!
I’m a man. I am a big, fat hairy-arsed man. A big, fat, hairy-arsed, dick-swinging, ball-scratching, beer-quaffing man. However, this does not mean I am great at manly occupations like D.I.Y. I mostly blunder through and bodge my way to approval from The Missus. Last year’s redecoration of the bedroom is now legend – the results still cause a little flutter of pride in my chest whenever the golden rays of dawn pass over my eyes and cause me to rise from my slumber. I am also intensely proud of my recent tiling around the kitchen sink which is almost up there with the Sistine Chapel in terms of beauty and magnificence.
Today, I begun the project of redecorating our tiny bathroom. Ceiling painted with no major disasters – check. Removing paint from around the tiling surrounding the bath – check. However, I was using some major paint removing chemical. Let me tell you, this stuff really burns your hands and the skin on your arms – ouch! So I sat on the edge of the bath, my feet in the bath and painted the paint removing chemical around the tiles. I was entranced by the sight of the old paint blistering and lifting off, you could hear the paint and chemical fizzing and reacting against each other. It appealed to the seven year old in me that used to play with that chemistry set I got for Xmas one year (you remember, the one where you broke the test tube and hide it from your Mum in case she went ballistic).
When I went to move there was an unfamiliar “SHHLOOOIP!” noise as I lifted my foot away from the bath. A blob of paint remover had dropped in the bath, reacted with the rubber sole of my trainer and left a black chemical splodge at the bottom of the bath. The soles of both trainers were melting. Oh well, at least I didn’t break anything, but I still feel very giddy after inhaling all those lovely chemical fumes. I hadn’t felt this out of it since the neighbours tried to poison me! Tomorrow, I shall be mainly painting woodwork, regrouting tiles and painting those too. Ooooh, I can’t wait.
In the post: ProjeKct Three in Alexandria 03-03-03, which is King Crimson without Adrian Belew. I must say I have really enjoyed this release and have been playing it in heavy rotation. It certainly makes a change from hearing “Elephant Talk” or “Easy Money” for quadzillionth time.
I’ve known that I am a father-to-be since the end of 2006, but there’s nothing like seeing your unborn child in front of you courtesy of an ultrasound scan. Now you might think that you’ve felt every emotion going: love, hate, fear, joy, laughter, tears, abject misery, grief, mourning, euphoria, but nothing prepares you for that moment. Just when you think all the doors in your brain have been opened, something as wonderful as that ultrasound scan opens up that final door.
And so I sat there, having a much better view than The Missus, who had to lie down on the couch and not move and I saw the sound waves cut invisibly through the tissue and fat to rebound off this living being inside my wife. The sonic reflection doesn’t paint the most perfect of pictures, but if you have half an imagination and have seen enough nature/health programmes on the TV, you have a pretty good idea of what you are seeing.
I could see the body, the arched spine, the skull, limbs (1-2-3-4) and a pulse that signified that this was life. The foetus moved and twitched slightly and in my imagination I was sure that I saw it playing air guitar. (And I hate referring to the foetus as an it – it is a he or she, depending on my mood). So here he was. This was the great masterplan reaching its next stage. This was the moment I was put on this earth for. And it makes you feel very, very humble. All the crap and nonsense you’ve done gets reduced to its component parts: crap and nonsense. All the time you’ve wasted on selfish folly, all the pointless words and music, all the money spent and beer consumed and good times had are swept away by this tiny little life.
Yes, I admit that I had to stifle a tear, but I let my eyes get moist on the journey home in the car, where I protested that I had got some dust in my eyes to The Missus. She laughed and cooed at me. During the scan, the sonographer seemed a little concerned because the baby didn’t seem to want to move. She pushed and prodded and poked with her jelly-lubricated probe. Eventually, she got the measurements she wanted after The Missus was forced to lie on her side.
“This baby is being lazy and stubborn today,” said the sonographer.
That’s when I knew that baby-to-be was a chip off the old block. 🙂
Now I can’t claim to see the future, but I have a fair idea of what comes next. However, one can’t be too proud or too knowing for you never know what cards fate might deal you. I live in hope and optimism and lose sleep at night praying that everything will be OK. We’ve still got a long way to go down this particular road, but at least we have a map and compass and support from family and well-wishers to propel us forward.
Exciting, isn’t it?
And so I must travel up-stream, like the Scottish salmon, to leap my last leap and make way for the next generation:
Imagine I’m Denis Norden and I’m introducing one of those hilarious blooper reels from “It’ll Be Alright on the Night” – now jump forward to the YouTube generation and me doing my best to capture one of my noodly improvisations for said YouTube. This clip seems to be working OK but keep your eyes on the screen for the final seconds where an ear-splitting dose of feedback comes through my headphones but it unheard on the track, leaving me exasperated and mouthing “What the fuck?” like a great gibbering idiot.
Enjoy!