Happy birthday to Lu

As I was walking to the shops to buy some eggs, I texted Lucinda, wishing her a happy birthday . "Oh DTRMCR thank you v much what a memory!" she replied. Several of my friends - Zoe, Jordanna, John M - and acquaintances - Nic, Jon Lyall, Lucinda - share a birthday on this date. And after last year - when Paul, Dunk and I saw Mark Morriss at the museum, then met Lu and Liz and all at Trof - how could I forget? Sometimes I think that having a blog means I'll never forget a significant moment again.

Nostalgia swept over me, and I found myself drifting into the mind of myself a year ago. It's been a period of great change for me.

This time last year I lived with Paul on the West Didsbury side of Withington. Since then I've lived in two different houses in Chorlton, and with five and a half different people. Five and half, because I have three official housemates in Stretford, but I think Dunk should figure in the count too. Ryan replaced Paul in some ways, and not in others. Domestic affairs have had a massive impact on my daily happiness, a fact most demonstrated by how happy I feel now at 106. Living with Kate is brilliant. Big changes. Good changes.

This time last year I was dating Liz, though in hindsight it was quite clearly coming to an end by the now of 2008. Since then we've broken up. Actually we've broken up twice, or three times, depending on how you count things. There was that awful situation in November and December, and the tears we wept afterwards. Beautiful, brave Lizzie. In between, a brief fun month of Stephanie. Over the summer, an ill-advised dalliance with Miss F from work, and the odd handful of flesh and nothingness now and then. Another important factor happiness-wise. Liz was the biggest deal for me romantically since Rigby, and in some ways more so. For example, sometimes it felt like I was dating a woman, rather than a girl. I don't know if I've learned anything about romance in the last year. Muddle on, blind man, beware the ditches out there...

This time last year I had two prominently chipped teeth in the front of my face. Lucinda, the birthday girl, fixed them for me. Looking back at 2009, I think having my teeth repaired will be the main thing that other people remember about my year. Everytime I clean my teeth in the morning I think of, and feel thankful for, Lucinda's amazing generosity and kindness. I feel like my smile works better now, and I'm much more confident about using it. Lessons? Erm...? Use interdental brushes?

This time last year I was starting to hate my job. Despise my job in fact. Lack of purpose was the main cause, and mostly down to the hand that was on the tiller. Since then, things have got worse, and then much worse, and then steadily better. Studying for my Market Research qualification, and the management course I started last month, has kept my mind busy. And my colleagues see what I see too. I feel much more in control of things at this stage than I did this time last year.

Running. That's new too. Cycling. Yup. Owning Batman comic books too. Good new.

My blog was two years old about a week ago. I'd wanted to do a Year Two summary to commemorate it, but I didn't remember the exact date, and ended up missing it. I wonder what Lucinda would think about my memory if she knew.

You'll never get to heaven in a camper van...

T Shirt: Batman, light blue
Weather: Hot, with light rain later on.

What a relaxing day. Partly out of solidarity for Dunk’s driving, and partly as a result of feeling queasy during the day on Saturday, I decided to stay off the booze all day. My knee hurt a little too, so I planned to spend as much of the day sitting down as possible.

We ran into Miriam and the Padmore party, Evan, Clem and Al at the bank by the main stage. In a tumble of hugs and joy, we sledged down the hillside on our backsides.

The group dynamics of the festival as a whole were strange – the parties that we lounged around with were made up of various friendships, some strong and deep, others mild and frivolous, some overlapping, others independent of one another. I know Thom, who knows Spud, but Spud and I don’t know each other at all. The rules of interrupting a conversation between two of your friends are markedly different to those governing interrupting a conversation between your friend and a stranger. With the former, in general, one would wait until they were done, whereas with the latter, in general, one might interject earlier. This difference was very prominent in the festival environment. I found myself interrupted as the stranger, or interrupted as the friend, on more than one occasion. I’m sure I must have interrupted as the outsider too.

There were so many people there, flowing past, who maybe I’d meet again, or maybe not – Sally Pilkington, Evan, Spud, Cassie. Who knows?

I wasn’t impressed with Trembling Bells, whose vocal gymnastics bored me, but I thought Cranium Pie were ace. I might have gotten over my crush on the She of She Keeps Bees – not quite as charismatic when she’s a bit further away. I thought that the Yellow Moon Band didn’t really get going, a difficult trait to succeed with at the tired end of festivities. Dirty Three were fun, and funny. And Wilco? Wow. Stunning.

Dunk’s endurance drive home started at 12.26, and ended at 4.20. What a hero. We tried to keep him awake with classic rock, volume up LOUD, and with a little rhyming game…

You’ll never get to heaven in baked bean tin…

…because a baked bean tin’s got beans in.

The best of which was

You’ll never get to heaven in a bacon sarnie…

….because a bacon sarnie smells like Arnie

“I’ll be BAC-on.”

"Plus two man points for the 'tache"

Me: "Will you wear this moustache all day if I pay you a pound?"
Kate: "Yes."

T-shirt: Belle and Sebastian, navy blue
Weather: Gorgeous sunshine

A sad, sad start to the day: someone saw Dunk's sign offering his van for sale, and was interested. Dunk was too. So it goes, but what a shame to lose it. Fingers crossed it'll fall through and Dunk will keep the van.

Kate's moustache turned heads at every step. Brilliant, I thought, but the attention started to piss her off. She, Megan and I listened to John Robb at the literature tent, talking about Manchester music, The Haçienda, and late-nigth parties in Hulme. Relaxing in the sunshine is the best way to keep tired hangovers at bay. I didn't really concentrate during Mississippi Witch. As we left the Green Man Pub, I think I saw Butt Slut Sophie, who I haven't spoken to since before I started this blog. An old friend and more recently an adversary. "Please don't bump into her again," I prayed, "please, please, please!" I loved Jonny's simple, kid-friendly psych-folk-pop. We ran into Kate's friend Nic, who was very excited about Jarvis.

Kate and I went back to the van to prepare a cup-a-soup. We had peanut butter sandwiches, but it wasn't enough, so I popped off to the loo whilst some water boiled for noodles. I got back I sat down to choose a Pot Noodle.
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!!!!!
OMG! What the fu... Dunk had hidden himself under a duvet, and when I got back, he jumped out and screamed. I nearly died with fright. Hehehehehehe.

Later on I made up for not seeing much of Vetiver in Dulcimer that time by really enjoying their set. I thought Andrew Bird was amazing. By the time Jarvis came on I was really very drunk, and remembered very little of what he sang. We sat behind a tree, with Kate and Dunk out of the eyeline of the stage. I tried to mime some of his moves, but it was a poor description of the shadows on the wall of the cave by one of the chained to the other chained. Meh.

We danced at the Far Out stage, and were heading home, when we came across a drunk boy puking. What would you do? We took him to the pub.

Green Man, day 1

T-shirt: The Bluetones, baseball style.
Weather: Splendid, after a five-minute shower early on.

A cup of tea should start every day, and in the van, you can. Heavenly. Al and Ben P popped by first thing in the morning - they hadn't slept from the night before, and both looked pretty wrecked. Al more so. I gave him a Cadbury's Caramel and some Pom-Bears. I hope it helped. We went up to the arena, with Ryan stopping off for one his many vegan bacon rolls at Tea and Toast. Blatantly hitting onto a waitress, I reckon.

We Aeronaughts opened the festival. Dunk and Kate weren't that impressed, but I quite liked them. They're a female backing vocalist - to even out the harmonies - and a guitar technician - to cut down on the time spent tuning up (and talking rubbish) between songs - away from being pretty good. I loved Beth Jeans Houghton and Errors, and Rocky Erickson was exactly the kind of bluesy rock that pushes all my buttons. I popped off to collect Matt, Chaw and Megan, then hurried back for Animal Collective. I wish I hadn't bothered. Shit Collective more like.

As they were finishing, I turned around to Paul Collins to share my disgruntlement with their shitness, and saw him down on one knee proposing to his girlfriend. She said "yes." I clapped. The whole crowd clapped for the band, but I pretended they were clapping for Paul and Rosie.

I went to Blackpool, and it was shit.

Rather than go to the pub with Dunk and Ryan last night, I opted to get an early night and get off to Blackpool first thing.

"Why are you going to Blackpool? It's horrible."

My colleagues, my friends and my housemates all asked the same question. I didn't know what the answer was. I'd never been. Perhaps that was it. What could be nicer than a sunny August day by the sea?

I didn't get a sunny August day by the sea though. I got cold, heavy rain. I made a mistake - I made several, as it happens, but this was a big one - by getting out of the train a stop early for "a quick look at the Pleasure Beach." What looked like light drizzle from inside the train was far from that. Horrible icy rain. I put on my jumper, but it didn't make much difference. Within fifteen minutes I was soaked. Rain had soaked through my cargo shorts, through my underpants, through my jumper, and through my bag. My trainers sloshed with every step I took. I ducked into an arcade and tried to use my phone's GPS to find my way. My phone was wet. My beautiful new phone. Oh fuck. Should I continue to wander blindly around town, and get wet, or try to dry off in the amusements? What a predicament. Water dripped from my elbows. I saw a TK Maxx sign, and decided to head into the shopping centre. I headed for the toilets to try to dry off a bit. Not good. I put my phone in the path of the hand dryer and left it there. When it stopped, I put the phone back underneath. Three times. Four times. The dryer shorted out. I moved onto the next one for more of the same. Still no joy. Shit. I was sort of dry from the wrist down now, having tried to rescue my phone. I tramped to Primark, and bought a new t-shirt and a hoody to wear to keep me warm. I asked for a plastic bag, to transplant my wet gear into. "We only do paper I'm afraid mate," he said, "a bit daft for somewhere as wet as Blackpool, eh?" Very daft, I thought. "Thank you," I said. Back to the toilets to change out of my dripping uppers and into the new gear. My mood still stank, thinking of my phone. My underwear was still wet too. I wanted to go home. Where was the bloody train station?

I stepped out of the shopping centre to glorious sunshine.

It was half twelve. If I'd have gone to the pub with Dunk and Ryan last night, I would be arriving around now. So it goes. I got on the train.

The Green Man party line-up

looks like this:

Dunk
Kate
Ryan
Miriam
Culture Thom
Ali Danesh
Ed Chemical?
Paul Collins + some
Saxaphone Kate
Nic from Oddest + some
Sionedd + some

…and I think there are a couple of bands on too.

Setting out

We went on a school trip to the Isle of Wight in 1991. Things I remember about the trip:

Carrisbrooke Castle

My first castle and one of the best, huge, magical. The brutality of the oil-pouring stories stayed with me.

Blackgang Chine

Massive plastic dinosaurs; a hedge maze; smugglers; cliffs.

Living in a hotel

Well, more like a hostel, but it was amazing then. It was the most luxurious holidaying my eleven-year-old eyes had ever seen.

My room-mates

Shaun Ansell
Michael Mullaney
David Colletta

I’m friends with Michael and Shaun on Facebook, but not David. Michael is involved in politics now, Lib Dem, I think, and Shaun looks like he’s in Oasis. I wonder what David is up to…

And Kerry Lister

…didn’t come on the trip, and spent the money on clothes instead.


The family near me on the train are hilarious. The dad looks like Morrissey, all horn-rimmed glasses and 50s high shaved quaff hairdo. They’re proper northern, and the kids are just old enough to be witty. They watch Question Time in their house. Marvellous.


Things to think about on my holiday

Work – how to get out of the shit and into something better. Do I need to do volunteering? What kind of work?

Hobbies – do I want a new interest? Yes? What kind of things?

Friends – WHO needs more effort?

My relationship with booze – and smoking and all that jazz.

Travelling / Driving – doing it or not?

Just about to leave Southampton

Ferry sees off. It’s 4pm and I’m taken back to looking over the side of the boat, holding my glasses so they don’t fall off, and in. 1991. I bet the Portsmouth skyline was different back then. Is this where Jupiter Point is? 1996? My memory plays tricks. The sea. Boats. It’s exciting. Not sure why.

After noodles and bacon for tea, we went to watch cabaret at the chalet site. Lots of singing along to silly songs, like Caister and Yarmouth holidays of my youth. And then back to the tent.

We're here, just by the giant's finger

Not a great night’s sleep, sloped, jutting and restless. My mind wandered to some dark places in relation to last Wednesday and my detective work. To male it worse my tooth really started to play up. I think I might have to see the emergency dentist. Is it okay to text Lucinda after all this beef with Ryan?

Tomorrow it’s the zoo and the model village. God I’m tired.

Coincidence

Lindsey from work is going out with Dave Shmoo! Nuts!

Kate, Paulina, Ryan and I went to Blowout with Matt and Chaw to watch She Keeps Bees, who are going to be at the Green Man Festival this year. As we were chatting, Kate pointed out Dave Shmoo. As he came over, Lindsey said "Hello!" to me. We know Dave Shmoo from Sol's and Fuel. Tiny world.

I was half-pissed when they walked in, and ended up ranting about Moss Side to Lindsey. I'm sure she was baffled by my ramblings.

I’ll miss Ryan, I won’t miss Ben

Ryan came by on Monday. We listened to Wu-Tang, to Last Shadow Puppets, and to Nine More Lies. Ben has solved the damp in my old room, said Ryan. He’s solved it by painting over it. Right then.

Free food! Twice!

The cute Spanish girl behind the counter in Starbucks gave me a banana when I ordered my latte this morning. If we were cavemen, that would be a kind of flirting.

Dr Jim called. “Hello buddy! I’m in Leeds, and I’m heading to the Trafford Centre on the way home to Chester. Fancy a cup of tea?” Hell yes, of course I do. I explained about the new house, and how to find it, then nipped off early from work to make sure I was home in time.

“I’ve got you some housewarming gifts,” he said, brandishing a pair of bags. Glorious Welsh cheddar! A pork pie! Gourmet olives! Red onion marmalade! Ginger biscuits! Thanks a million Jim, how very generous of you! We popped up to the Quadrant to get some bread, and then had an al-fresco cold tea. We talked through the Lions, their performances so far, our dream teams so far. It was wonderful to see him. He’s been studying like a bastard as well recently, though towards a much more noble end.

I collected my bike from Whalley, and cycled home in the sunshine. I was hoping to run into Ryan, but he was out.

Oh shit, it's the BNP

So, the BNP have won two seats in the North, one of them in my patch, the North-West. I wish I'd voted. I spent the evening online, one eye on Dimbleby, the other on my twitter feed. (follow me? look right to see how!) Ryan was online too. I'm gonna miss that crazy vegan.

Megan's Farewell Pizza Party

It was going to take something pretty special to top the last pizza party (no pun intended with 'top' there!) and Megan's farewell pizza party sure was special!

Company and a crowd

I met Liz after work. We went for noodles, then met Ryan for a few drinks in Dulcimer.

It was an odd evening. I think you have a different kind of conversation when there are three of you. Its intimacy retreats to the level of the least well acquainted member of the party. It would have been rude for Liz and I to talk about anything too personal in Ryan’s company, and definitely awkward for Ryan. For that reason, it was a little unsatisfying. On the other hand, it was very nice to see her. I was balancing what was going on in my head, when Liz decided it was home time for her.

She stood. I didn’t get up fast enough to hug her goodbye, and it must have seemed to her like I wasn’t going to get up at all. She looked a little hurt, and came over. We hugged. I felt sad.

I'm a criminal

Wrapped up in studying, I nip out to the shop for a Crème Egg and some cigs, then get back to the front door and realise I’ve left my keys at home. Shit! I look up, and see my bedroom window open. Can I get in? Hmmm. Best not risk it, I think. I’ll go and see if Dunk’s in, and then ask him to call Ryan and get in that way.

KNOCK! KNOCKKNOCK! KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK! Nothing. Nobody in a Dunk’s. Right. Plan B. Which is… erm… which is wander back to the house, gaze up at the open window a bit longer, and then have a cig. Hmmm. This isn’t helping much. And it’s getting a bit cold.

Over the road, a door opens. It’s Alan from number 2, out for a quick tab himself. I head over, and explain what the problem is. “I don’t suppose you have a ladder? You do? Excellent!” And Alan gets the ladder, and holds it for me, as I climb in through the window. My keys are on my desk, where I left them. If they could smile, they’d be mocking me now.

Heads and Volleys

My pillow was green when I woke up. Parts of my bed were orange too. I went back to sleep.

Amongst my clouded memories of the night before lurked a plan to meet for breakfast, so I sent out a group text,

“Tank, Fly, Boss, Walk, Jam, Nitty-gritty, you’re listening to the boy from the big, bad city… this is Jam Street?”

How about the Leadstation instead, some oneasked. Deal. Ryan, still green all over the place, and I, still orange around the earholes, wandered down and met Al, Dunk and Christian there. “You’re green,” said the waitress to Ryan. Smiles all round as he explained himself. Kate, Megan, her sister and Tomos joined us, with Chaw and Matt not far behind. It was impossible to look around the table without thinking of the mayhem and fun from the night before. Every glance reminded me of a moment, and a giggle soon followed. I’m really looking forward to moving to that house, I think it’s a place where fun will be had, and lots of it.

After watching the football with Dunk and Al, the three of us played heads and volleys in Chorlton Park. I had a kebab for tea. The perfect end to a brilliant, brilliant weekend.

NTS Fancy Dress

Study, Study, Study, Run, Drink, Dance

The early night set me up for a productive day. Three and a half hours of studying in the morning, charity shop shopping over lunch, then another three hours of reading in the afternoon. I feel happy and concerned about the course at the same time. Happy, in that I’m really enjoying learning something new, and concerned in that my exam is only nine weeks away and there’s still a bucketful to learn before even starting revision. In great news, my search of Oxfam Books turned out a textbook that fits around my course very neatly. In other news, I’ve ordered the proper one from Waterstones anyway.

After the study-a-thon, I stepped out for a quick 10k run.



Quick? 52.03. Which is a 5 min12 km, or an 8 min 24 mile. It felt really good all the way round.

Dunk, Kate, Megan, Ryan and I went to Odder for Chubb’s birthday. Craig and the whole of Fordbank were there, along with all of Fiveseven and a handful of other friends and relations. I was the sole representative of Parsonage. So it goes.

I had an amazing night. It was really good to catch up with Craig – who wants to race the boats again! – to ask Rich and Fran about their honeymoon – Safari in Kenya! – to speak to Max and Wallis about Max’s work strife, and how Wallis feels about it – he’s being forced to move to London – and to see the Cook and Woody rendition of Roots Manuva’s ‘Witness.’ We stayed at the bar until it closed, and then five-starred our way into Mojo, leaping past the front of the queue and up the stairs. Kate is very well connected! Yeehaw!!!

Enter Steve, exit Dave

Steve came to the house to look at the spare room. I'd met him before - I looked at a house he lived in on Albemarle Rd back in November - so I knew he was an actor, and a pleasant enough chap. He seemed to like the house, but thought the bed might be too tall for him. He sat downstairs and chatted to us for a bit.

"I get quite bad asthma, is there any damp in the house?"

I couldn't lie to a potential housemate. Ryan's morals forbade him similarly. We told him the truth. Steve explained that he couldn't live there, said his goodbyes, and left.

I texted our landlord, explaining what had happened. He replied almost immediately.

"But there's no damp in that room. Can you call him back and set him right please?"

Bullshit. I said so.

"It looks like damp to me. I'm not prepared to tell a potential housemate something that turns out not to be true, because if I'm going to live with them they need to trust me. Come and have a look?"

What a tool. Chatting with Becky, it turned out that the landlord had failed to keep all sorts of promises that he had made to the previous tenants. The shower. The living room. The damp. A death of a thousand cuts.

Even after four beers with Ryan, I felt enraged. Why am I giving my money to such a dickhead?

Laura

Becky's room is soon to become the spare room; she moves out on Saturday. With Ryan's arrival in early February, the time that I've spent in a full house of three has lasted about ten weeks.

Laura came to look round this evening. She didn't take off her coat. She didn't put down her shopping. She didn't ask any questions about Ryan and me. I don't think she's interested in the room.

Howard Barlow, Rock Photographs @ Troubadour Gallery

Kate, Dunk and I went to the Leadstation for a drink, then skipped over the road to the Troubadour Gallery to take a look at the Howard Barlow exhibition of rock photography. Excellent stuff - you'll find it here, but for how long I'm not sure. My favourite photo was this one of Paula Yates.

(image copyright of Howard Barlow)