snake diggers and grave charmers

Thank you for the music.

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 17:42:18 +0200

My Uncle Phil/lip brought round this thing called a "record player" earlier. I'd seen one before at my mate Derek's house. Now he (Derek) uses his to make clay pots, but my uncle still manages to still get sounds out of his.

So anyway, he pops in with this machine and gets these "platters" out ("the platters that matter" - so he said ) and proceded to set one of them in motion, soon after placing a "stylus" on it's edge. He wired it through my Mum's amp and before I knew it music was playing -a bit crackly, but remarkably good considering the relative antiquity of the format.

Now the reason I'm even mentioning all this is because, my uncle gave me all his platters (I showed some interest and he's moving back to Angola and can't take them with him - he works for the UN apparently) and also this thing to play them on. He told me to get a new "stylus" and explained that if I did, the crackling would more than likely improve. Thing is, I don't know where to get one, so I'm stuck.

The conclusion is I've got about 1500 platters and not a thing to play them on. I've just looked on ebay, and am thinking of investing imminently. Any recommendations regarding make/type anyone? Serious advice only please - I have about £100 at my disposal. Thanks - no time wasters please.

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Delving devil

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 18:21:58 +0200

On getting home tonight I was overcome with fatigue. I hopped in the pod and swung myself to sleep only to be woken by someone banging on the door. I wasn't dreaming -nowt like that. I did however wake feeling somewhat disorientated - was the bang one of those hypnopompic hallucinations my mum's always ranting on about. The bang came again and I was more certain of my ground this time. "There's someone at the door " I concluded. But could I get up? Could I fuck... I was paralysed - it must have lasted 5 seconds before I could muster anything remotely resembling movement. It was more a battle of the will. Putting thought into action. It usually comes so naturally.

I mean, this has happened before. Countless times, so I'm not that concerned. I'm not dead or anything. I'm not totally fucked - destroyed or anything so final. I breathe still, like a young mother no less. It's a funny one. It's like when I woke up one morning feeling strange - I often wake up not knowing what's going on, or what has gone on, and this was a bit like that. I went downstairs and my mum was there - smiling at me. It turns out she'd found be (at 4am) curled up in the living room - naked. I'd hidden my clothes in the piano except my pants which I'd stashed in one of my shoes - neatly positioned either side of the sleeping cat, Boris aka Timble.

I often wonder what would happen if I woke up one day and I'd forgotten how to live. Timble did that once. I shall myself one day -what the heck happens then? Maybe by remembering to live, you're distracted from the other stuff.

Anyway, I'm planning on staying alive for now. It's for the best.
Just installed the new ceephax alb. check it out, if you like that sort of thing. If not, don't bother; you won't like it- stands to reason as my old uncle Charlie used to say. He was from the East end of Londinium - He forgot how to live some time ago.

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title-2393724

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 17:32:38 +0200

Being new to this blogging lark, I find it difficult sometimes to judge what is and what is not appropriate. I'm like a social pariah recenty dumped in a socialite heaven, making hamfisted attempts to connect with fellow bloggers around t' place.

I have thus far acqured 4 new friends. Praise be. Four new friends who I would happily kill and be killed for should the need arise; hopefully not today as I'm really tired.

I've just finished school for the day and am gazing at a big blue sky with just a few clouds moving slowly across it.

I wonder, will I ever see another sunrise. Not tomorrow, as I'm having a well deserved lie in. I've been working like a young mother who don't give two mothers about a brother, and when you've been doing that day in day out, week in week out, month in month out for over forty years, then it's time to say enough is enough.

Sorry I've just got to go and un block an old lady's catheter. Won't be long.

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by enlarge, yes

Sat, 02 Jun 2007 00:45:55 +0200

Once I'd got home earlier, that was it. No more, I thought; that's that. Finished. Thank-you, but no. Game over.

Before then though, I was well up for it. I was walking home, spring in step, considering it to be some of my best work; il mio capo lavoro, so to speak.

How the hell did it go from one extreme to the other, from the state of pure unadulterated satisfaction meets content certainty to a feeling of complete disgust?

Oh, by the way, my car tax disc ran out today.

I've got the radio on in the background. Oh my god. They're going on about paedophiles again. Every one's got an opinion. What happens if you don't have an opinion on the subject? "Kill 'em" ."You can't cure it". "What they need's a good gelding" etc etc etc. The end point, "the opinion" shaping the thoughts that should be preceding it. It "feels" right, some how, to tackle paedophilia with a great stomping hobnailed boot.

The media - honestly, if it wasn't such a tyranny it'd be funny. Football one minute, men in macs the next. Keeping it fresh. You've got to hand it to them - the slant/ framing of the their "news" is never subtle but remains invisible to many, most of the time. I have to keep reminding myself to consider motives, and read/listen critically. Highly critically. Encourage the acceptance of opinion as the most valued currency of our time, and who needs objectivity ? Who needs News?

Anyway, I got a new disc, and while I was in the Post office, I bumped into that nutter who advertises Cillit Bang on the telly. He shouts because he's deaf. I never knew that. I just thought he was a twat.

Bring the noise

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night in etc.

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 01:36:03 +0200

Pondering away I thought "why shouldn't I?" It's not as though there's any law against it. "Or is there?", I wondered (out loud). Or is there?

I racked my brains... I knew there was that law (what was it now), the one ranting on about, "don't do it, it's not worth it", and that other one going on about "what ever you do, you better f***in' not...". It's funny if you think about it.

I pondered some more... My brains were racked like a motherbrother. (Cogs. Wheels within wheels, like the circles that you find, within the windmills of your mind)...etc.

However much I tried I just couldn't get my head around it. And then it came to me; like a brother's mother; baiting me; carving me up; beating me, to within an inch of my life; SCREAMING at me ... Of course; What would my mum do? I quickly stole a march on my brain, and before I could think, I thought, "yeah, why not? let's fuckin' do it. Who cares about the consequences? It's not as though anyone cares. And even if they do, who cares?" Graham. Wesley. Bush (Grave charmer)

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night in etc.

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 00:55:29 +0200

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Brendon's little brother

Thu, 31 May 2007 21:13:49 +0200

My brother once said to me, "Brendon, where is yo' going?". After correcting his English, I explained to him that life, maybe wasn't as easy for me as he thought it was. My brother's name is Howard. He used to be affiliated to a famous pop group. This group recently reformed and I was the first to applaud when it happened. Howardever, there's more to life than crooning ballads and shagging birds. He never understood and here I am now - paying for that crooning.

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first of many

Wed, 30 May 2007 21:34:21 +0200

Blogs hey? Difficult to beat? Difficult to find. As if any mother brother is going to find themselves reading this. Talking of which, "make yourself heard" my mother once said to me. Well, no she didn't, but she might have done, were she that kind of mother. She might also have said, "get stuck in" and "I'm so proud of you son", but she didn't say that either. Infact, she never said anything at all. Why? Well we'll leave that for another time.

She'd be so proud if she could see me now though - tapping away, making myself heard - screaming in silence. She's be welling up now, if she could see me - if she could see at all. She never was a great seer my mother. Partially sighted at best and at worst, blind as a bat(sard). If she could hear me, tapping away, she'd be as pleased as punch. "Tapping away are you son?" she'd be saying, "tapping away?". Well, I say saying, but she never said anything, not that I heard, being deaf. Well I suppose I'd better say (oh, and dumb - sorry), write something momentous, although that, in my experience, isn't all that important. Something pithy is called for here - something with a sting in the tail. Something to leave them realing, begging for more. Hit after hit after hit. I can see it now. Pulitzer prize winning blog cum novella cum series of award winning articles in Observer magazine on Sunday, here we/I (of I fame) come.
Pressures on; heart racing, pounding in my chest - but what to say? The world wide web, waiting for me to deliver. Fear of negative appraisal washes over me like a wave of vomit. "just piss off will you" Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!Sorry, another time...

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