The flat roof debacle

I love him. I do. I always have, though it took me a good many - too many - years to realise it, during which time I upset a lot of people. But can I work with him?

He's so bloody annoying. I'm told by those who listen, that we bicker perpetually. I don't see it that way. It's just the way we are - and it's causing me gyp.

So. I have a list of jobs that have to be finished before anyone can view the house. It's a long list. A looooong list.

Today, as it was sunny I decided to fix the flat roof. What do I know about roofing? Nothing at all, except, how hard can it be? The answer is very. Very damn hard, especially when you don't have the right type of roofing felt, and an idiot you love to help you.

I could have auditioned for the Minstrels by the time we'd finished, and I say finished half heartedly as I think, *sob wail gnash* I'm going to have to do it again.

And the list goes on....

Tune in for more exciting adventures of 'The Fool and the Blithering Idiot'

Speaking of which - France!

I'm off. Finally, and it's taken a long looooong time, I've put the pile on the market. Yep. On the market this afternoon.

I've no idea where we're going to, except it's not likely to be Blighty. Too effing expensive. So France is - as I type - the planned destination. Don't ask, 'cause I've no idea where in France. Probably an old Cow shed.

Actually, I quite fancy New Zealand. It's good enough for Frodo, though rather distant from my druggy friends in London ... I could grow my own, I suppose.

Ah well, you live and learn. I've learnt you have to earn money to pay bills, otherwise nondescript suits get upset. I've decided I don't like playing 'the game' where you slave to pay for a place you don't really want to be. What's the point?

I will write both music and 'fiction', and I will do it where I can get up at four in the morning and record a drum kit without having upset neighbours hammering on the door.

I will, I will, I will Mr Fawlty.

Pondering the powerless Sunday

Sitting in the dark, a small tea light flickering, with a wind up torch to read by made me think. What would I do, how would I cope without electricity?

If society eventually does fracture and break down how will we cope mentally? In the 1970's, when the idea of the army taking over the country was last mooted, there was TV - but no computers, and no games consoles, and not many electrical appliances.

Now we are totally reliant on the 'lecky' for everything from cooking to work, and seemingly even more important, entertainment. Humanity spends an inordinate amount of time watching tubes of various kinds. Kids don't go outside to play anymore, they either watch the TV or play games on computers.

It was tough (yeah right), and it was only off for a short time.

Makes one think...

Powerless Sunday

Yep, she's another bleak and cheerless post ... move right along.

Sunday; heralded by the sun peaking it's cheery face through scudding clouds. Lovely it was until the neighbour tapped on the window to mention the power lines were causing a tree to smoulder. Not wanting a forest fire (been there, done that when I was fourteen) The electricity people are phoned ... as they were a week ago with the same complaint.

Today, however, it's Sunday, and automatic double time - please forgive the jaded tone of this post - and what better than a day out in the country for five highly paid - now doubly highly paid - electricians, and their 'gang boss'.

Ok, so I don't know he was a 'gang boss', but he seemed like the 'gang boss' in 'Cool Hand Luke'. They are called around 11.00am, they arrive around 13.00 and then they say: "Gotta take five substations off-line to work on yours". This is lingo for going to the pub. They come back a while later and do some work ... then, alas alack, the gang boss, who had sworn on a virtual stack of bibles the power would be back on in a couple of hours, knocks on the door.

They are 'missing' a vital piece of equipment. They have to travel forty miles to get it, and forty miles back and so we won't have power back on until 'later'.
"What's later?" I ask, naively. Stupid boy.
"You'll need candles." He grins, winningly, and leaves on his double bubble mission of mercy.

The power came back on around 22.30, and much cheering and blowing out of candles ensued.

Thank heavens I'm not paying them.

Dental trauma and fear

Ha! Another cheery blog entry I hear you cry.

I bashed my middle tooth on a mug of coffee, and now I have to go and see a *shudder* Dentist. With most people that wouldn't be a problem. But I have a fear of Dentists that far surpasses logic.

When I was little (and cute - thought I'd mention it) We had a private Dentist called Donald Derrick who was a friend of the family. He used to drill and fill without anaesthetic, and when I'd start getting fractious he'd say: 'don't be a big baby'. I was. A big, big baby. Fair do's at nine years old. I defy anyone to sit happily being drilled without anaesthetic, nowadays.

Bastard.

Then at twelve I went to the woman in the surgery next door ... Anne Panting. It's strange how I remember their names. Much like the way you can't forget Hitler, probably. Anyway, she had me under a general anaesthetic, took out four back teeth (why?) and gave me braces. I hated braces.

Now, due to the complete lack of Dentists in the country that don't demand half your house, I'm probably going to end up cowering in the corner behind a plant pot whilst a large South African with a thick accent waves a drill at me.

Rowing not rowing

I hate rowing, especially with someone I love. How we've managed to get by for over a year without a row is honestly amazing, considering our personalities ... so I guess it was only to be expected that sooner or later we'd get on each others tits - that's a British expression, in case you were wondering.

It affected me deeply - probably more than I should admit; because I really, really thought that 'it' was all over. And all over paltry petrol money too. Stupid.

It was made worse because we were on our way to see friends - who knew nothing about the problem, so well we behaved in front of them.

When you know someone almost as well as you know yourself, you know all the right buttons to push, all the snidey comments to make to maximise the hurt ... and Lord do we know each other well. Too well maybe.

It's over now, but it's left a bitter taste that's going to take a while to totally dissipate. My rock wobbled, and I reacted badly. So much for predictive plate tectonics.

A Good Gig

Last Saturday (5th) we played at the Poor Boys Cafe again. Another miniscule audience; though a couple of interesting things happened. We were asked to play a specific song by a total stranger: and the next morning two people went in to ask who the band were from the night before as they were 'fantastic' - and they then bought the two CD's we'd left behind.

Which was nice. :)

For the disbelievers

For the man who said: "I'm not sure, but I don't think the Monster Raving Loony Party exists anymore. Didn't their leader shoot himself through the head some years ago?" I say nay! You give too much credence to those who would like to see only serious politics.

In my inestimable opinion Screaming Lord Such would have made a fine Prime-minister. There wouldn't have been a 'cash for honours' debate, as he would have handed them out freely to all and sundry, and probably legalised all sorts of nice things too... Ohh yeah maaaaan, let us paint number ten pink.

Here is the offical site http://www.omrlp.com

The Voting Malarkey

Into the automobile and off to the polling station we went, tra-la. 'twas a sunny day, and we sang our hearts out. Ok, we didn't, We listened to Keane. I like Keane, and probably would have voted for them if they'd been standing. Alas-Alack.

The only parties available for my pencilled cross were:
• Labour - no thank you very much. Ten and a bit years is quite enough.
• Conservative - so close to labour as makes no difference, and we don't know what Cameron's been up to as a child 'cause he won't tell us. Poo. In exchange for my vote I want all the salacious goss. Finally (drum roll, I thank you) The
• Liberal Democrats. The party that 'might', if they got the chance, work. They won't get the chance.

No Green party candidate. WTF? The planet's in ruins and they can't be bothered to stand. Dimwits.
No Respect candidate - just as well.
No monster raving luny party. Damn. I should have stood.

And who did I vote for? That's between me and my muse.

On the local council front there were six names, and we could vote for five of them. Huh? This I don't understand. What is the point? Also there was no indication of what their policies were. I voted based on names I liked. Good huh? Stupidity. But then: that's voting Jim, but not as we know it.

Election time again! *falls asleep*

Tomorrow is local election day.

I have not the vaguest idea who to vote for, and that's not apathy, it's pragmatism. The planet's doomed. Is any political party offering me a seat on a shuttle to Moon Base Alpha? No. Is anyone telling me that "if you vote for us you can build a small housing estate in your garden, retire on the proceeds, then make music and write novels until you drop"? No. Is anyone actually going to do anything to better anything? Probably not. They didn't the last time, or the time before that, so what's new? Nothing. Except it appears Blair is off, leaving a megalomaniac in his stead.

I will vote because it is my right, and if I didn't, like seventy percent of the electorate, then I'd really have no excuse, or fatuous comments to make at awful dinner parties.