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The weekend that was

Friday was damp. Friday was wet. Friday was a pretty fucking good day mainly because a band called Radiohead was playing at Glasgow Green and, whilst it there was a light drizzle for most of the evening I really didn’t care. I was just happy to be there and listen to them blast their way through most of my favourites; 2+2=5, There There, Everything In Its Right Place, Paranoid Android, Just(!), Fake Plastic Trees, Jigsaw Falling Into Place, and more.

As usual there were several knobs who did their best to spoil it but it didn’t work. Why do these people go to gigs? Regardless a good time was had by all, even if by the end of the second encore we were all kind of huddled together and beginning to feel a little sorry for ourselves.

Still, that was only part one of the evening, part two was a joint leaving night for my boss and our receptionist, both of which will be missed. Having joined the throngs of people leaving Glasgow Green, we all managed to cram onto the Underground for a quick spin round to The Loft in the west end of Glasgow. The first beer was a good one, and was soon followed by another and a couple of G&Ts. Then it was onto Boho for a wee boogie and then my lovely wife picked me up at 2.30 in the morning…

… which was mainly because on Saturday we were back out to spend the day socialising with friends and family in a late birthday celebration for Louise. We kicked off at 2pm, cocktails were involved and it was only the addition of a rather nice steak that stopped me being completely dead on Sunday. As it was we got home around 3am, quite glad we had no plans for the next day.

I won’t mention that my mother phoned and woke us up… it was 11am after all.

Sunday was spent dozing and munching, sofa-bound for the day, watching crap movies (hello Enemy Within and Jumper) and enjoying Spain’s win over Germany.

And this morning? This morning I ache, with all that standing around on Friday finally kicking in. I feel like I’ve been set on a rack and stretched by some infernal torture device or something, twisted and contorted in ways for which my body was not built. All that from standing about in the rain.. time marches on, eh…




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On Writing

One day I’ll figure out how many words I type in an average (week)day. I have absolutely no idea what that total will be but I can already guess that it’ll scare the bejesus outta me. Be they emails, instant messages, text messages, documents, presentations, spreadsheets, blog posts, blog comments, articles or just jotting down items in my to do list, words dominate my day.

I hate them.

Well I don’t hate them, but I certainly abuse them on a regular basis. Mind you, given the amount of abuse the English language gets, and given that a lot of it is brought about by the language itself, with it’s twisting, turning rules and exceptions, part of thinks the words welcome the abuse, I think they kinda like it.The English language is the sadomasochist of the linguistic world.

Of course my job makes it difficult to avoid words so between us we’ve developed a love/hate relationship. I try and use them properly, they promise not to bite me in the ass too often (although between you and me, I’m not sure it’s a very even agreement, I’m SURE the words could try a little harder to be nice).

I don’t hate words.

Truth be told I do still enjoy the thrill of certain combinations of words, the gentle flow and rhythm, the beauty of juxtaposition and the jar of the unexpected. I’ve experimented a little with such things on this very blog, the occasion attempt at something “more”, but I struggle to find my own flow and rhythm, the words jar awkwardly on the screen and every line, every construct, takes it’s toll.

I don’t consider myself a writer here, more a casual scribbler, yet with each passing word the grandiose and ridiculous thought grows in my head, maybe I could?




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Interestingly Mundane

Blimey, yer a strange bunch.

In fact I’m also a little insulted. I spend hours crafting blog posts, considering the weighty issues of the day, or trying to capture the elusive quality of a moment, carefully choosing my words to be thought-provokingly poetic.

Despite all that, what are the topics that really get you going? Whether tea is rubbish and how to hang up washing to dry! I’ve not had this many comments since we discussed toenails a few years back (July 2004? blimey), well apart from that one time I ASKED for comments.

The lesson here is that the mundane artefacts of modern life are something we all feel passionately about, and such things as which beverage you drink take on whole new realms of importance. We revel in the detail and, as such things are commonplace, everyone is an expert.

I’ve heard this kind of thing, in professional terms, described as the curse of knowledge. It’s an interesting turn of phrase and seems appropriate here. We all know what we know about how we, to continue the example, make a cup of tea. We may acknowledge that other methods produce similar results but deep down we know that the way WE make tea is the BEST way. With that basic understanding in place it becomes very difficult to see things from any other point of view (professionally this is why people get annoyed when you don’t know what they know, because they no longer remember having had to learn it).

But enough of that. This fascination with the every day items and tasks of modern life continues to be a good touching point, something we all do and know, so I guess it’s no wonder that discussions about how to hang up washing to dry are so… entertaining? I was going to say interesting but they aren’t really, are they, as anyone who has read the comments on the previous post going to suddenly try a new way to hang their clothes up to dry? No, I didn’t think so…

We do love a bit of introspection don’t we. And by we I mean all of us, the people of planet earth. Some enjoy it more than others, I agree, but everyone is fascinated by themselves on some level.

Even if that level is, quite literally, navel gazing.

Anyway, it’s this kind of thing that gives blogging a bad name so I think it’s time to buck up the ideas!

Well, maybe … you see … the thing is … I do have one more question …

If you are making a peanut butter and jam sandwich (PBJ to my American readers) do you also use butter (as in, Lurpak)?




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