Two birds with one stone. Why voyage all the way up, just to come all the way back down again knowing that you're going to have to go all the way back up again? So I'm spending a week in Scotland. Driving up Friday, avec Sprotster and bumming around until the 2nd and getting home in time to pick up the 'rents from Heathrow on the 3rd. Such a simple thing really. What was stopping me was my deluded belief that I'd get more work done at home. Which is untrue. The extra 20 or so hours of driving would not, by definition, be time spent writing. I quite fancy getting literary in North Fife. There were some serious bolts of inspiration while I was up there last weekend, and I think this is the opportunity to see it through. It may just help me plough through some of the writer's block I've been experiencing of late.
Oh, and I'm very broke, and could do with avoiding the extra petrol expenditure.
19 April 2006
18 April 2006
tunes
Some most excellent tunes to drive to:
Back in Black - AC/DC
3am Eternal - The KLF
I Predict A Riot - Kaiser Chiefs (well, the whole of the Employment album really)
The entirety of Eye To The Telescope - KT Tunstall
The entirety of The Back Room - The Editors
Graffiti - Maximo Park
An Open Letter to NYC - The Beastie Boys
There are loads more we listened to - I think The Editors may have got the most play time though. For some reason everytime An Open Letter to NYC came on Ru's phone rang and we had to turn it down. Weird.
Back in Black - AC/DC
3am Eternal - The KLF
I Predict A Riot - Kaiser Chiefs (well, the whole of the Employment album really)
The entirety of Eye To The Telescope - KT Tunstall
The entirety of The Back Room - The Editors
Graffiti - Maximo Park
An Open Letter to NYC - The Beastie Boys
There are loads more we listened to - I think The Editors may have got the most play time though. For some reason everytime An Open Letter to NYC came on Ru's phone rang and we had to turn it down. Weird.
weekend yo-yo
Well, the first yo-yo trip is complete. 3 trips to Scotland in as many weeks and unique for me in particular is that it was done in a car. With me driving. Sometimes driving very fast, almost by accident. Honest.
As a weekend, it had its ups and downs. The purpose of the trip itself was a down; a memorial service for someone taken from life far too early. The event was quiet, sad, hungover and heartfelt. I felt a tremendous sense of belonging in Sallies Chapel, not associated with religion but more with my connection to the university and town. It was odd. It brought a detached curiosity as to whether so many people would come to my memorial service, and what they would say. Morbid, nes pas?
To balance this morbidity I stayed at Naughton, a place of fond memories and surely of great events to come. An excellent location to embrace living and avoid pondering mortality and the like. Beers flowed, laughter echoed and sleep was lost. Everyone seemed on good form and some old friends showed up almost by surprise. It was a revitalising tonic to earlier events and drunken charades replaced morbid contemplation as the sun peaked over the hills of North Fife very early on Sunday morning.
Then, later on Easter Sunday, a trip down to Manuel House to jump start Monday's long trek back to the Big Smoke. Between Naughton and Manuel I know of nowhere else I have felt more welcome. My academic son and co-pilot for the weekend's adventure concurred.
I'm still exhausted from the driving. Stubborn pride forced me to do a full workout this morning and my body doesn't seem too happy about it. I slept almost 11 hours last night, not even making it to 10. The nest egg I put aside for supporting me through writing this book is coming to an end far faster than the book itself. A hunt for part-time work on the horizon? Must write faster.
My team. Destined for glory, Molly, Alexandra, Joe, myself and Daniel drank valiantly through all the trials and tribulations faced by a charades team. 
The lovely Miss Ross.
Some rocks
St Rules Tower
A wynd by the cathedral. I can't remember which wynd it is, which is disgraceful as I lived 200 yards away from it for 3 years.
Cathedral & trees.
Me. I don't post many pictures of myself because I'm about as photogenic as something terribly unphotogenic. My face obscured by hat and shades helps.
As a weekend, it had its ups and downs. The purpose of the trip itself was a down; a memorial service for someone taken from life far too early. The event was quiet, sad, hungover and heartfelt. I felt a tremendous sense of belonging in Sallies Chapel, not associated with religion but more with my connection to the university and town. It was odd. It brought a detached curiosity as to whether so many people would come to my memorial service, and what they would say. Morbid, nes pas?
To balance this morbidity I stayed at Naughton, a place of fond memories and surely of great events to come. An excellent location to embrace living and avoid pondering mortality and the like. Beers flowed, laughter echoed and sleep was lost. Everyone seemed on good form and some old friends showed up almost by surprise. It was a revitalising tonic to earlier events and drunken charades replaced morbid contemplation as the sun peaked over the hills of North Fife very early on Sunday morning.
Then, later on Easter Sunday, a trip down to Manuel House to jump start Monday's long trek back to the Big Smoke. Between Naughton and Manuel I know of nowhere else I have felt more welcome. My academic son and co-pilot for the weekend's adventure concurred.
I'm still exhausted from the driving. Stubborn pride forced me to do a full workout this morning and my body doesn't seem too happy about it. I slept almost 11 hours last night, not even making it to 10. The nest egg I put aside for supporting me through writing this book is coming to an end far faster than the book itself. A hunt for part-time work on the horizon? Must write faster.
Charades. This was the opposition. Lil, Ru, Duncan, Noel & Pete. While they put up a good fight, they were always doomed.
My team. Destined for glory, Molly, Alexandra, Joe, myself and Daniel drank valiantly through all the trials and tribulations faced by a charades team. 
The lovely Miss Ross.
Some rocks
St Rules Tower
A wynd by the cathedral. I can't remember which wynd it is, which is disgraceful as I lived 200 yards away from it for 3 years.
Cathedral & trees.
Me. I don't post many pictures of myself because I'm about as photogenic as something terribly unphotogenic. My face obscured by hat and shades helps.
12 April 2006
i wonder?
I passed this walking over to a mate's house last night. Gave me a giggle. I cast my mind back a decade or so, remembering enthusiastic stoners at university desperate to grow their own, looking for obscure mail order catalogues to find the equipment, trying desperately to keep it quiet and thereby ensuring that everyone knew. All they needed was a shop in Fulham. And when I say enthusiastic stoners, that's a relative term. Heh.
10 April 2006
cabin fever and good timing
The house is very empty. I spent the weekend playing video games and watching DVDs. I did very little writing though I did feel very guilty about not writing. When I wasn't absorbed in a movie or video game. My mind wandered and when I did write it wasn't really on my book, just a few scraps in my notebooks; not story ideas, just lines of prose, occasional verse that may be squeezed in somewhere, or lie forgotten for awhile. I don't know. But tomorrow's a writing day.
The scrappy, piecemeal nature of the last few days has become apparent in my recent music downloads. Some were legal, some were not; all were awful. I got nostalgia again, I'm afraid. But not a longing nostalgia for youth and innocence, more a curious, exclamatory nostalgia. For example, "what the fuck was that song about!?"
See?
The songs?
Freakazoid by Midnight Star - the Ultimix no less, which featured on a New York Breakdancers compilation LP that I learned to breakdance to when I was 6. Remember about a year ago I waxed lyrical about how amazing old school East Coast hip-hop still is, citing Run-DMC, De La Soul and Tribe Called Quest as evolutionary examples? Well, some of it just sucks, as I've just been reminded. I'm keeping it in my iTunes library though. So there.
Rock Me Amadeus by Falco - a one-hit-wonder if ever there was one. But I kind of remember liking this song. I kind of don't remember it being in fucking German. And not in the cooler Nena 99 luftballons vs red balloons way, which has stood the test of time, but in a really rubbish way. I studied German for 5 years and couldn't understand a word of it. And part of me was relieved. The annoying thing is I think that there's a great cover or sample to be made from this. Dreadful synth bassline and everything but mark my words, there's something there. Sadly, the cover I downloaded sucked balls. The fact that I downloaded a cover as well as the original horrifies me. I'm sure it would horrify anyone old enough to remember the originals.
It's cabin fever, I'm sure of it. Living off takeaways as well. You've read this, you know how much I love to cook. I've cooked once since my parents left. Then followed curry, pizza, chinese and thai. Tonight was a ready meal.
I'm getting out of the house tomorrow night though. It's to go to a friend's to eat pizza and watch DVDs. Can't move too fast with these things.
And I've been missing Scotland. London's brilliant, but it's quite flat. I was watching a DVD the other day, the latest Harry Potter as it happened, and some of the scenery shots that weren't covered in CGI dragons and whatnot had me pining for Caledonia. There is something deeply magical about the land to the north, and not in the lightning-scar-on-the-forehead-half-a-billion-in-the-bank kind of way either. I do miss it. I'm driving up on Friday. And the Friday after that, and the Friday after that. I figure 3 weekends in a row and I'll be gasping for London. Why all these trips? Well, in memorial services, port and polo all play a significant role.
The scrappy, piecemeal nature of the last few days has become apparent in my recent music downloads. Some were legal, some were not; all were awful. I got nostalgia again, I'm afraid. But not a longing nostalgia for youth and innocence, more a curious, exclamatory nostalgia. For example, "what the fuck was that song about!?"
See?
The songs?
Freakazoid by Midnight Star - the Ultimix no less, which featured on a New York Breakdancers compilation LP that I learned to breakdance to when I was 6. Remember about a year ago I waxed lyrical about how amazing old school East Coast hip-hop still is, citing Run-DMC, De La Soul and Tribe Called Quest as evolutionary examples? Well, some of it just sucks, as I've just been reminded. I'm keeping it in my iTunes library though. So there.
Rock Me Amadeus by Falco - a one-hit-wonder if ever there was one. But I kind of remember liking this song. I kind of don't remember it being in fucking German. And not in the cooler Nena 99 luftballons vs red balloons way, which has stood the test of time, but in a really rubbish way. I studied German for 5 years and couldn't understand a word of it. And part of me was relieved. The annoying thing is I think that there's a great cover or sample to be made from this. Dreadful synth bassline and everything but mark my words, there's something there. Sadly, the cover I downloaded sucked balls. The fact that I downloaded a cover as well as the original horrifies me. I'm sure it would horrify anyone old enough to remember the originals.
It's cabin fever, I'm sure of it. Living off takeaways as well. You've read this, you know how much I love to cook. I've cooked once since my parents left. Then followed curry, pizza, chinese and thai. Tonight was a ready meal.
I'm getting out of the house tomorrow night though. It's to go to a friend's to eat pizza and watch DVDs. Can't move too fast with these things.
And I've been missing Scotland. London's brilliant, but it's quite flat. I was watching a DVD the other day, the latest Harry Potter as it happened, and some of the scenery shots that weren't covered in CGI dragons and whatnot had me pining for Caledonia. There is something deeply magical about the land to the north, and not in the lightning-scar-on-the-forehead-half-a-billion-in-the-bank kind of way either. I do miss it. I'm driving up on Friday. And the Friday after that, and the Friday after that. I figure 3 weekends in a row and I'll be gasping for London. Why all these trips? Well, in memorial services, port and polo all play a significant role.
This is a photo I took of the V & A one day when the light was quite groovy. Ignore the green sunspot and instead admire the light and contrast. Or something.
05 April 2006
listen
Maximo Park - Acrobat. What a genius song. Been listening to it a great deal. It resonates much in context as much as Simple Minds' Don't You Forget About Me resonates with The Breakfast Club.
The thing is, I don't know what the context is. Is it the context of my brain? Or is it just the way things are at the moment? I think it may just create its own context. I may be talking rubbish though - it's been known to happen. Frequently, in fact.
Go listen to it.
The thing is, I don't know what the context is. Is it the context of my brain? Or is it just the way things are at the moment? I think it may just create its own context. I may be talking rubbish though - it's been known to happen. Frequently, in fact.
Go listen to it.
on assignment
I've moved out of the Belfry temporarily. Just for the rest of April. My folks have gone to Key West and they want me to stay in the main house lest a horde of hottentots attempt to raid from the river. For real. This will still be The Belfry Chronicles though, because the spirit of the Belfry lives on, always. The luxury of the main house (natural light in my bedroom) will not spoil me. To paraphrase J-Lo, I'm still Richie from the Belfry. Let us all hope I never paraphrase J-Lo again. It could have been stranger, I could've taken the Crowded House route and said, Everywhere I go, I Always Take the Belfry with Me. I think I'll stop there. It's been an odd day or two.
boat race
Well, that was fun. The boat race party is rarely about what team wins. In fact, the race is almost superfluous. I spend 2 minutes shouting "Cambridge" at the top of my lungs as they go past the house and that's about it for me. I support Cambridge because a friend of mine used to row for them. And it's a prettier town than Oxford.
But anyway; I think this was our 21st boat race party. Maybe 20th. And it's never been about the race, it's about the start of the season. And it's about old friends meeting up and having fun. Friends I've known since I was born, friends I've only known a couple of years but in that time have become special, friends of friends who, in turn, become my friends; all that friendship shit. Which is good shit. The very best, in fact.
Of course, it's not easy; a week's worth of preparation, running around making sure the someone's answering the door, remembering to eat some of the tons of food you've helped prepare, making sure everyone gets a drink, making sure you get a drink, making sure nothing gets broken, making sure mom doesn't notice when something gets broken, making sure you thank the people who pitch in and help (squids) and making sure you finish the barrel of London Pride before you go to the pub. It was brilliant fun, knackering, and finishing the evening with a bowl of chili and a chat about life with Miss Tennant was groovy. Some pics with commentary follow.
Fucking Cambridge lost though. Gits.
But anyway; I think this was our 21st boat race party. Maybe 20th. And it's never been about the race, it's about the start of the season. And it's about old friends meeting up and having fun. Friends I've known since I was born, friends I've only known a couple of years but in that time have become special, friends of friends who, in turn, become my friends; all that friendship shit. Which is good shit. The very best, in fact.
Of course, it's not easy; a week's worth of preparation, running around making sure the someone's answering the door, remembering to eat some of the tons of food you've helped prepare, making sure everyone gets a drink, making sure you get a drink, making sure nothing gets broken, making sure mom doesn't notice when something gets broken, making sure you thank the people who pitch in and help (squids) and making sure you finish the barrel of London Pride before you go to the pub. It was brilliant fun, knackering, and finishing the evening with a bowl of chili and a chat about life with Miss Tennant was groovy. Some pics with commentary follow.
Kirsty, Sam and Jo - all of whom I met in Fife, two of whom travelled many miles to be there. Gems the lot of them.
Adam B with my padré - Adam and I were at uni together, and aside from a few grey hairs, he hasn't aged at all. Git.
The evil twin and the lovely Julie. Well, Bill isn't really evil. No moreso than his twin brother Rob, anyway.
Every few years, someone thinks they can beat the tide. This guy tried to drive at full throttle through the river. What a moron. Flooded his engine. I think the boat crew came round just to laugh at him.
Pedro holding court. I think this is a great pic of everyone in it, actually. Even Pete.
An actual picture of the boat race. See? River and boats. I'm telling you, it's not that big of a deal. Slightly above the "24 hours later than yesterday" excuse for a party.
On our way to the pub: your truly, Pips and Lord Rendall giving a thumbs up with a can of ESB. Pips is wrecked, by the way. Isn't it great how people drunker than you make you feel more sober?
The furthest distances travelled for the party? Well, Jo flew from Dallas and Bill from Tulsa. Those are vast distances to get wrecked and watch boats. But as I said before, it's not about the race. It's about the good shit; the best shit.
Fucking Cambridge lost though. Gits.
03 April 2006
more later
Have loads of pics to post and stuff like that but am a bit busy at the moment. I have, however, put a few new tasting notes up on my wine rant blog. Be warned; they're tasting notes for obscure fine wines. You may not like that. In fact, it will probably bore you senseless.
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