gloriously useless

I'm packing and throwing loads of stuff away, but still find stupid little things that tempt me to add to the massive pile of useless rubbish that clutters my life. Most of the Belfry is packed now.

pertinent question (updated)

Exactly how many pieces of the Berlin Wall does one man need? Because I have a lot, and I'm not sure what, if anything, I will ever do with them.

I've decided that I can't throw them out. So I hereby subject several small chunks of spraypainted concrete to sit in a box, in storage, indefinitely, in the name of posterity.

11th & 8th

Somewhere along the line a new commandment was added, along with another mortal sin; both intertwined with each other like the snakes on a medical symbol (which I've never understood - snakes are poisonous, why do two heal?*).

The 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not throw away back issues of National Geographic

The 8th Mortal Sin: Throwing away back issues of National Geographic

I just threw 15 years of back issues of National Geographic away.

I am so going to hell.

*It turns out two do not heal, and that the use of intertwined snakes was due to a purposeful mistake made on aesthetic grounds, apparently by the US Army Medical Corps. But the use of a snake for health was based on the Ancient Greek belief that the shedding of the snake's skin was a symbol of youth, hence its inclusion - singular - on the staff of Asclepius, the god of medicine. Hermes's staff has 2 snakes, though what 2 snakes intertwined has to do with delivering messages is a mystery. Maybe they're playing Chinese whispers.

5 days

Is not much of a hiatus, but I'm not very good at long-term depression and posting is better than packing.

Ran by Woody Allen shooting a scene on the river today. Couldn't tell who the actors were. Made my morning. I thought stuff like that only happened in Manhattan. Or LA.

hiatus

I'm taking a break from The Belfry Chronicles. My other blogs, Wine Rant and the much neglected St Andrews Noir, will get more attention. In fact, they'll all have new new posts within the next day or so.

The Chronicles are about my life, and I don't want to write about that at the moment. The writing's been forced of late and the topics are flat out depressing. I don't really see much change to that in the next month.

A few of you have emailed, phoned, texted and commented - that's been appreciated. I don't want people to worry or read this as some sort of need for help. I'm ok. Everything is going to be ok. Some things, for me, are better than they've been in ages. But too much is excruciating at the moment to keep a public diary. And I don't want to turn this into some bollocks humorous link page.

So seek other joy on the net. The squid's writing's been good - with great tunes to boot. And Irony has started posting again, which is cool.

I'll be back late August or early September. But I won't be in the Belfry.

Any news, or chat, will be much appreciated over the next few weeks.

the healing power of gross incompetence

I've not been cheery of late, but more news of this nature will have me reduced to fits of giggles from now until Christmas.

What he said

This appeared in the Independent the other day:

"So long as we are loved by others I should say that we are almost indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend."
- Robert Louis Stevenson

His family built most of the lighthouses that dot Britain's coast. Not a lot of people know that.

equilibrium

Me: Go away.

Inner Nagging Voice: I didn't say anything.

Me: You were going to.

INV: How do you know?

Me: Because. You're me.

INV: Oh, yeah.

Me: You remind me that you're me everytime you nag me, so don't go all innocent on me now.

INV: Ok, ok.

Me: So what is it? Are you going to tell me to cheer up?

INV: No.

Me: Good. Because sometimes I think cheering up is bullshit. And I'm a pretty cheery guy by nature.

INV: You used to be.

Me: Is this really the time?

INV: You used to be the life and soul of every party. Hell, you used to have parties at the drop of a hat. Remember stair surfing?

Me: This is inappropriate.

INV: Why?

Me: Well, news - in general - is bad. Both at home and abroad. And I just think that you giving me grief because I'm not the party animal I used to be is in poor taste. So fuck off.

INV: It's not the party animal thing.

Me: Well then what is it? Because at the moment there's a bombardament of awful things happening to those nearest and dearest, lives in turmoil and all that shit and I cannot do anything about and that is just fucking rubbish and I had a party last weekend thank you very much.

INV: Breathe. So you're feeling sorry for yourself because of dreadful things happening to other people?

Me: I'm not going to apologise for being upset at what's happening.

INV: Being upset is fine. You're allowed to be upset. You need to be upset. If you weren't upset, that would be frightening. But feeling sorry for yourself - no. That's not right.

Me: Why? Why can't I have a break and feel sorry for myself? Why can't I have a mope?

INV: Because it's not happening to you. Because you are living and breathing and are still getting news that is good, because you're writing and writing with belief and conviction, because you're trying to chase a dream and be true to yourself, and that's what's best for you and that's what all those people, the friends and family who may be hurting now, who may be happy now, want - the best for you, not because it would make you happy, but because it's you. And sitting around moping over uncertainties is easier than pushing ahead in spite of them. Get over yourself.

Me: That was pretty cheesy.

INV: Fuck you.

Me: I'm going to post that picture of the thistles.

INV: Whatever floats your boat.

Me: You were right, of course.

INV: I know.

Me: Well, you are part of me after all.

Thistles on the Thames - how apt

Someone's dying. The hospital sent them home with painkillers and 6-8 weeks of life. Family and friends cry but try to smile. He's had an amazing life, they say.

But that doesn't mean it should be over yet.

crescendos

I am a Proms convert - I'd never been but always liked the idea of them. A summer-long music festival - what's not to like? Something to admire from afar. So I was chuffed to go last night, to stop paying lip service to it and actually see what it was like. The tickets we got were only a tenner, and some are only a fiver. That's the best deal in the world. Most cocktails cost more.

It was hot. But even in the stifling heat - so hot there was a mist in the rafters of the Royal Albert Hall - it was brilliant. More pervasive than the heat was the enthusiasm, both from the audience and the stage. Not just for the music but for the ceremony, the event, everything, like the orchestra is greater than the sum of its parts, so too is the Proms, the crowd, the Hall, the musicians and even Mozart and Dvorák, long past but still present. Our seats were way up, just below the arches. It wasn't the best view, but we could hear and feel the music and the sense of scale was incredible.

And the Queen was there. Bit of a surprise, that. She gave someone a prize. Then, unprompted, the audience, including me, sang 'Happy Birthday' and gave her three cheers. I sang 'Happy Birthday' to the Queen. I'm such a dork.

When I got home the BBC coverage was on - hi res and impressive, but slightly clinical. It didn't seem to be the same event. The energy, the heat, the thrill of feeling the strings as though they were your own sinews, the rumble of the percussion and haunting horns replaced with clean editing and digitally filtered sound. They didn't even show us singing 'Happy Birthday'.