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Friday, March 18

Quite Confusing

I think I'm at a time and configuration in my life where it's a bit confusing. I'm getting old, but I feel extremely poorly equipped to be too grown up. I value running around and being irresponsible (within responsible parameters set by my grown up self) way too much.

My aching limbs are a sign that I'm showing the wear and tear of the years and the overweightedness (which is an abstract noun I've invented for this occasion).

Planning a wedding is a good thing, though it seems like a huge basket of confusion at the moment, given the fact that you end up reviewing other people's weddings as evidence that yours will be nice, and start to ponder whether, for instance, such and such a photographer is any good considering the really bad clothes of that particular subject he happens to have photographed. I don't care about other people's weddings, just ours. Still, we'll get there.

I'd like to live in our house. We do live in our house, but it's not ours ours, just ours... you get me? No? Me neither. I'd like to own the house I live in. I own a house, and that's a responsibility, but I don't get to live there, which is a shame, because I liked that house. I liked living there.

I prefer the living arrangements we now have, except for the house, which I don't prefer, since it's too small.

Tonight I'm driving an irresponsible distance to perform for free for charity. This will probably be great fun, but I reserve the right for it to make me feel old.

Oh, and I'm writing a book, and it's going to be huge... and take about 6 months to draft.

Does anyone know a publisher?

Saturday, March 12

Watching In Slow Motion

I don't want to complain about tonight's gig. I had a good time. I would like to note down a little of what happened, as it's a classic example of when reality meets expectation.

I had heard that there would be a good sized audience for the gig, so I packed my video camera, thinking it might be a good one to capture on film. As the gig was in Cardiff Bay, and I quite fancied seeing the location used for some Doctor Who and lots of Torchwood filming, I set off a little earlier so I could absorb some of the atmosphere of the place.

My video camera also takes stills and I'm now the proud owner of some shorts of Roald Dahl plaza. Interestingly, Google Maps will show you the Torchwood hub on the map as though it's a real place. This is where I pity the archaeologists and historians of the future. Separating fact from fiction is going to be a problem.

After getting to a stage where I thought the night was going to be amazing, I headed to the venue - a casino - where we'd be doing the gig. After the Slovakian reception lady had repeatedly done the "you're a comedian; tell us a joke" line to me, I got into the body of the place and discovered the layout and the equipment.

In short, neither the equipment nor the layout were individually ideal, and they certainly weren't suited to each other. We got a certain distance in the direction of making the sound right, and then I went off to fetch my guitar. I parked the video camera idea at this point and I have no regrets about that.

Let's fast forward to the bit after the first act has been on. The show has started late, the compere has been faced with the confused responses of an audience that aren't focused, interested, or really able to hear him. The compere and first act have had a large stream of people walking around them as they stand in a performance area of some sort, trying to project to a distant bunch of people, only some of whom care.

It was really hard, the start of the show. Things weren't set up right. You could see it coming a mile off, yet there didn't seem to be anything that could be done to avoid it. I was getting giggly. In a silly way I find the impossible gig scenario quite funny. It's hideously pointless, yet fascinating.

I dispensed some of my trademark advice. This, I think, was taken in the good spirit it was intended. You can't lose with a bad gig, I said. If you get a laugh of any sort, then it's a win, because it's against the odds. If you don't get a laugh, then it's not a problem as it was inevitable in a gig with the odds stacked against you.

How appropriate to be discussing odds in a casino.

Fair play to all concerned, in the second section the audience were moved closer to the PA system and into a compact area, with only the people who gave a damn sitting there. Thus, the second section did pretty well.

Then the final section and my turn. I'd really enjoyed the absurdity of the night, and I went out there to have fun. I/we (the audience and me) did have some fun. That's a result. Though the point of the story isn't to show how I had a good gig. It's more to document that every gig is a gamble and you just have to make the best of it.

Tuesday, March 1

How romantic

Subject: dear, good mood to u
From: "Juliya S" [with my email address]
To: [arnld2001@yahoo.com]
Date: Tue 01/03/11 8:56 AM


Aloha, my gentleman!

All my life I am waiting for the moment when we eventually meet.
I want to share each and every sunset with u http://lovedsouls.com
when the sun sinks low and the darkness spills across the land
like a magical balloon.
You will hold my hand and your touch will be warm and tender.
The horizon is sure to be one of the most beautiful things on the earth,
but its beauty will pale compared to what we feel to each other.

Embraces
Ju

I shall now reply:

Subject: U r mi horizon
From: Me with your address
To: You with my address

Aloha to you. And welcome to the luau of life.

You say that you've been waiting all your life for the chance to meet me. I'm amazed. How have you even heard of me you mental pseudo-Hawaiian nutjob?

Sharing sunsets is a hell of a commitment. It means staying up until sundown every night. Sometimes I might want an early night. Sometimes I might want to go to the cinema. I don't want you, half way through the film, dragging me outside to show me the sun going down. It would be cute at first, but it would get very irritating.

I'm not sure the darkness spills across anything. Arguably, light spills. Darkness is more the absence of light, and I'd never compare it to any sort of balloon, least of all a magical one.

You say that I would hold your hand with a warm and tender touch. Are you sure? I reckon that after you've cooed at the 7th sunset of the week in winter, I'd be feeling pretty icy. Get off my hand, you freak, I'd say with my body language, my frosty body shivering like a magical dog with a case of the squits.

In short "Ju" what you're offering sounds awful.

Please stop emailing yourself from my mailbox.

Regards

Me

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