The Experiment That Went Too Far.

I’ve recently got a bit fed up of listening to the same things. It happens often with me. I go through a cycle of being really into something which might take me somewhere else.

I eventually get bored every morning of playing the same thing over my early haze and do one of two things.

The first is that I to default settings. I go to Dylan or Weller or Ian Brown or one of various Motown artists.  Something that I’m comfortable with.

The second is that I give something a go that I’ve not listened to as much as I’d liked to have. Maybe because I got it on a big spree and the other things I bought put it to the back  of the list. Or perhaps because I bought it when I wasn’t really into that sort of thing.

Some albums can have a lot on them and take time to bed in. I know a lot of my Defected albums are like that.

The reasons aren’t important.

What happened was that I had my ipod on random as I do to try to find something different to get into. It played a Rolling Stones song from Sticky Fingers and I thought to myself, hang on a minute, this is fitting nicely today. Think I’ll carry on with this album.

So I took it off random and let it play.

It’s been going on now for about a week  from that point. About 6 or so hours every shift of album after album playing songs I know very well and not so well. It’s been really good.

Today it came to Up The Bracket. I’d had Up At The Lake on and was going to skip back to the last track again because I was quite enjoying it. Then on came Vertigo and my ears pricked up.

I remember the first time I heard the song and remember specifically listening to it. It was the first time in absolutely ages that I had heard something brand new that made me think, ‘fucking hell. This is good.’

A fe weeks before I’d got it, my sister had given me a couple of sheets of A4 paper with the names of albums on asking if I’d wanted any. I’m not really the person who has copied CD’s. I’ve always bought the albums I’ve wanted. (As it stands now, these are the only albums that I’ve ever had copied.)

It’s not because I believe that copying CD’s is wrong and it deprives the industry of money or anything like that, I just enjoy record shopping. Seeing what I might buy, picking things up, putting them back and changing my mind and so on.

So picking the CD’s I wanted from a sheet of paper seemed a bit of a let down.

At the time though cash was a bit short and I figured I wasn’t likely to have to pay for any of these being from my sister so I picked the ones I wanted.

If my memory serves me correct I think I got John Squire (Time Changes Everything), The Music (The Music), John Lennon (Mind Games) Supergrass (Life On Other Planets), Jurassic 5 (Power In Numbers) and The Libertines (Up The Bracket). Maybe there were a few more, I can’t remember.

I picked up the albums on a busy week, I saw my family for a dinner on a Saturday afternoon then headed over to Sheffield for a night out. I came home on the Monday still feeling a buzz from having had a good weekend.

At Sheffield train station I popped open my personal CD player, rumbled around in my bag for one of the CD’s and put in the first one I got my grubby mitts on.

It was this album. As Vertigo started as I said earlier I felt very excited by it. It was raw and powerful and fast. I was loving it and as soon as it had finished I put it straight back on. In fact, as soon as I got home I put it on and turned up the volume to see if it sounded as good out loud. I wasn’t disappointed.

I felt at the time that this band was set for big things. I had long given up on reading NME as I felt the magazine was written by toss bags who were constantly trying to label and create the next big thing then knock them down when they get so big. However I remember skimming through a copy someone had left on a train and getting the impression that they were becoming a style over substance band whose image was more important than the music they were creating.

Over time it’s been well documented with typical tabloid horror the demise of Pete Doherty. This makes it impossible to listen to the records without thinking of the man who was part responsible for creating them.

I never bothered with the second album. I recently got it but it’s at the back of the list at the minute. I chewed over a few of the songs I knew and still remember how they made me feel. They used to play Can’t Stand Me Now where I used to work and the harmonica part at the end used to send shivers down my spine.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t feel sorry for Doherty. He certainly made his choices and will live with them. His band mates have not had the level of success I’m sure they would have had had The Libertines been able to keep it together but record shops are full of bands who’ve suffered the same fate.

I don’t see Doherty as some new herion chic prophet, a new Sid Vicious, a new Janis Joplin or anything like that. 

I just feel sorry that for all the exposure that The Libertines had, they only have two albums and that the first one of these hints at something beautiful. 

When certain elements come together there area certain reactions, when fire and oxygen come together the fire burns brighter and faster and bigger. It seems to me that these are the elements that fuelled the music and passion that came out of The Libertines first album.

It’s just a shame no one had the fire extinguisher on standby.

Cherry Coke?

I sit very weerily on the 05:10 bus to the city. The bus stop is a mile from my house so I’m exhausted from having to rush around at this time of the day. A man two seats behind is booming down a mobile phone. I can’t make out his native tongue but he certainly has no Yorkshire accent. I wonder who he’s talking to a this time? I feel sorry for them, it’s bad enough listening to all that noise from here. I can’t imagine having to have that screamed down my ear.

Nobody else on the bus looks likely to break into random conversation. Thank God for that. After untangling the web of cable attatchedto my earphones I place them carefully into each ear making sure the left one goes in the left ear and the right one goes in the right ear. Make a mental note: do not let your headphones get tangled up again. It’s annoying. The soothing random play is kind to me today and I feel lifted by the time the third song ends.

The bus draws its line to a disembarkmentopportunity for two lads. They slink down the stairs nonchalantly and pass a flitting glance back at the rest of us. I know that look. They know it well. It’s the look that says time of the day like you. We’re not going to work at this We’re just getting back from a night out. I remember saying the same things. Summer nights on the town at one point were ending at six in the morning at a local park where we could watch the witching our pass in a haze of alcopop fury. Dancing any drink out of your system that you were just buzzing to be out and about. Wrestling and dicking about and pushing each other over walls and through gardens. These boys may not have been doing that but they’ll certainly at this point be saying to each other, ‘Look at those lot just going to work. There’s no way I’d be doing that right now.’

I don’t envy the boys. I hope that they have as good a time as I did has somewhere they can when I was their age. I hope every generation go somewehere they know half the faces in the place. Where everybody is a friend of a friend. It’s difficult not to look back with rose tinted beer goggles on those times.

It’s impossible not to notice how much has changed in the last seven or so years. How much I’ve grown up. Are other people surprised at where they end up in life or do they take steps to ensure they have what they want  by certain times? I’ve got friends with plans, seems alien to me. It takes a dedication first and foremost that I do not posses. Secondly it takes an idea of what you actually want right? That’s probably the biggest problem with trying to formulate some kind of plan. I live my life just waiting to see what gets thrown into my path and in that respect I am very much the same as my eighteen, fourteen and possibly five year old self. Will this ever change? Not likely. And this is probably what my whole outlook in life is based.

By the time I think all these few things I realise I’m not focusing on the music. Which is essential, absolutely essential. At this time of the day the right song has healing qualities, brings tranquility and peace to sore eyes, aching heads  and cold limbs.

The guy on the phone is still booming down and bus as we get off in the city. There’s three ways for me to get to work from here. The first is a taxi straight from the bus station but doing this often has a damaging inpact on the funds in your pocket. It does however get me to work at the official start time. The second involves a bus which drops me off a fifteen minute walk or nine minute half jog half walk which gets me to work the latest but costs least as I already have a bus ticket valid for this particular journey. However, after all the rushing round I’ve already done today, I’m unlikely to even entertain this option. Nope. Not at all. My favoured option involves getting the bus to the leisure centre en route to work then swapping to taxi for the final part. So the journey costs half as much as a taxi from town and I’m just about late enough to fit all my morning jobs in before I open on time at 06:10.

All this and it’s not even getting light outside.

Work begins at my own pace. After putting my ipod in the speaker dock and putting it on shuffle I sit down. Rushing is unneccessary and I even have time for a bowl of Cheerios before I start. I eat them quickly so the multigrain hoops remain crunchy and hard. I hate it when cereal gets soggy. Grim. The safe is checked, all the paperwork is filled out and initialled and then I go on the internet to check up on the websites that I check every day.

Firstly email of which I have eleven new mails consisting of seven junk mails - I delete these without reading. One of the remaining for is a ticket update for the academy music venue in town. I check this out but there’s nothing on there interesting to me. The second email is a stock update telling me that the watch I’ve been trying to buy for months is finally available to purchase. Wrong time for that to happen though. Will have to wait till the end of the month by which time al the stock levels will probably have depleted again. The third email is from Colin. It’s a reply from my message asking him when he was available so I can go over and borrow his digital recorder and teach me how to use it properly this time. Last time was just a waste of time with nothing like it sounds in my head. The final email is Play.com’s deal of the day which I follow the link to find out that Girls Aloud new album is £4.99 which is still at least £10 too much.

Nothing to get excited about in all those emails so I turn my attention to the football pages, football365.com, BBC.com/football, skysports.com and finally manutd.com. There’s very little I haven’t seen from yesterday so I leave the internet. It’s time to open anyway.

Eight minutes of peace go before I get a steady intake of people travelling. Mostly people going into the city. Some look tired, most travel on this same journey every weekday so look more than familiar and some even friendly which breaks up the monotony of miserable misers who think the world owes them something for putting in the early shift.

After the first train departs I take some fresh orange juice from the fridge and poor myself a large glass and saunter back to my desk. Idly lounging back in my chair. My ipod has selected Bob Dylan’s Pledging My Time which is nicely plodding along.

Taking a large mouthful of juice I listen to the words. A customer comes and goes and I listen again. The song draws to a close and I wait to see what shall be selected for my listening pleasure next and to my surprise it is Visions of Johanna.

I’m not sure how things like this happen. I understand with random playing that there is just as much chance of an album being played in full then as a different band coming on every time but it just strikes me as odd that this should happen. It’s happened before when I’ve been thinking of a song and that same song is the very next thing to be selected by random. This sort of thing has occurred far too many times but I can only explain it as a coincidence right? It’s not like when we used to go to the Gallery though. That’s when you’d know what the DJ was going to play next because for three years we spent every Monday and Wednesday there. Not to mention a fair few Thursdays and Sundays and a couple of Tuesdays too.

In a situation like that it can be expected to expect the  knowledge of what should expected, a DJ listens to the same thing you do and has aome next, what the crowd want but with an ipod it shouldn’t be able to read your mind.

After the first two trains I have a forty minute space between the next one so I get my breakfast. Cheerios and semi skimmed milk. I straighten out the plastic bag inside the cereal box and pour them into my bowl. It becomes evident that I am almost out of cereal so I may as well use what’s left. This results in a giant bowl of breakfast goodness for me. I also have a can of Cheery Coke. I wonder if I could include this as part of my five a day. Well, I actually don’t wonder but I make a point to remember it because it makes me chuckle. I’ll use that as a joke with my girlfriend at a later date.

The calm period lasts for about twenty five minutes before the real rush starts. Sporadic commuters get in the way of my trying to read Mojo. So in the end it’s best to put it away. I leave it on the desk though just in case someone has as interest in that sort of thing. It’d be nice for someone to chat about interesting music instead of whether or not the 07:46 is running today. 

I serve more customers as quick as I can but I’m powerless to stop a queue developing. I do know however, that I’ll be able to get through them all before the train arrives. I know this because I am good at my job. Efficient and quick but not overly friendly. Not with most people anyway and not at this time. I smile, I say hello, I thank them for their custom, I answer any questions they may have  and I bid them farewell but I ask them nothing of themselves. This isn’t my job. I don’t get paid to converse with the customers. I get paid to get them tickets. 

At 07:34 the train arrives two minutes late but the travellers aren’t worried becasue often this time is made up on the journey and it is unlikely they will be late. Aboard this train was a man called George who’s job title is Revenue Protection Assistant. To you and I he’s a conductor but to you and I a bin man is not called a bin man but a refuse collector. George comes into my office. He’s here because the company I work for held meet the manager sessions where customers could talk to them and tell them what they thought of the service. They told the manager that at busy times they may struggle to get tickets. Now George is here. He sells tickets in the office so that more people can be served. He also tells rubbish jokes, spits on my window as he talks and laughs a lot at things I cannot understand. Still, he’s a nice guy.

After this time goes quickly. Trains come at 07:46, 08:00, 08:12, 08:21, 08:35, 08:51 then 09:21. These are the peak trains. The price is premium like the space on them. At half nine everything changes. I m inundated with seniors. The copper coins I have accrued and distributed will now approach its peak.

In my job the prices are all set to end in fives and zeros, £2.45, £1.50, £8.90 and so on. So when I get copper I try my hardest to give it all back out. At first I felt a bit guilty giving someone five pence worth of copper but then it starts to add up an d take over your cash drawer. So I quickly overcame my guilt.

The problem with the old people is that they come 95% of the time with the right money. That money can contain between five and twenty pence worth of copper. It’s not just one or two that bring you this, it’s most of them. And of course, even if they don’t give you copper, they have the right change so you can’t dish back what they’ve given you. I start to hope that their 35p single is paid for with two twenty pence pieces. Take it all back.

This will be my only concern now for the rest of my shift. Getting rid of copper. After the 09:40, the trains come at five past ans thirty five past the hour. After the 10:05 it’s time for second breakfast. I make myself beef sandwiches with brown sauce, I have a lion bar and a bag of Seabrooks cheese and onion crisps. I text my girlfriend telling her mostly things that she gets every day and tell her I love her.

I now have time to check my emails again. It’s still all junk mail though. I send my school friends an email to fill the time. Trying to arrange a date for us all to meet up in the not too distant future. All of us now live in different cities which is something I would never have imagined happening. It’s changed how I feel about the place I grew up. I always thought I’d have a base there. I suppose that changed when my parents moved away. I still have friends there but it’s not the same place. It’s the kind of place that you need to get out of when you’re young or it’s unlikely you’ll ever leave.

In my email I tell the guys I think it’s my turn to take them out in my city. Last time was Manchester at OB’s and it ended with only two of us making it over due to people crying out and illness and injury. Hopefully this time we can make it more successful. I want to arrange it around Pete who’s in the Navy. Time is difficult for him so I see his attendance being the key.

The furthest we used to travel for a night out has changed. It would’ve been Manchester the furthest away that one of us lived. The rest being housed between there and Selby. Now we have spread the length and breadth of the British Isles. Jan moved to York, Mower to Porta Ferry in Northern Ireland, Cotton to London, Harper to Streethouse, OB to Manchester and Pete wherever the Navy take him. Only Kev remains in Selby.  I’m proud at us for moving out but gutted we see each other so little.

Having met three of those kids on my first day of school as a four year old I appreciate a bond that can never be broken. I feel that we’ve added to our group over the years with few but those few are like us. Being in that gang is an experience that I cherish. It means that if I never make another friend in my life again I’ll be happy with what I’ve got.

I’m snapped out of my wistfulness as an old lady approaches the door and opens it. The wind catches the door as it opens and flings it backwards. It’s something I’ve seen happen hundreds of times though each customer that lets it happen thinks it’s the first time that it’s happened. When I’m in better moods I tell them things along the lines of they’re not the first nor last. Today I just smile that smile. That unfortunate grimace coupled with the raise of eyebrows. Something whcih Martin Freeman made a living out of.

The lady is old and unsteady on her feet. She probably forces herself too much, does things that she has no need for. Probably gets up at five in the morning and cleans an impeccable house. Today she comes to the train station to ask questions which start off reasonable then get beyond reasonable and into pointless territory. 

I’m sure that we’re both doing our hardest  to get the other to lose their temper but doing so being a charade of friendliness and smiles. In the end the lady takes her retreat as I tell her everything she needs to know and a few things she doesn’t.

After the busy period of the day I have only a few hours to pass until I’m relieved of my duties for the day. I count the trains instead of the minutes. The 10:35 means I close in four trains and I’m on the fifth. Back to the city to catch my connecting bus to take me home.

Perhaps today I’ll shop a little, perhaps I won’t. It may depend on what the weather’s like. I’ve got more episodes of the American version of The Office to watch before I can start on the next series. Then I’ll have the deleted scenes to watch too.

All in all I can’t complain about having to get up so early too much because I really enjoy the time I have when I get home where I have to do very little. I enjoy doing very little when I have all the devices I require to amuse myself in my own house.

Holiday 2009…Continued.

So what since the last? Are we any closer to knowing the plan? Well yes is the short answer. The preparations have commenced. We have booked flights to Amsterdam from Leeds Bradford airport and we have booked the hotel at which we will stay for one night before heading to Stuttgart. Berlin is definitely out for this year, but a visit is on the cards for another year when we’re not in so much of a rush. Berlin will get it’s own private union.

I look forward to visiting Amsterdam, greatly surprised that I haven’t been there yet already I think this will be the perfect to begin our journey.

Everyone who I know who’s been to Amsterdam have a story to tell. Something which happened the them and only them. No two stories are the same, no two expreiences the same. The streets, the architecture and the people. The buzz and the excitement. I just know it will live up to expectations.

The plane tickets cost £0.99 each to start with. Pushing the next button when booking online with Jet 2 is a bit like multiplying  two numbers together on a calculator and continuing to push the equals button – every page there is more money being added to the total cost. First the taxes cost an extra £19 each, it then costs £5.99 for each bag we want to put on, then you have to remember to take the travel insurance off which they delightfully added on for you. Otherwise you’d be looking at another £5.50 each. Totalling £62.96. I also have the option to pay to pre book my seats for an extra £2. So I leave that and just stick to my £62.96. That’s not too bad I think,  but then when I come to pay I see that there’s a charge for paying by credit or debit card and that there are no other alternatives to pay. I’m sure that there’s a simpler way to show the common folk an all inclusive price to begin with. I’d rather be told the price was £32 then mess around and not know when the price is going to stop.

The hotel was a bit easier to sort. I left it to my girlfriend. She has a higher standard to what I like, or at least if she hates it then she’s booked it. There seemed no shortage of cheap options in Amsterdam, but after seeing the state of them it seemed a safer option to go for somewhere a bit nicer. There re various websites dedicated to giving out information on peoples stays. Taking time to read some of these reviews, it was decided that Frisco Inn on Beurstraat looked the best option. On all the hotels, we’re trying to get as close as we can to the station so we’re not heading too far backwards and forwards.

Last night we booked the hotel in Stuttgart too. There seemed to be quite a lot of decent choices but we plumped for Hotel Mack. Situated apparently over the road from the station we are just where we need to be. It’s cost just under £100 for two nights for the both of us which when you factor breakfast into the price is a good deal.

If there’s one thing that’s niggling me about the hotels. it’s that they’re generally Travelodge type hotels – all similar rooms, similar furniture and not traditional to that place but in essence that’s what most hotels are like these days. Take this country, staying in one hotel over here is no different from another. A Novotel may cost you more than a Premier Travel Inn but there’s very little to justify the price other that the quality in breakfast. Perhaps some of the other hotels may provide that local feel we’re looking for.

From Germany we visit Switzerlands capital. After Bern onwards and downwards through the alps and East across to Venice. Then Rome, Milan and finally Limone. The Ventiliglia - Limone stretch is supposed to be a very beautiful scenic route delivering us to Lake Gada. (I think).

After all that travel, we leave lakes, moutains and trees for the sea. At Marseilles. France being the last country we stay in. Lyon will be the next stop en route to Paris and then back to Wakefield via London.

With Christmas just gone it’s been difficult putting away the sort of money I’d like to but the new year is seeing a big hike in the savings department. Something that uncontrollably ate into funds earmarked for vacation was having to get the car to pass its MOT. I hadn’t planned on £650 worth of work to be done. Some of the things I knew it needed anyway – new tyres and brakes but other things were wrong with it that couldn’t be avoided – leaking exhaust, cylinders, broken windscreen washers, suspension problems. It’s of little solace to be told the work won’t need doing again now for two or three years, I didn’t want to have to have had it done at all. Welcome to the world of motoring right?

I’ve never made a new years resolution before. I never felt the need or passion to not do anything I wanted to do but this year I’m promising myself I’ll put away enough money to be able to do all the things I want. I’m telling myself that I’ll be more responsible with what I’m earning and saving. Let’s just see how it goes. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any sense in being frugal. I think it of the highest important on holiday to be able to do the things you want to do when you’re there because you may not get the chance again.

Outside Into The Moonlight

Outside into the moonlight

I see the stars are falling.

They float down making no sound

I hear you calling.

We’ll stroll down slippery paths

We leaves are making me slip.

I’ll grip you hard by the hand

In case I nearly trip.

 

I’m falling for you lips

You mesmerizing hips.

 

I’ll take you into my bedroom

and hide you from the storm.

We’ll then take all of our clothes off

and try to keep warm.

You carelessly whisper you need me

It trembles in my ear.

I pull you close with my arm

and realise my fear:

 

I need you near me.

I need you to be here with me

‘Cos you are dear to me

And now it’s clear

Like a crystal tear

I need you near me.

Store in a cool French palace.

I watched the brutal battle last longer than twelve rounds but the butterfly could not beat the wind. The wind just gathering enough strength every time the butterfly came in to land. I felt for that butterfly, I really did but we’ve all got our problems haven’t we? I bought some items from Tesco on the way home from the fight – an apple, some Heinz pea and ham soup, some crusty bread with sunflower seeds and some AA batteries to be used in the remote control. Then sitting. Sitting and waiting. Waiting and sitting and standing then sitting. I wait.  The man who sells me a bus tickets and operates the controls asked for the right amount of money so I paid him the correct fair and sat down again. The soup had instructions. I read them. It said that I should store them in a cool dry place. France maybe? Maybe. I’d rather be in Paris then Middlesborough today, tomorrow and yesterday. Once home once eaten and once cleaned a sit again. Sat. Just aimed my eyes in the direction of the Sony. Watched it’s moves like a coiled cobra. It was telling my person things my mind hadn’t wanted to hear. I switched.  I hopped from channel to  channel searching for something interesting. A man with a beard beyond his years plays banjo and harmonizes with his guitarist and drummer. It’s heaven. The sound of angels from high. Melancholy and beautiful like a carousel in the rain. Crisps are compacted into the crevices in the undulating structure of a tooth. Toothpaste helps. Brushing is essential. I remember being told you could buy a suit for £100. Sounds like bargain. In came the suit, out went the style. Phillip Green was right. Laughing all the way to the bank.

I switch on some music. The beard got me in the mood. When I listen to Is This It? I am transported to the forest surrounding the Withywindle river. I see Old Man Willow but he won’t catch me today.

Holiday 2009, a European Jaunt.

Rome is the only certainty. Well, that and the date – 27th May 2009. Wednesday the twenty seventhof May I shall be in Rome with my girlfriend and if we’re lucky we’ll have tickets to either go to the UEFA Champions League Final or to sell for the UEFA Champions League Final. The aim is to be there for a few days in and around the final, to soak up the atmosphere and have a longer stay in one of the cities on our European travels.

Tickets should go on sale in February or March time so I’m just gonna snap those babies up as soon as I can, if United are going to be there than I have the added bonus of seeing them in a final which would be amazing, the red army, the chants. the feeling of something special happening. Alternatively, (and more likely) United won’t be there but I’ll have the chance to see some of the European greats battle it out for European supremacy. If not United then I’m not sure who I’d like to see in a final; hopefully not an English team, perhaps Real, Barca or Inter. I’m sure that an Italian team would really spice it up.

If tickets aren’t available then I’m sure we’ll just hang out and see the hustle and bustle, get down somewhere in a bar and watch the drama unfold. If I manage to get tickets and it’s not really something I fancy, (Liverpool in any game they may win would turn my stomach) then the tickets could be a good source of income. I’d quite happily sell my tickets to a scouser for a couple of hundred quid, no problems.

There are a few months wait yet though so I need not worry about the tickets just yet. No, there are more pressing issues to be sorted and the first of these concerns my dear girlfriend. My girlfriend and her prior work commitments, namely trying to get work to commit to allowing her a three week leave of absence. I mean, she’s got to take her holidays at some point right? What does it matter if she had three weeks instead of two? She’s going to be off for the same amount of time regardless so why not get rid of a chunk of it in one fell swoop, bang, three weeks gone, less to take later in the year.

Once this formality is out of the way I can finally start booking the flights and hotels which will house us over the many places we hope to pass through. 

Now three weeks is quite a long time, plenty of time to see many places so, at this early stage the plan is to choose where we want to go most. The original idea was to fly to Madrid then across to Italy through France to Rome then North through Switzerland or Austria into Germany. However, there are no flights to Madrid so it seems folly to start planning that. Nope, we’re going to fly to Amsterdam to begin, a nice short flight and go somewhere I’ve always wanted to go.  Flights are cheap at the minute for the dates and there are good links through to Germany so it seems like it could be the ideal place to start.

We’re currently allowing one full day in Amsterdam which will probably involve getting anything we didn’t pack – it looks like the allocation for luggage is 15 – 20 KG which could be a little light for the amount of time we’ll be away. I’m hoping to go travel very light, using just my favourite red Adidas zip bag. It’s reasonably large and with the addition of my leather satchel I’m hoping this will be enough.

To aid myself in travelling light I’ve had an idea that I might only take one or two T-shirts with me and then buy one in every city we stay at, so then I’ll be able to see on any pictures where I’ll be because my T-shirt will tell me. I can’t be sure if this will be a financially sensible option (in all fairness I know it won’t) but it’s a good way of keeping my clothes clean and starting off light.

So where after Amsterdam? Well, that’s not set in stone yet. The secondary stage in planning after deciding that we couldn’t use Madrid went thus;

Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, Venice, Rome, Milan, Ventimiglia, Limone, Marseilles then Paris. From Paris we’ll be catching the Eurostar to London then a train from London to Wakefield.

I showed my girlfriend these plans and she hinted that she’s always wanted to go to Lyon so I’ve factored that into the journey by slimming down on the generous time we were to spend in Paris. We’ve been before anyway so although it will be nice to go to again (since it’s probably my favourite city) we should definitely use this time to go to places we have not yet been.

As well as Lyon, it’s also become apparent that we must go to Switzerland. Not content with passing through the Alps my girlfriend thinks it would be a huge waste not to spend some time there and I can’t help but agree. Where in Switzerland we think? Well, it can’t be too hard to get too and since we’ll probably only really get one day there then somewhere we can see without needing to get too far out. I had a penchant for Zurich but after seeing a few pictures of Bern we both think the city looks too stunning to pass through. It’s also got good links to where we want o go after.

The one problem of going to Switzerland though, is that it alters our route through Germany. We can get direct from Amsterdam to Frankfurt in about four hours and then Frankfurt to Bern easily too but that means cutting our Munich and Berlin, with Berlin somewhere I would deeply like to visit. Perhaps just going to Frankfurt this time would suffice? We shall see.

At this time these are just minor worries as we are of yet unable to submit concrete plans until my girlfriend has got the time off.

As for the cost of this travel I’m currently trying to save a couple of hundred pounds every month. So far I have been unsuccessful in my attempts, things crop up everywhere – car tax next month, the M.O.T.  the month after, Christmas and a new jacket I had to get myself all pretty much nibbling their way through any spare cash laying around at the bottom of my overdraft.

The greatest expense is certainly going to come from the hotels. The rooves over our heads. I’ve been checking various sites over the past weeks and the total costs are coming up at around the £1200 mark which I aim to pay for in installments to a credit card I recently acquired- I’m just hoping I can trust myself to be good with this one after it all ended in acrimony last time, I’ve got seven years on the kid who got that last one, hopefully those years have taught me something.

The travel side is a lot simpler – being in the employ of the railway in England I have filled out the necessary forms to make myself and girlfriend the proud recipients of FIP cards. Namely, European freeloaders card meaning that we can travel just about all the way round and only have to pay the cost of a reservation which I was recently informed by the good staff at Rail Canterbury is about four Euro’s. Bargain. Absolute steal. At the most I’ve worked out that it’s going to cost about eighty Euro’s for the two of us which is quite cheap by any stretch of the imagination.

More to follow as I get more organized.

The Eyes Have It.

How come Danny can get a bird all excited for nothing when he’s got a bird and he’s not interested? It smacks of unfairness to me.

I’m here. I’m single. I’m not bad looking. OK, I’m no John Travolta in Grease but I’m no Steve Buscemi in… well, anything Steve Buscemi’s been in.

We sit in a bar, a table to ourselves with our own little space in the corner away from the people at this party we don’t like. Then what happens? Over they trot, first one, then her mates and before you know it we’re surrounded by a group of girls who I’d love to have a pop at.

I can tell by the look of them that there’s one he’ll definitely want to have, then another who he’d probably accept then another who he probably doesn’t really like at all and she’s the one who won’t leave him alone.

Mind you, the others seem to be straining to join in his conversation rather than with me.

It’s a bit depressing really. He won’t tell them he’s got a girlfriend because naturally they won’t ask. Then if they both go home together and have a night of passionate, wild sex, they can both have a clean conscience they haven’t led each other up the garden path without getting what they wanted.

I’ve seen him do this all the time.

Turns out the girl I’m talking to is called Marie. I’d quite like her if it wasn’t for her wonky teeth. Mouth closed, she’s lovely but the margins between winning and losing are that small – wonky teeth, back of the queue. I’ll be leering over her in about an hour when nothing better has presented itself.

He was handing me out advice the other week. Some pearls of wisdom that us less fortunate listen to and hope to use ourselves so we can then inform him how it went on and then he gets the joy of basking in our glory because really it’s his glory.

So anyway. I was telling him about this girl on the bus who I saw and quite liked. He told me what he does.

‘The best thing to do right, just look at her, coyly at first. Just a glance mate. Then she’ll have a cheeky look back. Then exchange as many glances as you can, not directly staring at her, just enough to let her know you think she’s pretty.’

Sounds easy. I give it a go.

So I’m on the bus. This girl’s got on and looks me over as she approaches and takes her seat. Perfect. the eagle has landed on the number 42 I think.

So I check her out.

Nice clobber. Nice legs. Nice little eyes and a lovely little birthmark on the back of her neck.

She catches me looking, has a quick flutter of the eyes and then looks away. 

We keep this little exchange going for quite a while and I’m sure that if I ever see this hotty again we’re sure to start some passionate romance. I can feel the electricity between us. See the sparks, hear the music and before I know it I hear the bell and see her stand up.

This is it, I think. I get my nonchalent face ready and be prepared to give her a smile - a confirmation that I was looking at her and I’d like to see her again smile.

Then she’s off the bus.

All I can do now is hope she’s going the opposite was so I get to pass her without craning my neck backwards to appear desperate.

I’m in. Here she comes, even better she is staring directly at me, I can’t believe this works so well. The her hand comes up and is showing me quite clearly a middle finger, outstretched and pointing to the sky.

Shit. She must’ve thought I was some kind of freak. That didn’t go well. I’m absolutely gutted.

When I tell him about this I can see that he’s genuinly excited for me, thinks I’m gonna tell him I pulled and that he’s a legend for working out how to do it. Then at the end of my tale I can see the tears in his eyes. He can’t stop laughing.

I suppose it is pretty funny.

‘Keep working on it mate.’ He says, like it’s that simple.

Then I find out his latest conquest involved walking into the Archers on Friday night to meet some other friends and leaving within 5 minutes ‘cos this tasty sort whi he sees at the bus stop every day wanted to take him home and give him the best head he’s ever had. Some people have all the luck.

As it turns out, all these women on the table have well got eyes for him. Ric says we’re going to stab him on the way home. I think I agree.

Going Out Slowly

Best thing about going out is the bit before and the bit after the night out I find. It’s Friday night and until 30 seconds ago I had no plans for this wonderful Autumn evening. Maybe go to Harpo’s and treat myself to a margerita pizza with extra pepperoni and a nice cold bottle of Peroni. That’s what I thought anyway. Work my way through the quarter of weed I had delivered last night.

I’d already started on that one quickly after returning from work. It hadn’t been a particularly stressful day to make me start early, just that I was off the next day and wanted to get faux deep with myself and do a bit of bedroom dancing with the music turned up.

Then a text message.

It’s Laura. Wants to know if I fancy meeting her and a few of her mates at about 9 o’clock. A quick check of the time reveals that leaves me with 2 hours to prepare myself. In that time I can watch Mr Snow and Mr Guru-Murphy tell me what’s been going down. After a few minutes of this I carefully look through my cd’s to see who’s going to be getting be started this evening.

I’ve been tanning Blood On The Tracks recently but that’s not really party music is it? What else is there? Oasis? No, they have pretty much past being a before I go out sort of band now. More of a go to work/go to bed/after a night out put on the best bits sort of band. Keep looking.

Bit of house? Joey Negro could start me off nicely. Yep. That’s the one. And there we have it. I go into the bathroom and start the shower, closing the door so that it gets nice and steamy and warm in there.

Back in the living room it’s moved onto the second track. I sit down, the TV’s on mute and I can’t really understand what’s going on in the news – they’ve moved onto an interview with someone and I think I’ve missed the main story.

Time to turn the TV off I think. I turn the stereo up to 32, take a towel from the radiator and enter the bathroom. As I walk through the door a nice warm waft of steam hits my pours and feels like it’s immediately cleansing.

The shower is a revelation of heat. It’s feels soothing against my skin altough something’s not right. I can hardly hear the music any more. I realise I’ve closed the bathroom door behind me which is rule number one for stoned shower tactics – ensure you have a constant clean supply of fresh music to accompany your cleaning rituals. I half lean out of the shower and grip the handle opening the door only the littlest. Then, utilising the hanging hook from my shower gel, I lean again and prize the door open an inch at a time until satisfactory volume levels are achieved.

Then I shower in peace.

Usually when getting ready for work, my shower lasts around 15 minutes. When not in a particular hurry this time can stretch to roughly half an hour. This shower lasts for 27 minutes. After I’ve finished I go back to the stereo and remove Joey Negro In The House and opt for something a little slower, I’ve got plenty of time so no need to ruch myself. The first Doves album does this job nicely.

I think I’m really just interested in the first couple of tracks but we’ll see. Actually, that’s prefect. The first couple of tracks then into Heavy Soul Listen to Heavy Soul Part 1, skip it to Should Have Been There To Inspire You and let it run into Heavy Soul Part 2. Then that’ll be enough Weller for now. No. After that I’ll have a bit of Style Council. How She Threw It All Away and then maybe a change of scenery.

By this point I’m well into the zone. I look through my cd’s again and start making a play list of all the things I might want to listen to that I haven’t heard in ages – Kula Shaker Shower Your Love, Blur MOR, Candi Staton Evidence. All these albums I place on top of the coffee table waiting for selection. Then it’s on to ironing.

Newest jeans will be the ones for tonight. Bit smarter and they’ll look better with my ask the missus brown jobs. Yep, that’s the bottom half sorted. Not sure about the top half yet so I’ll just iron the jeans and see what jumps out at me.

I get well into doing the ironing and think about getting another joint on the go. This could tip the scales from me being pretty stoned into very stoned but think I’ll be right by the time I go out so after removing the creases from my jeans I stick them on while still warm and take out the devices and equipment I need to maintain my high.

It’s getting towards the end of Break Me Gently when I think it’s time to commence my run of Weller tracks. As the first guitar parts break in I notice that my mobile is lit up. Then it dawns on me I didn’t actually tell Laura I’d meet her. As it turns out it’s another offer for me to go into town tonight. From Johnny. Tough one this but since Johnny generally likes to go to bars that are full of tossers and by the end of the night will be leering over girls as subtle as a bomb I think I’ll stick with Laura and her friends.

Wonder who her friends are?

So I text back Johnny and then text Laura. She’ll be in the Oak till half eight it turns out. Then to the Three Horseshoes after. I hate that place but hopefully they’ll move on swiftly when they see it’s full of dip shits who like to think that getting hammered as quickly as possible is a new phenomenon invented by them and their friends.

Anyway. With haste I receive a reply from both Johnny. He informs me that we’llbe watching the football on Sunday usual time usual place which I had already gathered and didn’t need telling. And also that he’s going to definitely knob some fit bird tonight – he puts his line to quote one of our favourite films Kes as follows, ‘some birds gonna be lucky toneeeeeeeeet.’ So which I replied ‘He slipped on some greeyece.’

Then back on with the tunes. I’ve missed most of Heavy Soul Part 1 but Should Have Been There To Inspire You is just getting the best bit.

I go through that run of tracks and my weed fix begins to get the best of me and the music starts to get better and better and before I realise, Oasis have become a before you go out band again, I’ve had on some very old Frankie Knuckles, some Dylan, Verve, Angie Stone, Faces, Small Faces, Who, Lauryn Hill, Grandmaster Flash, more Dylan, Blur, Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, Bluetones, Charlatans and a tiny bit of The Clash. Even Menswear and Hurricane #1 are getting a look in.

Time has lost me and I still haven’t decided what my torso will be covered by.

I check the time – it’s 9:35. How did that happen? I look at my phone. 2 new messages. Yes. They’ve moved on from the bloody Horseshoes. Then another one asking if I’m still coming back. Just on my way I reply.

Opening my wardrobe I go for the navy blue polo with very fine white lines across and my khaki adidas bomber.

Then it’s all about the last track.

I cannot understate the importance of the last track. Even though I’ll be listening to my ipod for the short journey to the pub I need a statement out loud to set me up for the night ahead. But what to have? It’s got to be something you can dance to but not something you’re probably going to hear that night.  

Also something that you’ve not heard anything from in the run up to going oout. Kasabian? No? Otis Redding? No but I’m onto something there. I’ve not had any Stevie on tonight. Innervision is a good one. Now do I want a slow one that builds or something mint straight away? I plump for Jesus Children Of America but as it gets towards the end I know that Don’t You Worry ‘Bout A Thing is coming on straight after. Then after that I go onto some earlier stuff – I Was Made To Love Her, Uptight and then before I know it I’ve gone through half of Motown and it’s past ten. It’s A Shame has just finished and I was about to bang on Still Water when I realise I’ve really got to go.

Now it really is one last song.

Supremes. That’s it. It feels like the whole night’s been leading up to this point. Set Me Free it’s going to be. I savour every minute and turn it up. I’ve never wanted to be Diana Ross so much than this moment in time. It’s the most perfect song I’ve ever heard and all of a sudden I’m tempted to continue. But I can’t. When it’s finished I jump as fast as I can to the power switch because I don’t want to polute what I’ve heard with anything else.

I turn on my ipod as I leave the house and push pause so I don’t hear anything I haven’t selected and won’t disturb my mood. Norman Jay Giant 45 Disc 2, I know I’ll come back to the Temptations after I’ve heard it but for now all I can think about is some Aretha and Say A Little Prayer. One perfect song after another. I hit play, close the door and lock it.

It’s taken a long time but I’m on my way.

 

Brilliantly Incorrect

I love pub quizzes…Sometimes anyway.

Most of the time they end up startin an hour after they were supposed to and go on longer than you want them to but they can win you a bit of beer or a bit of cash.

I was in the Graziers the other Sunday watching United beat Arsenal and after the final whistle the quiz started.

Since it was only me and my good lady we declined to take part as generally you need more than two people to stand any chance of winning the prize.

As it turned ou there were only 4 teams in it, one of them were called something along the lines of ‘Barry Jackson is the best shag,’ or something like that which brought a smile to the face.

So the quiz commenced. The team nearest us were doing a good job of ignoring the guy who was saying the right answers, I knew he was right but the others weren’t sure so they ignored him. He was really pissed off at the end.

The best part of a quiz is all the stupid answers that get shouted out by people at every question.

My favourite possibly ever was this one:

Q: What role did Anders Eklund have in the career of Frank Bruno?

A: His glove.

I couldn’t stop laughing. He got an extra point for comedy value. I really was creased. Laughing all the way home.

Disapproving

Nnnnnnnnnnggggggg.

How can a sound knock 30 years from your life. Gone. They just drop like skittles at that noise. Whether I knock something over, spill something, bang something or break something there is a certainty that will follow it.

Nnnnnnnnnnngggggg.

A noise that takes me back into a kitchen having poured milk over my corn flakes a little too vigourously and had it go in one side of the bowl and out the other, a bit like the advice I was given and it’s relationship to how that would enter my ears.

Nnnnnnnnnnngggggg.

‘Be careful.’ Or ‘Don’t do…’ Or ‘Why did….’ would often follow.

My mothers lips would scold me for not having the motor skills of an electrician when I was five. Now I’ve got no excuse.

My wife seems to revel in the actions which highlight how clumsy I can be.

I don’t laugh at her when she stubbs her toe on the skirt of the bed. That sort if thing makes me angry at myself. That’s a pain that isn’t an ache or a stab, no. That pain is like no other in the world in that it only makes me feel a sense of rage. Like I’m furious with an inanimate object for having the temerity to just be there.

Nnnnnnnggggggg.

All I’ve done is knock the remote on the floor. So what? So the batteries have come out. Big woop. They go back in don’t they.

I didn’t make her feel like a twat when she dropped a glass on the floor.

She doesn’t appreciate the other skills that I have gained through knocking things over all my life - the lightning quick reactions as I’m always half expecting it anyway and on the occasions when things to head towards terra firma I now have a knack for cushioning the descent with my foot the same way that a footballer would pluck it out of thin air. They do it with footballs, I do it with plates.

The thing with that is that she doesn’t see how delicately I brought the plate/cup/child down to Earth by using my bonce, she just sees the oaf who dropped the plate/cup/child in the first place.

I was in the mess room at work when I used to work at the printers as a nipper and we were kicking a footy up and down as we often would. One time, the ball headed skyward and knocked a strip light out of it’s housing and it came plummeting 10 foot towards the ground. People covered their eyes in fear of having glass flt into their eyes. Me, I just stuck my arm out and carefully caught it saving ourselves from a bollocking for doing what we’d been told not to do in the mess room.

My wife wouldn’t have admired the graceful way in which I removed the light out of orbit. She’d have thought ‘stupid bloody men,’ and that it was bound to happen anyway.

Men and women really are on another wavelength.

And how do you stop this from happening? What can save you from allowing yourself to be degrading? All I know is that it’s not by letting yourself get wound up by it. By not getting embarrassed by the fact that it’s always you who puts too many glasses in the sink when you wash up so when you drop one back in it always smashes two glasses.

These things happen.

Specially like last week. The sort of thing you can’t make up.

Heinz Tomato Ketchup. Shook the bottle up and loosened the lid, took food into the living room, sat down on the sofa and went to put ketchup my sausage and scrambled eggs, not the beans they were joined on the plate with. Then I thoguht I hadn’t shaken the bottle. So I shook it. Again. The lid came of on the upwards movement and caked the walls, the radiator, the TV, the rug, the door and more importantly the wife in a viscous red coating.

On the upshot, I went away blemish free.

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg.