// My So-Called Life
An Unexpected Diversion
I am, by nature, a pretty organised person, generally more anal than the cast of a Treasure Island porn DVD, and I kind of like routines and distrust spontaneity. In fact, generally if anything disrupts or upsets my day’s framework I get mintier than a spearmint condom and go round the place looking for a puppy to kick. That’s the sort of guy I am.
But I recognise this, and I chastise myself for it frequently, generally allowing myself to spiral as a result into a cycle of self-irritation and loathing that is so typical of my particular brand of inexplicable fuck-wittery.
Now my routine of a morning usually consists of rising, wondering if the cat wants feeding yet, realising we don’t have a cat, getting dressed, cleaning teeth, checking emails/Facebook and then reluctantly sloping off for the bus.
Friday I must have done all of this as usual, but since I rose late and hadn’t really woken up my reluctant sloping for the bus took on a more urgent pace when I saw the 133 waiting at the bus stop and decided to go for it, power-mincing my way with extreme haste towards the hated omnibus.
So quite how I ended up on the 159 I really have no idea.
I can only assume I was more tired than I thought. It was only two stops down – I think between Hazell Dean and Boy Krazy – that I heard the words “Marble Arch” announced and found myself wondering why my bus thought it was headed in that direction.
Three stops later it suddenly occurred to me that maybe I was wrong and the bus was right.
A slight blip of irritation tried to attract my attention but I think I was too tired even for that and it drowned, unloved, in a sea of high-camp nonsense. Instead I just thought “meh”, settled down, and decided to enjoy the change of scenery.
Oddly, not only was the central line practically deserted when I joined to correct my course, but having gone so far out of my way I still somehow managed to arrive at work earlier than normal. And I felt oddly invigorated by seeing a different set of buildings glide past for a change.
So there we are. Clearly I’m mellowing in my old age.
This Friday I’m going to see if I can get to work via Porthmadoc. Wish me luck!
Posted on February 23, 2010 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
The Old War Wound
I am suffering from unwelcome throbbing.
Truth is I managed, during a state of mild inebriation, to sprain my ankle rather unpleasantly way back in August. This was following a terribly entertaining afternoon spent at the Ben and Jerry’s festival on Clapham Common – an event which was officially about seeing the Human League (aka the Holy Trinity) but ended up being more about the Merry-Go-Round.
But anyway, after a few jars at the Two Brewers I headed off home thinking “it’s a Sunday, school night, best get a good night’s sleep in”. I then proceeded to bolt across the road, trip over a crossing-slab, vault into the oncoming traffic and then out of it again, crunching things unpleasantly as I went.
Seriously I was like an action-hero.
A drunk and slightly crap action hero.
But after a couple of days of no-movement, the doctor still refused me Physio and so I had to get better slowly under my own steam. And it’s been mostly fine since then; a bit throbby once the sadist has had his wicked way at the gym, mind, but otherwise fine.
Until the current cold snap. And by God it’s irksome at the moment. It starts to ache on exposure to the cold and barely lets up for ages. I’ve gone from being an action hero to the sort of ancient army sort who copped a bullet in the Crimean war and finds it always flares up in the cold and damp.
Someone fetch me some tweed. And a walking stick.
And a comedy moustache…
Posted on December 16, 2009 | Filed Under Health and Fitness, My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
Hang the DJ
One of my favourite nightclubs is the one held every Saturday at Alter Ego in Manchester, entitled “Poptastic!”
As you might tell from the name it’s one which caters for pop-lovers of all ages, split into a more serious indie room and a more unashamedly chart/cheese sound in the other.
So, guess which room I spent most of my Saturday night in this weekend, huh?
All was marvellous. The set was a bit toothless to start but from the moment friend Helen demanded the Pet Shop Boys’ Go West things improved enormously.
Admittedly there was a wobbly section when a sequence of 2 Unlimited, Scatman John and Cotton Eyed Joe arrived (and I suddenly realised that dance music of that era was precisely why Britpop arose) but on the whole it was a fantastic night.
Aside from… well, the DJ himself. I’ve not encountered this phenomenon before in clubs – perhaps you have – but he did seem to love the sound of his own voice. Every now and then he’d talk over the music just when we were enjoying it the most and tell us the most unnecessary things.
Things like “This is Poptastic on a Saturday night” (we knew), “lots of pop classics still to come” (we had hoped) and “if you’ve got a request come over to the DJ booth” (well, there’s a relief: my psychic projection is a little rusty) and “if I’ve got it, I’ll play it” (well, that’s just excuses).
Basically I do think DJs shouldn’t talk to their audience by microphone. It’s invariably vapid stuff at best and just gets in the way of the tunes. I suppose he, like many of us who’ve done it, suffers from the vague awareness that he’s not really a DJ but more of a glorified CD changer and feels the need to build up his part.
But frankly the urge to dash over there and ask if he could give us “Shut the Fuck Up” by “the Poptastic DJ” was somewhat overwhelming. But since he was otherwise rather good (aside from three, count em three, Britney tracks in an hour and the Steps version of “Better the Devil You Know”) maybe that would have been a little bit churlish.
All good fun, anyhow. I can heartily recommend it as a night out if you’re up that way, and it certainly provided the kind of abs workout I haven’t had in a long while.
I really need to club more often.
Posted on June 23, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life, Pop Music | 0 Comments
What a refreshing change…
So, we have a tube strike in full swing.
What I’m finding most amusing is the fact that despite the strike, the Northern Line is operating at optimum levels – a complete contrast to its usual lacklustre service.
Amazing that it takes the entire shut-down of the rest of the network to make the Northern Line look good, isn’t it?
Posted on June 10, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
Why I’d Make a Lousy Mayor
Based on the experiences I’ve had over the last week during my daily commute, I have come to the conclusion that I would make a lousy mayor of London. Basically because it would be so tempting for me to start enforcing draconian rules and regulations regarding allowable behaviour on public transport.
For one thing I’d ban pushchairs on commuter buses (or certainly ones over a certain size). Watching people trying to squeeze onto an already packed bus with one and the resultant upheaval it causes all existing passengers makes you wonder why people think it’s a good idea.
I would almost certainly make a maximum limit of two pushchairs at all other times too.
But then there’s other little niggles. People whose overall width is over that of a standard seat would start having to pay an additional obesity charge for their tickets since they cause so much discomfort to those people nearly crammed in by their backsides.
I would make it acceptable for passengers to begin kicking in the shin anyone whose mobile phone conversation goes over two minutes, said kicking to continue until termination of the call.
And people who put their bags on free seats would be allowed to be slapped by anyone wishing to take the spot, and then – if said bag-owner grumbles about having to move it – the prospective sitee would be perfectly within their rights to stab the antisocial bastard in the eye with a biro.
Sensible and fair policies I think you’ll agree.
Posted on May 8, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
Siege in the City!
I must confess, I found my journey to work this morning rather pleasant.
Not only was I temporarily sat next to by someone who was the spitting image of Rob Shearman – noted author and Doctor Who writer extraordinaire, responsible for “Dalek” amongst other works – but the bus was otherwise relatively empty and the streets were clear and the journey through London Bridge and Bank remarkably swift.
So I was vaguely amused to discover that the front page of lacklustre free-mag City AM proclaimed the words “G20: City Under Siege”.
Okay, it may all kick off later on but at the moment it’s all oddly quiet and the main difference is an increase in the wearing of denim and Converse.
Update 1201: Young Mark headed out about lunchtime and found a fairly peaceful protest down Moorgate. One of the protesters was wielding a banner stating “Resistance is Fertile” which I think is a marvellous sentiment.
Moorgate Protest
Update 1451: Okay… that was a bit underwhelming. Just went for my lunchtime PowerMince and found distressing scenes of peace and quiet everywhere.
A few more police, admittedly, and a few closed stores, but the streets comparatively empty. Even Liverpool Street, where earlier the UBS building was besieged with protesters, had reverted to the sort of levels of population you’d expect in the dead of night. And the Climate Camp at Bishopsgate seemed terribly good humoured.
Yet still the Evening Standard proclaims in big bold letters: “Anarchists in Battle for the City”.
Er… not really, guys. The most terrifying spectacle I saw was a rather ill-dressed young man whose skin had the colour and texture of a dollop of B&Q emulsion.
Posted on April 1, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life, The World we Live In | 0 Comments
Drowning in Mucus
2008 was, for me, a fairly sickly year. Up until mid-December I rarely seemed not to have a background level cold of some sort, and it was incredibly frustrating – not least because they rarely amounted to anything other than a mild sore throat and a slight sniffle.
I couldn’t even claim man-flu, for God’s sake.
And then, suddenly, it stopped. A slight sore throat reared its head in February but I think that was excessive central heating dryness as it vanished in an hour or so. Other than that I’ve been fit as a fiddle for about three months – even being stuck in a wet forest in Suffolk with three people sniffling and coughing around me didn’t cause anything.
And yet Friday morning one of them hit me and has been developing apace all weekend. The application of Tyrozets in quantity has seen off the throat but my sinuses – always the problem factor – have been dreadful for three days now.
Having today made it to a decent pharmacy, the big guns have been broken out drugswise but I still throb and snuffle and ooze unpleasantly in the nasal region.
The worst thing is that I have to be in work because I’m training. I’m setting up the training room today, and running the course for the next three days.
Great timing, cold. Great timing indeed…
Posted on March 16, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
Revenge at Last!
Some of you may remember that in January of last year I was, due to Abbey’s shockingly lax security procedures, subjected to a banking fraud which, due to to Abbey’s shockingly poor internal processes, left me in two months of financial turmoil.
Needless to say, once I’d got access to my cash again I opened a new account with First Direct (in fact I have opened several over time) and manually transferred funds and direct debits etc over to it.
The time has now come to finally close off the old Abbey accounts and I took great pleasure the other week in closing down the savings account. The current account I will do in person tomorrow, but the savings I could do over the phone so I did.
And yesterday I not only recieved confirmation of the closure, but also a cheque for calculated interest which I wasn’t expecting.
What delights me, however, is the fact that – given the account’s been empty for the best part of a year – the cheque cost them more to process and send than its value: £0.09.
The flatmate has told me that I absolutely must deposit it, too. As Abbey aren’t a clearing bank the transaction should cost them about £0.80 on top of what they’ve already lost.
It’s a small and petty piece of revenge I know, but to cost them money for a bit is an opportunity I feel obliged to make the most of.
Posted on March 8, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
A Scary Thought
The music at the gym tends to fall into one of two categories: of the moment, cool chart pop (mainly indie) or donking thumping dance tracks. And whilst occasionally I find something of interest in the former category, the latter is one I despise utterly and so – when not with the sadist – I am to be found plugged into the JesusPhone.
Of course when I am with the sadist I have to listen to him (not that he believes for one minute I do) so I get subjected to the music from time to time.
On Thursday though, to my delight and surprise, somehow someone had sneaked Kylie’s version of “the Locomotion” into what was otherwise a painfully hip LA TV playlist.
Not only did I laugh out loud when I first heard it, but it put a grin on my face for ages.
I raised how unusual such a track was with the sadist and how I was surprised to find something so out of character blasting through the club.
“I think,” he muttered, bitterly “we just have to face the scary fact that there are probably other people out there in the world who think like you.”
And, as if he could somehow punish the world through me for this, he set me up some deadlifts.
Poor chap. He has to listen to that station on repeat all day…
Posted on February 27, 2009 | Filed Under Health and Fitness, My So-Called Life, Pop Music | 0 Comments
Rob is modelling the “Bruiser” look…
I don’t know if it was just that it was early, and maybe he hadn’t had his coffee, but I got the distinct impression that the barber wasn’t paying attention earlier.
It’s just an impression, mind. It first germinated when, following my request for a “grade two up the back and sides, and a little blending in on top”, he managed to somehow translate this into “a grade two buzzcut all over”.
If he hadn’t started this process in the middle of my head, of course, I may have been able to limit the damage somewhat; but as he did, I couldn’t.
Now all I need is an orange jumpsuit and the effect will be all but complete…
Posted on February 23, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments