Wednesday, April 29, 2009


I am crap with names, I forget things unless I write them down and I can't really remember much before the age of ten, but for some reason there are certain tiny inconsequential memories that always pop up in my mind.

Andrew McCarron telling the French teacher that saying Tour D'Eiffel was stupid.
Me telling the new teacher that David Wells liked to be called Wellsy.
Chez wearing his t-shirt signed by Olympic hurdler Debbie Flintoff-King in McDonalds, although I can't remember who he was with.
A lot of my 'friends' throwing stones at me when I said I was ill and then I was sick ont he way to the car when my Mum came and picked me up.
People measuring me to decide whether or not I was in fact 5 feet tall (when I was 14. Please).
My sister smashing me in the face with a tennis racket (actually it's not difficult to forget that one).
Adam Scrivener crying because 'these are new trousers' that he got dirty. They were always new trousers.
Having to meet Adrian at Wendy Crescent because our mothers couldn't be bothered to drive the whole way.

We won't mention the consequential moments (first kiss, losing virginity, best gigs, first house etc). They won't go, and I know where to find them.

Friday, April 24, 2009


Today was a strange day. I won't go into the ins and outs of it, but because of people's reactions and emotions I asked myself the question: what makes you cry?

If you ask this to a number of different people, you'd get a number of different answers. Some people would say the music of Nick Drake, others the films of Richard Curtis. The last time I, for example, cried was watching the Say Anything trailer (found earlier here). Ask me the time before that, and a few times before that and you'd get the answer I'm looking for.

Basically, people cry because they don't like to think that they're not good enough. People usually cry when they are rejected by something or someone. I cried when I failed my driving test, football fans cry when their team is relegated and everyone cries if they are dumped by a partner. There's nothing worse than when someone is basically telling you "thanks for all the effort you've put in, but quite frankly it was a waste of time because this person is better."

Well let me tell you this. The people who make you cry are not better than you. They still shit themselves when they were 2, they still had to be taught to read, and they have cried themselves for exactly the same reason, because they weren't good enough. You are good enough, and to someone you're the best person in the world. So remember that next time you cry.

Of course if someone's died, you've got every right to cry and I can't explain that one.

Thursday, April 23, 2009


Jesus, what happened? Remember this moment in time - 18:15 on April 23rd 2009. I am 31 years old and right now I am happy. I feel a polish of contentment all over me. I want to phone the girls I like. I want to have ridiculous laughter conversations with my best friends. I want to put on the loudest music I have. I want to smile. I can smile. As dog is my witness, I will keep this for a week. A week.

It won't fucking last, but at least it exists.

P.S. Previous 'roid was not mine

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


Dear Me,

I have bad days and you have good days. The bad days are usually a mixture of yesterday's alcohol and being on your own, the good days are usually a mixture of today's alcohol and being with people. It is probably the case the someone is thinking about you right now, or at least the idea of you. You may know that person, you may barely know that person, or you may not know that person at all.

Take it easy and go with the flow. You'll enjoy it better that way.

All the best


Tuesday, April 21, 2009


At what point did it start to hurt this much? 

Now I'm not going to portray myself as some macho boozehound who can down ten pints of bitter at breakneck speed and drink you under the table, but I do have a propensity to drink a bit too much. With age, the tolerance goes up, so the amount goes up that is needed to achieve the same results (and what results are these? If I had an ounce of self confidence I wouldn't need sweet lady Bow), and this brings on the hangover and the pain. 

So this is it. I have to drink more but the after affects also increase. And is it worth it? Believe me, the next time someone buys me three small clear drinks on a Monday night (regardless of the occasion) I will cast my mind back to 2.30 this morning and remember how much fun that was, and then I will decline.

One day I'll stop, but not now. I've not got my bus pass quite yet.

Friday, April 17, 2009


The man sat in front of his typewriter. He stared at it with his hands by his sides. The blank page stared straight back at him, in some way mocking him for his apparent paralysis. He had put on his old soft cardigan, his old soft corduroy trousers and his old soft slippers. He had turned the off the record player, put the Dave Brubeck record back in its sleeve, and the sleeve back on the shelf. He had closed the window, shut the curtains and lit a candle, the only light, bar whatever soft sunlight that had made it through the sentry doors of the curtains. He had blocked out all outside noise, interference and distraction. But still he stared. No words came. No ideas. Nothing. By giving himself nothing, he had nothing, and by abstaining from influence he had suffocated his muse. 

But slowly he lifted his arms and set his fingers to the typewriter. He began to type, one letter and one finger at a time. He wrote one word, pulled the paper from the machine and placed it on the desk. He looked back at the paper and read the word to himself. 


Wednesday, April 15, 2009



Much like in the previous missive we discussed (don't pretend you didn't discuss it) about people blowing your mind, or at least making you sit up straight and pay attention, music also does it as well.

Not music in general, but certain songs. You listen just to see what they sound like and then bang, you've got one song on repeat, all day. 

I love the way anything and everything can do this to us. It shows there's life left in you, not everything is dull and monotonous, you don't know everything. 

Is it that it hits you when you least expect it, or is that when it makes the most impact?

P.S. (again) I totally missed the opportunity to label the last one THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WAY SHE MOVES ME, but maybe I didn't want gender attached to it.

Monday, April 13, 2009


Attraction Part II

What do these people have that draw us to them? What makes us think like this? 

Let's face it, we've all been there. All fine and dandy in our little worlds when suddenly someone makes you question everything you've ever said or felt. Ken Barlow had it with Martha, Tom had is with Summer (probably), Ryan and Mandy, Edward Lewis and Vivian Ward, Patti Boyd and Eric Clapton. The list goes on. Eric never thought he would ever fall in love with his friend's wife, but he did. George was probably a bit miffed at the time but without Eric, he wouldn't have met Olivia. So there you go.

We can have our mind made up saying "I love him/her and no one will ever come close" and then, as Ryan said, it goes nuclear (When I saw her the Yankees lost to the Braves). It changes; maybe you're thinking of two people now when it was always one. At that point, go with your gut and not your Ross Geller pros and cons list.

It seems that as much as we hate it when the new fascinating person makes us question our lives, it might just be for the best. There is no 'One', but there's probably a handful and maybe you should until you get that before you make a decision. 

P.S. Talking of George, I know he swiped his melody of My Sweet Lord from The Chiffons, but the beginning of Godless by Dandy Warhols sounds remarkably like the beginning of My Sweet Lord too. But I doubt there's much money coming from them.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009


Let's get one thing straight, I am a total nerd.

Not a nerd in the sense that I like maths, comics, prog rock and have a perspiration issue (I do have all of those but that's not the point); a nerd because because I have no idea how to act cool. 

I love music, but I can't play an instrument.
I love football, but I'm  a bit shit at it.
I love stories, but I can't write (although I haven't had this confirmed).
I love girls, but I have zero idea how to talk to them, let alone get them (or should that be the other way round?)

I think I love comics, but I rarely buy them.
I think I love books, but I only seem to read well known ones.
I think I love fashion and style, but I keep getting it totally wrong.
I think I love art house cinema, but a lot of it is quite boring.
I think I love hardcore, but I don't know that many bands.

The person who I think I am and try to give the impression I am is very very different to the person I actually am. I think I'm Jack Whitman but actually I'm Max Fischer.

And I'm fine with that.


What the fuck is wrong with me? I've had two shitfits in the last two weeks, for the most ridiculous stupid things. Although I may be the most highly strung person I've ever met, I've always prided myself on being easy going on the outside so people don't see my inner issues. If you know these inner issues (or you read this claptrap) then count yourself very special. To me anyway, who knows what other people think of you.

Anyway, the problem is, I've had these freak outs in front of the one person I didn't want to be weird around. Firstly because she wouldn't lend me a book, and secondly because I got left behind when I was invited to lunch. For fuck's sake, normally I would have made a joke about it but instead I got really annoyed, like a child's temper tantrum. I'm sure the reason I've had these shitfits is to do with said person. Because I've been denied time with that person. 

So believe me, from this day forward, it's all being bottled up and coming out here. No more public outbursts, no more heart on my sleeve.

I consoled myself by buying a new coat. It's a spring/summer version of my winter coat but in navy. It adds to the Serge Gainsbourg/Paul McCartney look I'm trying to create. I want to wear it whilst listening to La Responsable by Jacques Dutronc (thanks James). In fact, that is now tied with Stranglehold as the music that plays in my head when I walk into a bar. Much like Hurricane plays when Wooderson walks into the Emporium.

('roids clockwise from top left: Paddy & Chez, obscured, at Ben's stag do when the camera spat out two photos; Mark and Joe showing that nobody fucks with the Jesus; Danielle in mid hair ruffle; me being calm)

Monday, April 06, 2009



Lil' Wayne has a lot of tattoos.
Six is a great album, no matter what you say. And that review was written on my 21st birthday. It's a sign.
Bob Loblaw having a law blog is possibly the funniest thing ever.
This lady may possibly be the most attractive and stylish person I have ever seen. 

I had more thoughts. I'm sure I was going to debunk a myth and say something profound. Maybe it will come to me later.

If life was like this, it would be amazing.

The only pureness left is preached to me by Marx.