About as relaxed as this, in fact.
Tuesday, 31 July 2007
Quiet
Quiet on here, anyway, because I'm having one of those rare weeks of much socialising, since a glut of birthdays has cropped up. Weird thing is, a similar sort of thing happened around this time last year too. I was bowling until late last night, out to a bar tonight. (Not that I can drink much because work is demanding whatever abilities I have in keeping calm and focused.) It's nice but I'd be just as happy spending the evening sitting around and enjoying the weather, and being as contentedly relaxed as I was at the weekend.
About as relaxed as this, in fact.
About as relaxed as this, in fact.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Still life with plug socket and product placement
Things have been getting a bit desperate lately. Only four bottles of whisky left, and just one of those was a single malt. Not a good state of affairs: the top of my fridge, where said bottles sit, was starting to look a bit desolate. The single malt itself hasn't far to go, so whenever I've fancied a tipple I've been drawing increasingly on my reserves of the lowly blended stuff.Last night I went to a gathering of bods who had been involved in one way or another with the music festival I had been helping at a couple of weekends ago.
As thanks for my travails (whatever that means), I was given a present: things are looking rosy again!
I like it when this kind of thing happens.
Meanwhile I'm away this weekend, visiting a couple of good friends and their wonderful 8-month old daughter in a lovely North Derbyshire village (so North it overlooks Manchester from a great height). Hence, things will be a little quieter here at the Press, probably. Unless I do some late-night, less-than-sober writings. Either way, have a good weekend yourselves, whoever might read this.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
A note of appreciation
Yes, a big thank you is in order for the kind and thoughtful comments on the previous post. I know I responded to people's comments on the thread, but it feels worth just saying so again - I really, really appreciate it.
That particular post wasn't meant to get emotional - I was/am saving the bulk of that stuff for another time, when it seems right - the original intention was more about how anniversaries seem quite abstract and don't usually stir much emotion in me in themselves. A nice irony then that as I was writing, I couldn't help but get involved.
It has been a very nice and affirmative blogging experience, to receive that warmth from those who responded. I'm really very grateful for it.
It also resulted in the birth of another blog, that of the sinister welder, already mentioned more than once on these pages recently, though not by that name (and no, he's not my namesake). I'm looking forward to seeing what he has to write (no pressure or anything), I'm sure he won't mind people stopping by at his shed to pay him a visit.
That particular post wasn't meant to get emotional - I was/am saving the bulk of that stuff for another time, when it seems right - the original intention was more about how anniversaries seem quite abstract and don't usually stir much emotion in me in themselves. A nice irony then that as I was writing, I couldn't help but get involved.
It has been a very nice and affirmative blogging experience, to receive that warmth from those who responded. I'm really very grateful for it.
It also resulted in the birth of another blog, that of the sinister welder, already mentioned more than once on these pages recently, though not by that name (and no, he's not my namesake). I'm looking forward to seeing what he has to write (no pressure or anything), I'm sure he won't mind people stopping by at his shed to pay him a visit.
Sunday, 22 July 2007
Things you carry
As I mentioned in passing in my previous post, today marks 11 years since the death of my dad. I'd been wondering on and off lately whether I might do a series of pieces about this - the few days leading up to his death, and the few days following on from it. I may well do so at some point, because apart from the very deep sadness woven into those days, it was for me a genuinely unique, interesting, special time (I've alluded to this, albeit indirectly, in a previous post).
Presently though, I don't feel the need to place ever so much emphasis on this - I'll write about it when it feels right to do so. Because apart from a few moments to give pause for reflection and a firm nod of respect, I've never really focussed all that much on this particular day or date. Last year, the tenth anniversary, passed without me even being aware of it til later that week, and that in itself felt quite healthy.
What I think I'm trying to say is that memories, thoughts and emotions will present themselves at any given moment, for any number of possible reasons, and that's when I'll give them their due significance: an anniversary, in itself, doesn't necessarily do that for me.
But I'll share the following, if you don't mind.
My dad was cremated. There's no headstone or memorial of any kind to mark his passing - no churchyard to go to, to lay flowers or pay our respects. This had been my mum's decision - we did discuss this, I remember, and though I wasn't fully comfortable with it, I didn't really question it.
The result, however, was that I had to find my own way of remembering him and paying my respects. It was a struggle, since a gravestone is a point of focus, an anchor. Finally I came to a point of realisation. A few years previously, my dad had given me his guitar - without any pomp or ceremony, it was just that mine needed some repair work and my band had a few gigs to play. He'd never asked for it back.
I'm sure that to some degree I got, among many other things, my love of music from him. Definitely my appreciation of jazz and blues. He was also surprisingly (to me) receptive to some of the weird records that I would bring back home and play.
Anyway, the guitar now serves to symbolise how I remember him. It does it, I think, far better than any gravestone: more personal, more fitting - it says so much more about him and me. Also, like his memory, it has been there with me wherever I am.
The memory of him, I'll always carry with me regardless. It does, of course, have a certain weight. I'm thankful to reflect that it isn't a burden.
Despite what I wrote in the first part of this post, now I'm getting emotional.
Presently though, I don't feel the need to place ever so much emphasis on this - I'll write about it when it feels right to do so. Because apart from a few moments to give pause for reflection and a firm nod of respect, I've never really focussed all that much on this particular day or date. Last year, the tenth anniversary, passed without me even being aware of it til later that week, and that in itself felt quite healthy.
What I think I'm trying to say is that memories, thoughts and emotions will present themselves at any given moment, for any number of possible reasons, and that's when I'll give them their due significance: an anniversary, in itself, doesn't necessarily do that for me.
But I'll share the following, if you don't mind.
My dad was cremated. There's no headstone or memorial of any kind to mark his passing - no churchyard to go to, to lay flowers or pay our respects. This had been my mum's decision - we did discuss this, I remember, and though I wasn't fully comfortable with it, I didn't really question it.
The result, however, was that I had to find my own way of remembering him and paying my respects. It was a struggle, since a gravestone is a point of focus, an anchor. Finally I came to a point of realisation. A few years previously, my dad had given me his guitar - without any pomp or ceremony, it was just that mine needed some repair work and my band had a few gigs to play. He'd never asked for it back.
I'm sure that to some degree I got, among many other things, my love of music from him. Definitely my appreciation of jazz and blues. He was also surprisingly (to me) receptive to some of the weird records that I would bring back home and play.
Anyway, the guitar now serves to symbolise how I remember him. It does it, I think, far better than any gravestone: more personal, more fitting - it says so much more about him and me. Also, like his memory, it has been there with me wherever I am.
The memory of him, I'll always carry with me regardless. It does, of course, have a certain weight. I'm thankful to reflect that it isn't a burden.
Despite what I wrote in the first part of this post, now I'm getting emotional.
Friday, 20 July 2007
Tags 2: Blood from a stone
Or, in other words, I've been tagged again, this time by the lovely Anna Mr. Could there possibly be a further eight remotely interesting and random facts I can trawl up from de profundis or somewhere nearby? With the emphasis firmly on random, and a modicum of sweat dripping from my brow, here we go....
1. I was in a band with someone who is now a journalist and published author. During a rehearsal one evening when his guitar prowess was particularly slack, we made a bet. The bet was that I could do an impression of his guitar-playing better than he could hit me (I'm not quite sure how we came to agree on that).
"You're on," he said.
I did an impression of his guitar playing. He hit me square on the jaw.
"Told you," I said. "Fair enough," he said, accepting defeat graciously.
2. I can bend my thumbs back 90 degrees (without having to push them). Someone told me that's a sign of having an incredibly bad temper - but they can just piss off, what the fuck do they know?
3. Aged 18, I had a minor operation, which required me to have general anaesthetic. The nurse who brought me back to consciousness had, coincidentally, been one of my play-school teachers when I was aged 3 or 4, and I had not seen her since then. I was seriously convinced, when I saw her face, that I had actually died. I remember it taking her a good few minutes to convince me otherwise.
4. The very first record I bought was "Baggy Trousers" by Madness. However, the first record I considered to be my own, some years earlier, was my dad's copy of "Honky Tonk Women" by the Rolling Stones. I'm sure he and my mum were amused to hear me singing along with the lyrics at such a tender age. Another memory is of hearing a song on the radio and asking my mum what it was.
" 'Fernando', by ABBA" she replied. I then had to get her to explain the distinction between the name of the song, and who was singing it, which was the first time I was aware of the difference. (Incidentally, the most recent record I bought was "Jealous of Shit and Shine" by Shit and Shine)
5. 11 years ago this weekend, my father died (on the 22nd).
6. I don't own a television and haven't done for at least 10 years. When anyone asks about this I tell them, "I can't stand spending all evening sitting in front of a screen - I much prefer to pass the time using my computer instead."
7. My favourite whisky is Laphroiag. Pure heaven in a glass - or straight out of the bottle (no I'm not that bad). Favourite beer is currently Theakston's Old Peculier. Favourite wine is La Chasse du Pape (red, of course. If anyone is passing through Carrefour at Calais...).
8. Anna Mr mentions mild vertigo in amongst her 8 facts. I discovered (though whether this is medically true has not been established) that I too have mild vertigo. The moment of discovery was when I was half way across Striding Edge, by which point it made more sense to carry on than to turn back. I was terrified, and spent the rest of that particular walk feeling euphoric that I was still alive.
Hope you don't mind me not tagging anyone else. If I was going to do so, they've already been tagged in the first place - but feel free once again to call me a spoilsport.
1. I was in a band with someone who is now a journalist and published author. During a rehearsal one evening when his guitar prowess was particularly slack, we made a bet. The bet was that I could do an impression of his guitar-playing better than he could hit me (I'm not quite sure how we came to agree on that).
"You're on," he said.
I did an impression of his guitar playing. He hit me square on the jaw.
"Told you," I said. "Fair enough," he said, accepting defeat graciously.
2. I can bend my thumbs back 90 degrees (without having to push them). Someone told me that's a sign of having an incredibly bad temper - but they can just piss off, what the fuck do they know?
3. Aged 18, I had a minor operation, which required me to have general anaesthetic. The nurse who brought me back to consciousness had, coincidentally, been one of my play-school teachers when I was aged 3 or 4, and I had not seen her since then. I was seriously convinced, when I saw her face, that I had actually died. I remember it taking her a good few minutes to convince me otherwise.
4. The very first record I bought was "Baggy Trousers" by Madness. However, the first record I considered to be my own, some years earlier, was my dad's copy of "Honky Tonk Women" by the Rolling Stones. I'm sure he and my mum were amused to hear me singing along with the lyrics at such a tender age. Another memory is of hearing a song on the radio and asking my mum what it was.
" 'Fernando', by ABBA" she replied. I then had to get her to explain the distinction between the name of the song, and who was singing it, which was the first time I was aware of the difference. (Incidentally, the most recent record I bought was "Jealous of Shit and Shine" by Shit and Shine)
5. 11 years ago this weekend, my father died (on the 22nd).
6. I don't own a television and haven't done for at least 10 years. When anyone asks about this I tell them, "I can't stand spending all evening sitting in front of a screen - I much prefer to pass the time using my computer instead."
7. My favourite whisky is Laphroiag. Pure heaven in a glass - or straight out of the bottle (no I'm not that bad). Favourite beer is currently Theakston's Old Peculier. Favourite wine is La Chasse du Pape (red, of course. If anyone is passing through Carrefour at Calais...).
8. Anna Mr mentions mild vertigo in amongst her 8 facts. I discovered (though whether this is medically true has not been established) that I too have mild vertigo. The moment of discovery was when I was half way across Striding Edge, by which point it made more sense to carry on than to turn back. I was terrified, and spent the rest of that particular walk feeling euphoric that I was still alive.
Hope you don't mind me not tagging anyone else. If I was going to do so, they've already been tagged in the first place - but feel free once again to call me a spoilsport.
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
Answering anticant
After much deliberation (and a little coercion) I finally decided on volunteering to answer five of anticant's questions for the Interview Meme. Here they are.
You hail from the Peak District, I believe. Do you feel an exile in the city? Are those wide open spaces and delectable views a comforting influence in your urban life?
I hail from almost, but not quite, the Peak District - from somewhere semi-rural but altogether less pretty. I love the Peak District, and being so close to it did make it part of the fabric of my upbringing. I would say that more closed, intimate, potentially secret little pockets of countryside (like those described in Home) have a much more raw, direct kind of resonance for me though, which hasn't really dimmed over time. Paths enclosed by hedgerows or trees. Spaces in which to hide and think - or not think, as the case may be. I'm not sure how articulate I can be about why that is, without (say) re-reading The Poetics of Space first....
Do I feel like an exile in the city? Yes if I'm here for a long uninterrupted spell. I need my fix of rural space. Luckily these days (when it's not constantly raining) I can cycle out to charming areas of countryside within a short space of time, and that does me a hell of a lot of good. Listening to silence being punctuated by sounds of near-silence. I don't always want to be a city dweller, and it can at times be isolating in its own way - but some of the time I think I've got the best of both worlds.
You've sometimes expressed dissatisfaction, and even frustration, with some aspects of your work. Do you have any plans for moving into more congenial spheres?
Work is taking on an increasingly Kafkaesque sense of freakishness, and is doing my head in. This week, it seems, especially so - though I wouldn't go into any detail here. If nothing else it perhaps proves a certain level of resilience, though moaning but doing nothing about it is surely an example of the worst, most annoying kind of comfort zone.
So yes I want, need and would really welcome a change. Regardless of the efforts I've made so far though, I'm still having trouble answering rather basic, crucial questions, such as: so what do I actually want to DO? At present I'm not sure how happy I'll ever really be in any kind of structured, conventional employment (though I do have a very calming, peaceful image of working in a clearing in a forest spending my days chopping logs with an axe).
You have wide artistic and musical interests. Please tell us something about these.
Now this could really be a nightmare question to answer, being so open-ended as to allow me to wrap myself in knots of incoherent pretentious twaddle, or at least the blogging equivalent of eating spaghetti.
However, I'll begin with an example which I hope might shed at least some light onto such territory:
When I began my MA course in Fine Art (oooohhh, X years ago) I had the strange but strong assumption that my work had to be big and clever. I was doing an MA (gasp) course after all. Everything Would Be Very Earnest And Serious And Require A Lot Of Thought And Intellectual Rigour. Needless to say, when I tried to apply such principles to my work, the result was that it was a Load Of Shit.
My final show, which was my best, most playful, free, often bizarre work, was collectively entitled "Neither Big Nor Clever." Having scrapped my previous approach about a third of the way through the course I started afresh with a new modus operandi which could be summed up as "No Idea is Too Stupid."
Which didn't mean I was solely engaged in the pursuit of stupid ideas, rather that it opened me up to all sorts of possibilities which I might previously have dismissed. This proved to very liberating, enriching and exciting, and hopefully sums up much of my mindset in this respect.
The relevance of this (I hope) to anticant's question, is that it reflects on my approach to other people's work of whatever form in the sense that:
It helps me to constructively dismiss or question my assumptions towards works of art or music, especially assumptions as to what is "good" or "bad", "acceptable" or "unacceptable" for example. The framework of (even dumb) ideas seems to be the key.
What may seem stupid, surprising, ugly, brutal, violent, shocking, twee, scattershot (insert other adjectives at random) and therefore seem to detract from my appreciation of something, may actually be the key to my appreciation of it.
I also think John Peel has a lot to answer for. It was nice to listen to a radio show and frequently hear, say, a prime piece of 1940's jazz played back-to-back with a monolithic slab of white noise or some other such extreme, and not see anything inherently odd in that.
Right, I've wrapped myself in knots after all. Next question...
If you could be granted one wish that you believe would improve the plight of humanity, what would it be?
That everyone go and see The Fall in concert at least once. I tried to think of a more weighty answer to this one, I really did...
How has the internet, and blogging, changed your life?
I'm a lot paler, since I go outdoors less. As regards the internet, fairly common factors: its much easier to keep in touch with people on the other side of the world; much easier to have access to information of whatever form generally. I don't think this is completely a good thing, since it is also very easy to take so much of it for granted. I'm glad to remember the thrill of getting letters through the post, for example.
Blogging has, I think, been a more generally positive thing for me. Getting involved in talking with interesting if not always like-minded people. There's a definite charm in participating in conversations and debates with people from very different places, circumstances, experience and (maybe) status. Blogging has made me think about a lot of themes and topics which I might not have otherwise have been exposed to.
My own blog has, in terms of process, felt like a good thing for me to have set up, at least so far. It feels like it helps me to order my thinking much more again. Rather than "just" thinking about things, I'm finding that I'm trying much more to find a way to adequately express those thoughts: to develop the language again. Getting a response to those thoughts is also quite a marvellous thing.
Directions for the interview meme:
1. Leave a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. Please make sure I have your email address.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment, asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
You hail from the Peak District, I believe. Do you feel an exile in the city? Are those wide open spaces and delectable views a comforting influence in your urban life?
I hail from almost, but not quite, the Peak District - from somewhere semi-rural but altogether less pretty. I love the Peak District, and being so close to it did make it part of the fabric of my upbringing. I would say that more closed, intimate, potentially secret little pockets of countryside (like those described in Home) have a much more raw, direct kind of resonance for me though, which hasn't really dimmed over time. Paths enclosed by hedgerows or trees. Spaces in which to hide and think - or not think, as the case may be. I'm not sure how articulate I can be about why that is, without (say) re-reading The Poetics of Space first....
Do I feel like an exile in the city? Yes if I'm here for a long uninterrupted spell. I need my fix of rural space. Luckily these days (when it's not constantly raining) I can cycle out to charming areas of countryside within a short space of time, and that does me a hell of a lot of good. Listening to silence being punctuated by sounds of near-silence. I don't always want to be a city dweller, and it can at times be isolating in its own way - but some of the time I think I've got the best of both worlds.
You've sometimes expressed dissatisfaction, and even frustration, with some aspects of your work. Do you have any plans for moving into more congenial spheres?
Work is taking on an increasingly Kafkaesque sense of freakishness, and is doing my head in. This week, it seems, especially so - though I wouldn't go into any detail here. If nothing else it perhaps proves a certain level of resilience, though moaning but doing nothing about it is surely an example of the worst, most annoying kind of comfort zone.
So yes I want, need and would really welcome a change. Regardless of the efforts I've made so far though, I'm still having trouble answering rather basic, crucial questions, such as: so what do I actually want to DO? At present I'm not sure how happy I'll ever really be in any kind of structured, conventional employment (though I do have a very calming, peaceful image of working in a clearing in a forest spending my days chopping logs with an axe).
You have wide artistic and musical interests. Please tell us something about these.
Now this could really be a nightmare question to answer, being so open-ended as to allow me to wrap myself in knots of incoherent pretentious twaddle, or at least the blogging equivalent of eating spaghetti.
However, I'll begin with an example which I hope might shed at least some light onto such territory:
When I began my MA course in Fine Art (oooohhh, X years ago) I had the strange but strong assumption that my work had to be big and clever. I was doing an MA (gasp) course after all. Everything Would Be Very Earnest And Serious And Require A Lot Of Thought And Intellectual Rigour. Needless to say, when I tried to apply such principles to my work, the result was that it was a Load Of Shit.
My final show, which was my best, most playful, free, often bizarre work, was collectively entitled "Neither Big Nor Clever." Having scrapped my previous approach about a third of the way through the course I started afresh with a new modus operandi which could be summed up as "No Idea is Too Stupid."
Which didn't mean I was solely engaged in the pursuit of stupid ideas, rather that it opened me up to all sorts of possibilities which I might previously have dismissed. This proved to very liberating, enriching and exciting, and hopefully sums up much of my mindset in this respect.
The relevance of this (I hope) to anticant's question, is that it reflects on my approach to other people's work of whatever form in the sense that:
It helps me to constructively dismiss or question my assumptions towards works of art or music, especially assumptions as to what is "good" or "bad", "acceptable" or "unacceptable" for example. The framework of (even dumb) ideas seems to be the key.
What may seem stupid, surprising, ugly, brutal, violent, shocking, twee, scattershot (insert other adjectives at random) and therefore seem to detract from my appreciation of something, may actually be the key to my appreciation of it.
I also think John Peel has a lot to answer for. It was nice to listen to a radio show and frequently hear, say, a prime piece of 1940's jazz played back-to-back with a monolithic slab of white noise or some other such extreme, and not see anything inherently odd in that.
Right, I've wrapped myself in knots after all. Next question...
If you could be granted one wish that you believe would improve the plight of humanity, what would it be?
That everyone go and see The Fall in concert at least once. I tried to think of a more weighty answer to this one, I really did...
How has the internet, and blogging, changed your life?
I'm a lot paler, since I go outdoors less. As regards the internet, fairly common factors: its much easier to keep in touch with people on the other side of the world; much easier to have access to information of whatever form generally. I don't think this is completely a good thing, since it is also very easy to take so much of it for granted. I'm glad to remember the thrill of getting letters through the post, for example.
Blogging has, I think, been a more generally positive thing for me. Getting involved in talking with interesting if not always like-minded people. There's a definite charm in participating in conversations and debates with people from very different places, circumstances, experience and (maybe) status. Blogging has made me think about a lot of themes and topics which I might not have otherwise have been exposed to.
My own blog has, in terms of process, felt like a good thing for me to have set up, at least so far. It feels like it helps me to order my thinking much more again. Rather than "just" thinking about things, I'm finding that I'm trying much more to find a way to adequately express those thoughts: to develop the language again. Getting a response to those thoughts is also quite a marvellous thing.
Directions for the interview meme:
1. Leave a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. Please make sure I have your email address.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment, asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Les Grumpy
Like anna mr, I just sidled my way over to the altering labyrinth and found a post about a quiz, asking, "Which book are you?"
I'll say no more (until I publish the results of my interview questions c/o anticant)
I'll say no more (until I publish the results of my interview questions c/o anticant)
You're Les Miserables!
by Victor Hugo
One of the best known people in your community, you have become
something of a phenomenon. People have sung about you, danced in your honor, created all
manner of art in your name. And yet your story is one of failure and despair, with a few
brief exceptions. A hopeless romantic, you'll never stop hoping that more good will come
from your failings than is ever possible. Beware detectives and prison guards bearing
vendettas.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
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