Bob's Big Blog

Bob's Prog Rock Bog Blog

2007-08-17T23:22:00.000Z

Ever since I can remember, back stage toilets have always fascinated me.
It's often been the first impression I get of a gig. Sometimes I only realize we've done a particular gig/venue before, when I recognize the karzi.
Back-stage bogs are more than a place to crap. They are a mecca for inappropriate behaviour. It's where junkies, crack-heads, cokeheads, doggers & pikers go to do their thing. It's a spiritual void, sanctuary for the naughty.
Of course today I am a very, very responsible character. I only use the gent's for socially acceptable unspeakable acts, but I'm often aware that demons are lurking nearby...

Festival season is an interesting time for bog-heads, as we can see toilets at the very limits of what is acceptable to humans.
_____________________________________________________

This one was at Tromso Festival in Norway.
It was bad. I held my breath for the whole length of a wee.

I remember unlocking the door, gasping fresh air and seeing a stunningly beautiful Scandinavian girl, stood waiting to use the cubicle.
As she faced me, I was going to say something cool, but I decided on an embarrassed look instead.
I hate these portaloos so much. There's nothing that I can find to say which is positive about them, apart from the flusher, which looks like the hand brake from a Mini Metro.

_____________________________________________________

I remember this one well. -Electric Gardens in Kent. -A stately feel, a better class of bog. This is a party karzi. It was designed to get loaded in. I particularly liked the lighting. This one gets five stars.

From the same festival: A decent locking door, essential for all dodgy behaviour.
Shame about the bog roll on the floor.
________________________________________________________

Whilst backstage at Loch Lomand Festival in Scotland, I took this picture of a well known bass player weeing.

This is also in Scotland. It's a shit business.

Thank you for reading my research. It has been a hugely rewarding exercise for me.

Day One

2007-06-09T21:54:00.000Z

I smoked my last cheap Berlin fag last night.
On Thursday, during my weekly shop at Asda, I'd bought a pack of nicorette gum.
A change was in the air, a storm was brewing, & the fog had lifted.
For the first time since I was 15, I thought about trying a day without cigarettes.

I woke up this morning & made a cup of tea. The nicorette gum made it taste like shit. The gum left my mouth burning which pissed me off even more than the fact that it costs £5.89 for a pack. That's 35p more than 20 camel lights.

Anyway, after a bowl of Alpen & a shower I went to see my 5-year-old son play football in his first competitive game.
I kept myself quiet throughout the match, although I wanted to shout, "Go on Louis, get into him!" at one point.
I also wanted to shout, "The referee's a wanker" for no real reason, but I didn't.

It wasn't that bad, not having fags. It was a nice sunny morning, sat on the grass & I felt strangely warm & healthy.
After the game, Louis' Grandad took him off, & I went off into town to meet some friends.
Yeah, it's all right this no-smoking game, I can do this. I was feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself.
So I stopped at the co-op to buy myself a treat. I grabbed a pack of Fox's chocolate Viennese biscuits, got to the counter & said...
"And twenty camel lights please mate".

Cut Me Some Slacks

2007-04-12T09:08:00.000Z

It's not my intention to make light of drunks. They are our brothers & sisters, and the phrase "There but for the grace of God..." springs to mind.
Maybe that's why I'm quite fascinated by drunken behaviour. Maybe it's not necessarily good or bad, but just a different perspective. I have to admit though; I do sometimes find it phucking amusing.

About 15 years ago, or it could have been last week; I was walking to the bus stop along the High St. in Oxford. I'd just finished a 12-hour shift at 'Oddbins' off-license.
As I passed a side street, an old drunken bloke clutching a can of Trampagne (Tenants Super Strength Lager) emerged.

He had long white stubble on his face & a confused, wild look in his eyes. He was wearing a pair of light grey slacks -the type commonly found in rubbish skips. The inner-side of his trouser legs was a much darker shade of grey than the outer-side, converging at the darkest point around his crotch. It looked like a big, dark, upside-down letter U.

My look of mild amusement involuntarily turned to disgust as I realized that this man had either urinated very recently or perhaps was still urinating. I couldn't help my brow from furrowing & my nose from wrinkling as we passed on the pavement.

Suddenly he stumbled towards me so I could smell the ammonia & alcohol soaking into him. His face seemed to take a swing at me & I caught a close up glimpse of his tooth & pitted nose.

"NEVER BE ASHAMED!" He slurred aggressively at me. "Never be ashamed." He repeated, maybe to himself this time.
This world-weary (wise?) old man's words have stuck in my head.

Did he mean; "Never be ashamed and you can live life as I do"?

Or did he mean; "Never be ashamed or you'll end up like me"?

Or maybe he was just quacking in anger. -I once saw a drunken bloke shouting at a car. It came to a head when the man pulled a large fish from inside his coat & started thwacking it on the windscreen

New Beginning

2007-03-03T22:31:00.000Z

I've overcome my fear of the mundane, surrendered my fight for spontaneity, & given up my quest for originality. I've decided to post again.
Also I've remembered my password.

I'd started to become preoccupied with the thought that if an infinite number of monkeys, each wrote a blog for a long enough period of time, one of them would be exactly replicating my blog & the others may be writing something more interesting.

I'm now going to watch a T.V. programme about bodybuilding old age pensioners. And no-one can stop me.

Man make fire make man.

2006-12-22T13:01:00.000Z

The heating was bust at my brother’s house yesterday. So I made a fire.
I like to put newspaper on the grate, & then little flakes of wood on top. Then little splinters of wood, then little sticks. Then I build a pyramid out of six sticks, and over that I make a pyramid from three logs. Then I light it.
Some people think it's a bit F.O.C.D.U.P. (Fire Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Unlike Pyromania), but when I see those flames, I don't care.
-My unrelenting thoughts of topiary seem to subside & my consciousness is sucked into that fire.

Mickey woke me from my trance by talking in caveman...
"Man make fire"
In a '2001: A Space Odyssey' monkey moment, I said...
(In caveman)
"And fire make man"
So I ask myself the same primal question as my forefather's forefathers may have asked:
"Man make fire, or fire make man?"

Degsey (Part Four) -Lederhosen

2006-11-23T22:03:00.000Z

Disclaimer 1) Drugs can be fun, but may affect one's health & sanity. (Yeah, I know it's pretty obvious)
Disclaimer 2) Germans do not all wear leather trousers all of the time, & some do have a sense of humour some of the time.

I don't know whether it's a good idea to change the title to 'Degsey' at this stage. I didn't think the story was going to be this long & we haven't even reached France yet.
I guess I'll just carry on until we lose interest. At which point, I might shut up. Or, I might just finish the story anyway, but tell it to the hedgehog in my garden...

There were times of fear & confusion, as we travelled through the rainy Rhine valley. Maybe it was just a hangover from all the smoking in Amsterdam, or maybe it was because we were entering dunkel beer & sweet wine country.

We weren't really your common camping family, & we became aware of our different style as we checked out a campsite near Köln (Cologne) for the night.
As we drove in, and circled round, the other campers stopped what they were doing.
The burly men stopped Bar-B-Qing, the women stopped setting the tables, and the children stopped playing. I think even the rain had stopped.
I can't remember whether we'd played 'Old MacDonald' on the horn at this point.
All eyes were on us; there was fear in the air.
In a rare moment of sanity, all four of us seemed to think as one. -We floored the accelerator, & drove off, with the Rocky fanfare parping from our horn as we exited. Unfortunately, Degsey couldn't quite manage the wheel spin.

We continued heading south, but for a while after this, we decided to park up each night in quiet lay-bys. There was no mutual fear with anyone, and it was free.
I remember this time as being quite calm & homely. It was always fun when it was just the four of us. It was only when we met other people we'd get into weird situations.
Since I could speak a little German, I was doing the shopping, Jay was making us nice dinners, and Tim & Nicey were having stick fights & running off into the forest to explore.
Beer was less than 3 Marks a bottle & we only needed a couple....

One night, near Koblenz, we met an inebriated local guy wearing leather trousers. He asked us to have a drink/smoke with him.
We got a few bottles of beer, and he showed us a good spot for a campfire, about a mile from where we'd parked.
He was a nice kind of strange bloke rather than a strange kind of nice bloke. He said he was an x-punk, and then we began to get wasted on the beers.
We asked him his name, and he mumbled something back.
At the time, I thought he was trying to say Lederhosen, but I'm not so sure now.

(This is how I choose to remember him)

After some pleasant talking shit, & general drunken spiel, we got up and said we were going to walk back to the van. Maybe we should have invited our new friend, but it was our home. Most of our passports & all of our money were there; in any case, we weren’t some kind of travelling Kibbutz.
He decided to come with us anyway.

The long journey back to the van seemed to go really quickly. I have a vague memory of Nicey & Tim singing Tottenham Hotspur football chants but I must have ridden the beer bus most of the way.
Lederhosen seemed to have peaked & his face was quickly losing colour.
As we got closer to our home, I think the four of us were silently trying to work out how to say "Yeah, it's been cool man but we're goin' to chill now", but it's hard to find those words when you're young & wasted.

Just as we got back into Degsey, Nicey realized he'd lost a 50-mark note.
It was a sobering experience. This was a big deal to us and we had to try & do something.
Nicey & I walked back to the embers of our campfire with a torch, trying retrace our drunken steps. We were about to give up when somehow the note landed at our feet. It just seemed to present itself to us, quivering in the night's cold breeze.
Nicey was really happy. It was so cool.

When we finally got back to the van, Tim, Jay & Lederhosen were all sprawled out asleep. There was only room for four to sleep. Nicey took control...
"Lederhosen.... Lederhosen.... Oi! LEDERHOSEN...You can't sleep here...." And our poor dishevelled, leather-trousered friend, staggered off into the night

Four Teenagers... (Part Three) - The Horn

2006-11-16T23:32:00.000Z

The morning after the robbery, Tim & I went to find the local police station. The Dutch police were pretty cool. I just had to fill out some yellow form.
At first, they told me I should go to the British Embassy in the Haag, and discuss the stolen passport thing. -At this time in Europe, borders were much more tightly patrolled.
We didn't really want to go all the way there, for something so trivial, and the police mentioned that we could get advice at the British consul, which was nearby, in Amsterdam. So we continued with our day of bureaucracy, & queued up for an appointment.
There, they gave me another yellow form to complete, & told us/me to return home to England as quickly as possible, along the shortest route.

(Free map, Thanks University of Texas)

The shortest route was through Belgium to the Northern French port of Calais.
Our original planned route was a little bit different. -It was 2000 miles longer, & also went through Germany & the South of France.
Aside from those details, we thought "as quickly as possible" were vague instructions. So on balance, we decided to just carry on with our plan regardless, and deal with borders if & when they happened.

At some point during our six-day stay outside the Park Hotel, they'd become annoyed with our little 'free water & restroom' racket.
On the last day, Jay had needed to make a quick exit, after being caught red-handed by the manager, in their lobby restrooms, with the huge water can, half full & jammed under the sink tap.
It was time to move on. Faithful old Degsey roared into action & we were off.

As we edged south from Amsterdam, we were using some of the 99 songs on our horn, depending on the situation.
For example, we could play 'Old MacDonald' as we drove into a campsite, or if a tractor was overtaking us.
We sometimes played the 'Theme from Rocky' as we left a campsite.
It didn't always play the tunes properly, but that just added to it's charm.

We were innocently driving along the Dutch motorway, near Utrecht, in quite heavy traffic, when we were startled by the inescapable sound of a police siren.
The earsplitting noise panicked us all. It sounded as if a police car was inside our van.
"WE'RE BEING NICKED!" shouted Jay, and we checked out the windows to see how many rozzas were on our tail.
But there were no police cars. -Just dozens of confused motorists, watching four freaked out teenagers, twitching the curtains inside our spluttering, wailing camper van...

"IT'S US!...IT'S THE HORN!...OUR HORN'S GONE MENTAL". Shouted Tim.

Luckily the battery was accessible from inside the van, under a seat.
We opened the cover and pulled at the wires connected our horn, cutting the sound of the siren, before we could get pulled for impersonating a police van.

As we neared Germany, I hid in the back.
We crossed the border with me laying low, nestled safely in Degsey's rear end. The weather had broken and it was overcast & rainy.
This may have worked to our advantage, since the border police couldn't be bothered to open the window of their warm, dry kiosk.
In my limited experience, it's always best to do something illegal in bad weather, since the authorities are often worried about getting wet.
-Maybe it's something to do with control issues.

Anyway, we'd made it into Germany, which was cool.
We were still hoping to travel in Europe for another few weeks without my passport, and I felt pretty confident that we'd get away with it, since every border from now on, was kind of on the way home.
Even better, we reconnected the horn and it worked again.
We still had three passports, a comedy honker, the Autobahn, and a van that could do almost 40mph.
We were on a roll.

Guy Fawke's Night

2006-11-06T23:58:00.000Z

(Uncle Gaz with a little angel called Ailla)

We went to a little bonfire party last night.
Each year on 5th November, us Brits commemorate the houses of parliament (and King) NOT being blown up by Guy Fawkes, in the 'Gunpowder Plot' of 5th Nov 1605.
-We don't let go of the past very easily in Britain.

The Americans have fireworks on independence day, the French have them to remember the storming of the Bastille, but us British let off our roman candles & rockets for...A failed revolution, 401 years ago last Sunday. Phuck Yeah!
Since we no longer live in the middle-ages, we celebrate this great festival with our strange customs of making a large bonfire, watching magical mysterious explosions, & burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes.
-A stroke of genius propaganda by the royalists.

(Great British Bonfire - minus the effigy)

I was thinking how Guy Fawkes gets a bit of a bum deal really. He made a bit of a mistake & pays for it every year. All his mates who grassed him up, seem to get off scott free now-a-days.
I didn't do much History at school, but it seems to me, that poor Guy was a cornered man, caught between his own beliefs & the king's 'Divine Right' to rule.
And in any case, would Britain be a better or worse place, if Guy hadn't been busted with his stash of powder?
If he HAD succeeded in blowing up King James...So what?
Maybe we'd have celebrated it, every year on the 6th November for the next four centuries.

This sounds harsh on King Jim, but "he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword"...And he was a bit of a wanker by all accounts.

I quite like some traditions, but maybe we could evolve them a little.
If we need to burn effigies, how about some of Britain's self entitled, old monarchs, for starters.
Or maybe we could burn effigies of people who have pissed us off personally, like the teacher at my old primary school who smacked my arse with 'The Slipper'.

Then I got to thinking... It's strange that men seem quite eager to light fireworks, but the ladies are often happy to just watch.
It's quite a macho thing isn't it. Come on admit it, I am...
...It's that anticipation & excitement, of lighting that touch paper & waiting for the rocket to shoot up in the air, before the explosion...
I wonder what's going on subconsciously? Or is it just me?

So I reckon, the whole 5th November thing, could have our own personal meanings.
Next year, as well as possibly burning an effigy of one of my old school teachers, I might set off fireworks to celebrate man's virility, -a bit like the ancient pagans of Britain did with their Giant Phallic art work.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Guy Fawkes, 1570-1606.
A good man, who made a slight error of judgment.
R.I.P.

Four Teenagers & A Camper Van (Part Two)

2006-10-29T01:13:00.000Z

Remember, we were only 17 & we had no idea, what 'decriminalized' meant (with respect to weed). In our experience, drugs were illegal & police were to be avoided or lied to.
"Pleash upen zhe back doorsh" Said one officer, so we complied. They walked around to the back of the van and got a proper look at us, and we got a look at these two moustached, armed officers. The guy with the bigger tash said...
"O.K. Do you haave any druugs?"

(A Dutch undercover cop. Photo by Lila)

There was a moment of silence, while we all gave each other a scared look, hoping that one of us would suddenly know what to say.
Then Jay piped up, with his cheeky confidence...
"Nuffin' stronger than paracetamol".
Another uncomfortable silence followed.
There was still a stench of skunk & black hash in the air, & we were trying hard to make our eyes look open.
"Look, itsh O.K. to have some haash" Urged the camp faced cop.
"Ohhh, Hash!" we said in unison, with a collective sigh of relief. "We got some hash....yeah hash...and some weed..."
It turned out that they were trawling for counterfeit cash (I can't believe we fitted their target profile). After inspecting our money they warned us to be careful of 'junkie thieves' operating in the area, & they left.

I was woken the next morning by the smell of charis.
I could sleep through extremes of noise, motion or temperature. My nostrils were my alarm clock, & since we didn’t normally have food, it was a joint that would stir me out of my slumber.
The other guys would come to know this about me, and could exploit this weakness of mine at their convenience.

I think we spent the next day, snoozing in the park & getting lost in the city, since all the streets seemed to look the same. We returned to the coffee shop 'Balou', and ate frites with mayonaise on the way back to the van.

Walking back to the camper van late that night, as we negotiated the last corner, we saw a pillow & some blankets scattered across the road.
Our first reaction was to laugh, but there was something that didn't feel quite right about the whole scene.
It dawned on me that it was my pillow in the street, & Jay noticed one of his blankets from the 'Chevignon' logo.
Jay was the first to get to the van and see the mess, and his maternal instinct took over...
"O.K. who was the last one out"
As the rest of us got in the van, we all started to realize the gravity of the situation. Tim had lost his sleeping bag, Jay had lost some of his designer clothes, I'd lost my passport & Degsey had lost his Stereo.
It was Ruud van Robbery.

Four Teenagers & a Camper Van (Part One)

2006-10-26T16:20:00.000Z

I was at this stag party recently, & I saw all my old friends...

Make new friends,
But keep the old,
Because one is silver,
And the other, gold.
(T. Campbell, King & Queen Pub, c.1989)

...And we got talking about our European, utopian experience from the summer of 1990.
Tim, Jay, Nicey, & I, bought a Commer Van for £650. It was called Derek after the old bloke who sold it to us. As the relationship grew, it's name changed to 'Degsey'.

So, to make it road worthy, we bought a new tyre & a horn that played 99 songs, & then we planned a vague route.
We were going to begin with heading straight for Amsterdam (obviously), then driving south through Germany, along the Rhine, and ending up in St. Tropez for a few weeks.
We had an average budget of about £12 per day.
My Mum kept asking "But why do you want to go all that way to Amsterdam, Rob?"
I don't remember what pathetic excuse I gave her, maybe it was art museums or something, but I didn't mention Coffee Shops.

We set off, in the strawberry moon of June. Our parents had come to see us go, and Degsey spluttered up the hill and away from my house.
We'd almost made it out of their sight, when Degsey broke down for the first time. Everyone thought this was really funny at the time. We didn't realize it was to become a recurring theme.

Luckily, Nicey's Dad knew about motors, and we were soon back on the road heading for Dover.

Degsey would only do 40 mph, maybe 45 downhill, and it over heated if we did too much driving, so we stayed most of the following day at a campsite by the motorway, near the Dutch/Belgium border.

We had a little gas hob, a sink & a fridge in the van. Jay stepped forward as the only candidate for the position of chef, with his now famous ‘tuna in tomato sauce & pasta’ recipe. In fact, we very quickly began to look upon Jay as the mother figure, as he was often cooking, cleaning or trying to keep his fashionable wardrobe clean.
Since I had already managed to get sunburned, and I was always trying to fix the stereo, I sort of assumed the role of a kind of silly Dad.
Tim & Nicey, were a bit like the children, -often laughing at us, or out playing, while having no respect for being sensible at bedtime.

We got to Amsterdam late the following night, & parked up.
In the morning, we realized we'd chosen a good spot. It was outside the plush looking "Park Hotel" near the Liedesplien.
There was the river on one side & the hotel lobby with toilets on the other.
So we began this morning ritual, of sneaking our 15-litre water can into the hotel & trying & fill it up, without being noticed.

Amsterdam didn't have as many 'coffee shops' back then, and I think the cannabis thing was a little less conspicuous than today.
There didn't seem to be any kind of open sign of the ganja trade. Maybe we were all a bit naive, but it took us longer than normal, to score some weed on our first day in Amsterdam.
We were going into ordinary cafes, ordering coffees, and then sitting and talking in hushed tones about whether we should ask if they sold pot.
Eventually, we met some other English guys, who pointed us toward a 'real' coffee shop, which they knew.

I remember, the coffee shop was called the 'Cafe Balou', and the street name was something like 'Handjobstrasse'.
As we shuffled in, everything just looked normal -respectable even. There was no 'menu' on show, like we'd heard stories about. The only thing to give it away was this guy, sitting at a table, smoking a joint.
So Jay & I went up to the bar, since we never used to score alone (for security reasons). I think Jay just came straight out with it...
"Got any 'ash?"

We were used to dealers in England, who would at least pretend to be friendly, but this guy just slapped a scribbled menu on the bar & said nothing.
There wasn't 50 different flavours on sale, like there are nowadays, there was just Skunk, Sensi, Moroccan hash, Lebanese hash, & Charis.
We bought some charis & some skunk & it was stronger than we were used to...

About half an hour later, I remember I was gambling on the fruit machine, mesmerized by the flashing lights. I could hear my mates having a heated discussion about something, with a strange mixture of arguments & hysterical laughter.
All the buttons were in Dutch on this gambler, so I didn't know what I was doing, but each time I hit a button to try and collect, my winnings would double.
It got to about 200 Guilders or something, I remember it being a lot of cash for us back then, and I was calling over to my mates...
"Oi! What's Dutch for collect?" but they were too busy arguing about whether Nicey was a liberal or something.
By the time I'd worked out which button was 'Gamble' & which was 'Collect', it had gambled back down to 10 Guilders.

Later, back in the van, in a haze of spliff smoke, we were all fairly red eyed & chilled out & listening to Bob Marley's 'Kaya'.
Suddenly there was a knock at the window. We put the joints out & gave each other a scared look, hoping that one of us would suddenly know what to do. We opened the side window, and a cloud of spliff smoke was sucked outside, as the I.D. of an undercover police officer was thrust in.

International Hand Signal for Empathy

2006-10-21T22:07:00.000Z

Earlier, I was driving my car in East Oxford.
Certain parts of town can be a freakshow at times, so I was trying to concentrate on the road, whilst also keeping one eye on the action.

I didn't notice this impatient driver, in a line of parked cars, who wanted to pull out in front of me.
As I drew close, the devil seemed to posses him.- He beeped his honker, stuck his crimson, bald head out the window, and spat out...
"FANKS FOR LETTIN' ME OUT YOU FOCKING BARRSTURRD".

I wasn't sure how I should react to this.
My only crime was not being over-courteous, and maybe not being aware of him & his impatient nature.
Anyway, I laughed at him.
It wasn't like I laughed AND pointed at him.
I just laughed at him, because he was so ridiculous.

I don't think he'd left me any other option:-

1) I could have held up my hand, apologetically,
but then I had nothing to be sorry for.
2) I could have said "Wait until the road is clear, like other people do".
But telling angry people what to do, is not always a good idea, & he was fucking livid.
3) I didn't want to stop, to debate issues of right of way & the 'Highway Code', with a furious, red faced man.
4) I didn't want to shout "Fock Orff!" Back,
Since he might have gone even redder & even more furious.
5) I didn't really want to park up, go over, & put my hand on his shoulder & say, "What's really bothering you, friend? You can talk to me..."

But I couldn't escape the fact, that such an outburst at me, from a fellow human being, could not just be ignored.

Anyway, I managed to get home, and then I started to think;
What IS the appropriate response to this situation?
What I really needed, was a quick hand gesture, a bit like flicking the V, except it should mean-

"Yeah, I have empathy with how you are feeling, I've been there myself, (but this really ain't my shit, so just get off my case)"

Is there such a signal?
Maybe laughter is close enough.

Power to the People (But only a little bit)

2006-10-16T09:54:00.000Z

Sometimes, on cool clear nights like tonight, I take a break from writing music and I go into my garden & smoke a cigarette...

...I look up toward the sky, & I can sense how small we are.
It's a cool, calm kind of insignificance, and it's O.K.,
I don't think man will discover, how to reach the stars,
Before secrets we uncover, will somehow destroy us all.

When I walk in the forest, past acorns & rotting trees.
I see my life is short, like striking a match, but it's O.K.
I don't think we will know where every creature is,
Or when each leaf will fall, before we destroy them all.

If ignorance is bliss, then knowledge must be struggle,
And I am drawn to know, like moths are to light, but it's O.K.
Because I think that comfort is somewhere in the middle.
And I don't really think that we were meant to know it all.

(Grunge style, mood change)

LET'S HAVE A REFERENDUM! Phuck yeah!
Politics is great, dang nab it. (Until the power takes hold)

It has come to my attention that people who add to these postings, cannot delete their own comments.
Although I do occasionally edit, I think it's cool to post embarrasing/crap stuff. It's character building & creative.
But I want to know what you think.

"Do you think that anyone (including me) should be able to delete things they've written in drunken hazes/insane moments?"
You can post me answers of (at least) yes or no,
(at most, not more than 3000 words).

If most say yay,
I'll change it today,
If more say ney,
I'll have to obey.
What's that you say?
Yeah, I'll stop this, o.k.

You can use your name, or be anonymous, or use a pseudonym like... "Demi O'Cracy" or "Pan T. Hose"

(Offer ends in a few days. Not limited to one per household. Open to earth residents, excluding employees of the Music Biz, their families & agents)

Synthesizer Specialist Spills Successful Supermarket Shopping Secrets Scoop

2006-10-12T10:00:00.000Z

I just got home from shopping, & the England v Croatia game isn't on T.V.
So instead, because I'm weird, I'm writing a list of the things I do, that help keep me sane, when I do my weekly shop.
1) The ratio of kids to parents should be no more than 2:1.
2) I Look for a parking space near the trolley park, not the shop entrance, since that's my first & last stop.
3) I like to leave something conspicuously visible (like a pineapple or a large box of condoms) on my trolley, so I can easily identify/find it.
4) I avoid any physical contact with shoppers carrying bags lined with tin foil.
5) I try to avoid small talk with people who approach me when I'm choosing apples. -They are usually bananas.
6) I don't try and steal stuff (anymore), tin foil lined bag or not -It's naughty.
7) I don't let my son push the trolley. He thinks everything with wheels is meant to be crashed into something.
8) I avoid over-friendly checkout staff.
8 & a half) I avoid overtly insane checkout staff.
9) I choose a checkout where young bachelors are queuing. Even if it's longer than the others. It's often quicker, I don't know why.
10) Someone please take over. I'm running out of ideas & I've started to weep uncontrollably.

Why do my kids think it's so funny when I pretend to cry?

Consciousness

2006-10-08T13:45:00.000Z

I left a heavy book on top of my alarm clock last night, as I went to sleep.
I woke up this morning & the digital display was racing through the hours of the day.
I thought I might have woken up in a gap in the space-time continuum, but I think it's still 2006.

I believe, each morning, within minutes of waking up, we may have already (sub)consciously decided what kind of day it will be.
If I choose a defeatist mood, the day will defeat me. If I make the small effort to think positive, the day has no limits.

What colours the flames that burn inside,
And at times, to flicker black-red?
Sometimes the light is a warm glowing yellow.
But sometimes it's cold blue instead.
I can stoke it myself, if I desire,
Or others may throw on their shite.
But I decide, what goes into the fire,
And I'm grateful it still burns so bright.

I think it's natural to struggle sometimes, if we're doing things right.
Some people struggle against oppression, some struggle against convention. Some people struggle to make their lives better for their families, & I struggle at times, just to make the right choices.
(Like clicking 'Publish Post' on Friday night)

Howoooooooo

2006-10-06T20:29:00.000Z

It's Friday night, there's a full moon, & I feel c-c-c-crazy.
I miss acting like a headcase.
It made me feel warm & cool.

We've been writing lyrics this week ________(This isn't them)
But somebody keeps saying "Let's go to the pub",
It's going O.K., but the best part of the day,
Is when we just start jamin' ______________(Nor this)
Yesterday I was on bass & Danny was on keys.
Bass is a fucking cool instrument to play __(Not this either)
When I play keys, I sometimes have to think,
& make sure my fingers are right.
But when I play bass it's more about just feeling,
& letting the devil inside me out.__________(They're still secret)
I've got nasty blisters on my fingers today,
I think that means I enjoyed it.____________(Sorry!)

Self Fulfilling Prophecies

2006-10-04T21:53:00.000Z

A lot can happen in 4 days.

My idea of gaining control of the Musicians Union now looks unlikely, on the basis that I've never voted, had any position of service, filled out any of the stupid questionnaires they keep sending me, or taken any previous interest whatsoever. Plus there isn't even a Presidential position. It's called a General Secretary apparently.

Some recent posted comments have made me consider my own position.
I realized that I am a sort of Dictator of a small banana (republic).
Only I don't have a whole country's agricultural industry, or natural resources, to be corrupt with.

Ten similarities between a Dodgy Dictator and myself:

1) I make undemocratic decisions for my family - should kids vote on bedtime?
2) I grew two tomatoes this year (from three plants & a growbag)
3) I buy contraband cheap Eastern European cigarettes from a guy who meets me on a local garage forecourt.
4) I'm authoritarian.-No explanation needed.
5) I drive a Vauxhall Omega - No explanation needed
6) I hang around with three 'cronies' most days, and give others the impression we're working hard.
7) I decide what crazy rhetoric I will spiel and when I will spiel it.
8) I spend large amounts of money on credit.
9) I accept payments from a questionable industry, often based on their perception of my power.
10) My kids are constantly looking & testing for weakness so they can overthrow me.
-Actually the kids have been revolting today, in the rebellious sense, of course.

Everyone needs to be a dictator in some way. Right?
But maybe I should be more democratic here.
So what do you think this blog should be more or less? (Does that even make sense?)

Democratic/Communist/Religious Fundamentalist/Emotional/
Honest/Green-fingered/Realistic/Up it's own arse/
Illustrated/Grammatically Correct/Other

Don't worry, I (The General) will not change my mind during the night.
This is, after all, National 'No Rules week' in Britain. Or maybe it's 'Walk your kids to school week', I forget now.

Why I Should Not Be Allowed to Be Dictator of a Banana Republic.

2006-10-01T13:41:00.000Z

I'd like to think I'm quite fair in life. Do to others as I'd have them do to me, but I can, sometimes be a bit stubborn & selfish. I don't always see it, and people rarely point it out to me.
When things go well for me, I can think my brain is super charged. When things don't go well, I can think I'm a bit crap.
What I often fail to remember, is that when things are really cool, there might be other people/forces at work, helping me along.

I wonder which of the world's leaders wake up in the morning and think, "Right, another day as ruler of my country, by divine right."?

I believe in democracy, and I also believe in other ideas which are for me, but not necessarily for everyone.
If people try to force their ideas onto me I see it as a challenge.
If people help me unconditionally, I'm grateful.
Sometimes, knowing the difference is tricky.

Gordon Brown said last week, that we owe it to the world, to enforce liberty & democracy.
Did he mean "help the suffering, & be ready to stand up for the oppressed"?

As the ruler of my own head, I need to feel gratitude for my perception of the world, not entitlement. Or I trip over my own arrogance. (Which I still do)

The more I'm given, the harder this becomes, which is why I don't think I could handle the power, being Dictator of a Banana Republic.
Thanks.

(But can I still count on your vote, if I run for president of the Musicians Union?)

School Tripping II -Edmund's Revenge

2006-09-27T22:32:00.000Z

At breakfast next day, Mr Dales addressed the class. We were told that an ambulance had come to take Kevin away in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, it was 'suspected appendicitis'.
We didn't really know what that meant at the time. We thought it might be something to do with possibly being a Mummy's boy.

Apart from a few vague countryside memories, I think the rest of the trip was spent mostly passing popularity notes between the boys & girls lodgings.

There were marks given for both categories - looks & personality, and even an incredibly ruthless league table.

I was convinced that I was quite unattractive & had a fat bum up to this point, but I then realized, that the girl who'd been calling me 'fat bum' had a thing for me.
(She was called Rebecca).
I couldn't really tell whether I had a large rear end or not. I suspected not, but if I did, maybe that was what she liked about me.
It could have been a term of endearment. I'll never know.

When we got back to school the following week, things went back to normal. Kevin was a bit sheepish, although he was very eager to show us his abdominal scar.
I couldn't help thinking he was just a little too eager.
Maybe it WAS just homesickness & he'd had his appendix removed out of embarrassment at being such a wuss.
Or, maybe he'd just made the scar himself with a pair of scissors & his Mum's sewing kit.
Truth is, I'd like to know what happened to Kevin that night too.

Epilogue:
I want to thank Tommy for helping me remember this childhood story.
When I was 12, Tom threw a snowball at my face so hard, it made my nose bleed. At that time, we were on opposing sides in a fight between rival schools. -We are still friends.

I changed "Edmund the boffin's" name to protect his identity since he now plays bass in a death metal band.

School Tripping

2006-09-25T16:52:00.000Z

Today, my daughter's whole class is going to stay on a farm in Devon for a week. There was a two page list of all the stuff we needed to have:
Sleeping Bag,
Torch,
Soap Dish,
Swimming costume & towel in their own plastic bag,
Spare swimming costume,
Another towel,
An extra plastic bag,
...Etc
We've got it all covered now, except for 'Four pairs of old trousers'.
- Still struggling to get these.

When I was a nine year old, or maybe ten, my class did a similar trip. Back then, it was to a place called 'Yenworthy' -also in Devon.
I can still remember it now; weak tea in the morning, army-style assault courses in the afternoon, trying to get lost on the moors & sheep with poor hygiene.

Picture the scene.... It's our first night away from home. The boys lodgings were two adjacent rooms upstairs in this old farm building. There was a bunk-bed in each corner of each room.
I remember, most of us in our room were still larking about at around midnight, when one quiet kid who was quite posh (Edmund) spoke up...
"Is everyone aware that we must be up at 7:15 in the morning, & the minimum recommended daily amount of sleep for children our age is 9 hours?"
(After much laughter & cruel ridicule, he would later become my friend.)

Then the party was cut short by the sound of sad moaning coming from the other room, across the landing.
At first we snickered at the idea of Kevin crying for his Mummy, but we soon realized, this might be more than just pathetic homesickness. It became wailing pain, primal anguish, then shrieking horror nightmare stuff.

Teachers were hurrying up & down the creaky old staircase and in & out of Kevin's Room '101'.
Suddenly our room wasn't so brave as everyone pulled their blankets up to their noses & hid in the darkness.
The noise went on for ages and we could hear the teachers voices quivering with anxiety, but more so than usual.
I think we all fell asleep to that sound that night, I know I did.
When we woke up in the morning Kevin was gone.
...

What's Your Insanity Rating?

2006-09-22T23:45:00.000Z

I think I'm about a 49% today.
A zero day would be sipping afternoon tea with Prince Charles, then sitting through a recital of Bach's 'Mass in B minor', whilst looking pensive.
A 100% day would be dropping my trousers & eating toilet paper during a job interview, then stage diving repeatedly at an "S Club 7 Juniors" gig.

I think we should talk about this stuff with our neighbours instead of the weather. Then we could all be a bit more forgiving of our mistakes.

I find it useful to counter criticism with a plea of insanity. I don't even have to give my current rating.
My girlfriend might ask...
"Are you going on your computer again? You were on it for two hours twenty-seven minutes last night" Then I'd say...
"Look, it's just where I am right now" To which, there can be no reply. (Except perhaps "I'm leaving you")
Or...
"Why don't you ever do anything romantic anymore?" And then I could say...
"Look, it's just where I am right now. (Besides I'm not a girl)" -It's better just to think that bit in brackets.

If I ever did do anything really out of order, like order myself a male strippergram at my own Birthday dinner party, I could add...
"It's a balmy 86% today so just BACK OFF!"

Then I need never apologize for anything ever again. Ha!
Sorry I don't know what came over me.
So sorry.
Sorry. xxx

She is quite cool to put up with my crap (& I'm cool too...).

We are often as insane as people allow us to be.

(How's my sanity 0800 1,2,3,4...99,100)

Gratitudes to all the Dudes.

2006-09-15T01:06:00.000Z

Fake Shock

I think it says 'C.F.C'.

Mick at the Soundcheck. The soldiers in the background were looking for Christian Rock. (Whoever he is).
The seats were reserved for the authorities & their guests, everyone else stood on the grass. (That bit's true)

What's the penalty for playing a trumpet out the window of your taxi (or txit)?

Todays caption Competition...

1st prize: My Gratitude

(Photos by Mick)

The show in China was really cool. The picture that will stay in my head is looking out over 10,000 people all letting go and going nuts in their own way. There was a chain of young dudes doing the Conga, some people just jumping on the spot, & I could see one guy right in the distance alone on a hill, constantly waving his jumper above his head- helicopter style. On second thought, it could have been a renegade soldier. There was a huge military presence but I thought they were quite innocuous.
We opened with a new song and closed with the old ones. At the last minute we deciced to play 'Alright' for the first time in years.
Meanwhile Gazza's singing head was being projected onto huge sceens, visible from both sides.

I bought some great old communist posters. Genuine antique propaganda, but they fell out my bag on the plane before we changed at Copenhagendaaz & I didn't realize until London.

Today, I'm grateful for the comments on this blog. Comments make this blog and they make me laugh. Without them, it would just be like me shouting at parked cars on the street.

On the subject of old postings, the local hair dressers who sheared off part of my identity has closed down. I haven't decided whether this is a good or bad thing.

Interested in Apathy

2006-09-09T23:50:00.000Z

I'm really into apathy at the moment. I was going to call this posting 'All Quiet on the Cyber Front' but I went for a different contradiction instead.

I went to a wedding last week. One of my oldest, best & most eccentric friends has had his last bachelor beer.
When the Vicar asked if anyone had any reason why they should not be man & wife, there was lots of nervous laughter.
At the reception, I almost wept during the best man's speech, when some of the groom's misdemeanors were recounted. Happy memories.
They are a sweet couple who deserve happiness.

I'm in Beijing right now. What can I say?... It's very cheap & there's lot's of building work going on. Ciggies taste rough.
This is a country in transition.
Mickey said 'Children of the Monkey Basket' is not on the net here. That's weird since my blog is.
I think I'm going to leave it there before I say something inappropriate....
Talking of which, my jet-lag is annoying & there's only one T.V. channel in English. I watched a film last night/morning about a talking dog who did Karate & helped to solve a murder case. How do these films get made?

We are playing the 'Beijing Rock Festival' tomorrow. We've submitted all our lyrics to the organizers (Luckily p*litic*l/r*ligi*us songs are not our forte). I hope we do a good show, -It feels like a bit of an honor to play a little part of the begining of live Rock music in China.

Inappropriatism

2006-08-09T14:21:00.000Z

Today, one of my friends claimed they "Wanted to take a crap, but were too tired". This has been making me laugh for quite a while now.
Is there something wrong with me or does anyone else find this amusing?.

I got back home from my stay at the cottage in Normandy yesterday (Where we made Road to Rouen). I'm thinking of writing a summer version of "The Shining".
This time, it's set in France, with the main character (Blade, played by Robert Downey Jnr) starting to lose it on the four hour car journey from Calais, to rural west Normandy.
It begins just off the ferry, with his young son refusing to take a shit in the French style "stand-up" toilets. After nearly running out of diesel in the middle of nowhere, lots of kids screaming in the car & taking the A29 east instead of west, they finally make it to the secluded old cottage.
They find the electricity is out, hence no food/drink/cold beer & four beds must be made up in the dark. The kids then refuse to go to bed & laugh at Blade's attempts at assertive discipline.
The intention to write music just didn't happen (see below for my new song).

All work & no play makes Rob C, a very naughty boy.
All work & no play makes Rob C, a very naughty boy.
All work & no play makes Rob C, a very naughty boy.
All work & no play makes Rob C, a very naughty boy.
(Sing to the tune of the French national anthem)

The only neighbour is a local farmer who drops by to deliver gifts of home made alcohol & duck eggs, and talks French really fast. He's actually quite cool, maybe he could be played by Mel Gibson or possibly even Jack Nicholson.

What d'ya think?
Anyone?

The Monkey's Paw

2006-07-22T23:52:00.000Z

I was thinking about this story today. It was told to me by my uncle when I was a toddler and I still remember some of it. I typed the name in to Google and apparently it's by W.W. Jacobs. Do you know the one?
-Three wishes granted on a cursed withered paw. Parents wish for £200. Son gets mutilated in factory machinery. Factory offers £200 compensation. Parents wish for son back...Etc (I won't spoil the end)

Although Uncle Ted told it pretty well, there was something really cool about the original. I'm no English student, but I liked the idea that fate is a powerful thing. If it's disregarded or changed there are always conseqences. Wishing for £200 on a mummyfied paw is quite an obvious example of changing fate, but what about buying a lottery ticket or quitting work because the boss is a Neo-Nazi? Is that changing fate or taking a risk because it's the right thing to do? It's not always obvious to me.

Why am I writing this? Am I trying to change fate, taking a risk, or just farting in the wind?

It's the first day of the kids summer holidays today. I've got three weeks off from the band. I haven't sorted anything out yet. What are we going to do? I'm frightened. Maybe I"ll just drive everyone to the beach & see what happens.

Life is like riding in a car....

2006-07-19T13:56:00.000Z

...It's just a longer journey.
Most people like to be in the driving seat, some people insist on it, while others absolutely refuse to be in control.
Some people want to sit up front & give directions, but they don't actually want to drive.
We love to criticize other's mistakes but hate to accept our own.-We all think we are good people/drivers. Don't we?
I think the happiest travelers are the ones who sit in the back, not really knowing or caring, how or when they will get there.- Although they're sometimes the ones who freak out most, when really lost.
The most important thing for me:- If I don't like the seat I'm on, I can always move to another, or get out and find a different way to go.
I want a motorbike, so I can sometimes just be by myself, but it's also dangerous -If it starts to slide, who knows where I'll end up? (Wiped out & dressed head to toe in leather?)
People love to show off their cars/lives. I guess I'm no different.

My daughter's class is doing a project on the 1960s. She told her teacher that I had a car made in 1965 and I was asked if I'd take it to school. I felt a bit weird about it at first, but the kids were so cool. They all had a go sitting inside & beeping the horn..They were all quite excited but really polite. One boy offered me £300 for it!
Later, the class made me three thank-you cards & everyone wrote a message in them. I was so happy that I nearly cried. (But I didn't, honest)

Maybe next time: My top three most embarrassing schoolboy experiences.
I said "maybe".

Bob's Big Blog: Austin Cambridge

2006-07-08T10:55:00.000Z

Changed the photo in case I got into trouble with tight tucked shirt man- This is my one

My Austin Cambridge is not Cool....

2006-07-07T19:45:00.000Z

....But neither am I.- It is now fully operational & totally legit. (Like me?)
My Austin (A.K.A. A60) is turquoise with pale blue interior.(It's not the one (that I hope is) in the link page-'I can't do photos'). Mine was made in 1965, I've had it for ten years but it's been sleeping in a dusty garage for the last five years. It's not worth much money, but I like it because it was the first car I bought when I joined the band.
It looks a bit mean from the front, with the chrome grill & sticking out headlamps, but as it drives away, it shows it's true colours.- It's rear end is quite rounded, a little oversized, and it has subtle tail fins. It's really a big softy - a bit of a geek.
It's not something to show off with- It's not a beautiful car, but the pleasure is in driving it. It still goes quite fast (80 mph), it bounces along and it slides around corners. I like the way the stick shifts between gears- I have to double press the clutch & accelerator to get to second. It smells like old leather mixed with grease & feels like I'm sitting on a sofa.
Also the indicator stick has a little green bulb on it's end, that flashes when turning.
Now it's up & running, I'm thinking about swapping it for an old motorbike. The problem is, the kids love it. They think it's a brand new car & I haven't the heart to tell them otherwise. I picked Louis up from school today in it & he got really excited. When he saw his friend getting into a flashy new mini-van, he shouted from the back "HEY LOOK AT MY DADDY'S NEW CAR!"

Positive thinking is Grrreat!

2006-07-03T18:55:00.000Z

I love the sunshine- It makes me feel warm and my skin look healthy.
I like soft ice cream- Generic exotic is my current favorite
I love playing music with the band.- We're writing new songs. We get something exciting from each session at the moment.
I like eating ham, cheese & salad in a tortilla wrap. (Only when the tortilla wrap is heated in a pan with some olive oil for a few minutes first)
I like my garden- It's only small but it's got a cherry tree, a few nice flowers and a sand pit for the kids.
I love my old friends.- I saw Tommy at the weekend and Jim the week before.
I like my iBook- It helps me record music and stay sane.
I love (my) 55 Rhodes. It belongs to the band, but it lives in my garage.
I like honest car mechanics.-My Austin Cambridge is ready after lying dormant for years & the repair bill wasn't too bad.
I love my kids.- They are so uncomplicated.
I like sneaking off to buy Sushi and then eating it all in the car before I get home.
I like the fact that my iBook is still under guarantee. The 'touch pad' is still playing up and I haven't sent it to be repaired yet. Soon it will be gone and "Bob's Big Blog" may go quiet.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for about ten working days.

Crap Arts- Part 2 (Not to be confused with Pop Art or Car Parts)

2006-07-01T10:08:00.000Z

Thanks for your comments about my crap poem- (I changed it a bit and then Kate made some very wise suggestions-see below). The advice was timely.-Before I received it, I was thinking of getting the poem tattooed across my forehead. Maybe I will get the spiders web across my face instead.
I quite like hardcore tatoos. Maybe it's because I never got one myself. I often like the things that I am not, like: drifters, Labradors, overtly angry people, people who don't give a shit, people who hold responsible positions in the community and females.- (Not like that! I have a girlfriend & children y'know)
Personally, I think the poem will be rediscovered in a hundred years time and hung in the Tate gallery, as a fine example of crap poetry (circa 2006). It might be in their "Crap Arts from a hundred years ago" exhibition and could be displayed between Damien Hirst's "Pickled Sheep" and a big old pile of car parts.

Philosophy without thought (Feat. Kate)

2006-07-01T03:12:00.000Z

I think most rock stars were sweet nerds once.
Tired of label "worthless ponce".
Free spirits now, or control freaks
Not being real, they're up shit creek.

Does anyone like our Crap Poem?- (I did the 'Crap' bit, Kate did the 'Poem' bit)

Any Net. Cred. (internet credibility) earned from this piece of 'Crap Art', shall now be 50% Kate's. (Unless someone else improves it further, in which case, we'll all just have to take a smaller piece of the pie accordingly). In fact I'm thinking about giving a slice of the action to the commentators below, since they initially made me examine myself and my "Piece of Crap" Art.

Guilt & Remorse? No, I'd do it again in a second.

2006-06-30T01:10:00.000Z

I think it's good to explore the possibility that some day, in the distant future, humans might only communicate through Blogging.
The thing about this, is that we might be pressured into considering what we say before we say it, as it may end up on the site of a Keyboard player, from a medium sized band, from Britain. OR it could end up on a site of someone famous (like Boy George or George Michael).
I could start calling myself "Boy Bobs". Maybe it will give me extra credibility. I allow myself to have insane thoughts.
These are the names I have answered to, from various people, over the last twenty years, in order of preference: Rob, Bobs, Robert, Bobsie, Bob, Robbie, Coombsey, Coombo, Blade (I told the crew to call me "Blade" for one particularly messy U.S. tour a few years back but luckily it never really caught on).

Ambivalent is my new favorite word, but I hate saying it.

2006-06-26T22:50:00.000Z

I am full of contradictions, pearls of wisdom and absolute shit. I didn't even know what ambivalence meant until someone pointed it out and applied it to me. Now I'm obsessed with the word.
I'm ambivalent about most things in my life except for my girlfriend's mother. (Subtle?)
I love living in a village, but I hate the village gossip.
I love doing music for a living, but I hate the music business.
I love sleeping, but I hate sleeping-in.
I love being insane, but I hate doing insane things.
I love spending all my money, but I hate spending all my money.
I am thinking about getting A.M.B.I.V.A.L.E.N.T tatooed across my knuckles but it's too many letters.

My Saturday search for meaning

2006-06-24T17:28:00.000Z

Is this it? Is this my Saturday? Dropping off the kids to go swimming with their granny and returning home alone? (Yes, I know what dropping off the kids at the pool means.)
It's a nice hot day & I should be doing something cool or writing an exciting new song, (until I decide it's actually shit), or at least weeding my garden, but all I can do is sit at home and write an entry in this stupid thing that kills my time.
I can feel my naughty side growing and I might just go and grab a fast food cheeseburger. I feel that I need something else and I can't put my finger on what it is. Alcohol/Sleep/Exercise/Sex/Chocolate/Self Improvement/People/ Music/ T.V./Internet,- I'm bored of them all right now. (Unless maybe, somehow I could combine all these things into one action.)
I think I have to admit that, although I think they drive me crazy, my kids actually keep me sane.
I love it when they help me in the garden, I love it when they say "brown flakes" instead of "bran flakes", I love the noises they make when they play cars.
I feel a bit lost today, without them.
I just had a flash of inspiration.- What about shopping?

Part of my identity was sheared off, swept up and thrown in the bin.

2006-06-23T14:54:00.000Z

Today I walked past my local hairdressers and the girl was outside smoking a fag. Since I was too, I took this to be a sign and decided I needed a trim. I explained how I needed a slightly tidier, messy cut and stressed that I was not into short fringes.
So we got talking about how nice the village/area was, when we were kids. Then we started talking about how kids today, don't seem to go off and swim in the river or camp out by Cuddesdon Mill any more.
The next thing I remember, I was staring in the mirror at a short fringe, hanging like a thick, shrunken curtain, resting above my eyebrows. The rest of my hair was still quite long- like a German footballer from the late eighties.
"Oowh, I think I've cut too much off the fringe" she said.
I couldn't leave looking like that, so I said something like "Errm, you will have to cut the rest of the hair short now, to balance the front."
I could feel her fingers begining to shake as she tried to rescue her art/pride/business. And so it continued, like a slightly drunk person sawing bits off each leg in turn, from a dining table, and ending up with a coffee table which still isn't level.
I have to be fair, the end result wasn't too bad as short hair cuts go. My Dad loved it and my girlfriend pretended to.
I think I look like a German footballer from early spring 2004.

Self Examination Can be Fun (mark 3)

2006-06-21T08:40:00.000Z

I've taken the band links off this blog template- as much as I could for now. No, we haven't fallen out, I just think this site should be my own thing if I'm going to write up my strange ideas. I've tried to change it myself, since I can't track down the original designer right now. I think I might have messed some things up- my spell check doesn't work any more. I'm pretty bad with computers at the moment. Also, I'm thinking about changing the name to "Bob's Big Blog" (I wonder if they still have "Bob's Big Boy" restaurants in California. I used to like their hot fudge sundaes.)
Yes it's true, I did miss some U.S. shows last time around. I'm not giving any excuses, but I had faith that Charly would put in some good shows in place of me, and he did. In fact, I think he was just a little bit too good for my liking. (I used to think I was indispensable)
The Astrophysics thing is not a joke, well I didn't think so during my final exams anyway. It was a very very long time ago though.
Can some one please tell me what "He gave me an extra tea-bag" means in the U.S.A. I am anxious to know.
This blog might self destruct in about 24 Hours.....On second thought, I've decided that it might not, who knows? -I can be quite spontaneous when I plan to be.

I don't want to set a precedent I can't keep but...

2006-06-19T23:18:00.000Z

I feel the need to talk about my day today. It's a story of high hopes, good intentions, stupidity, frustration, perseverance, tolerance, guilt & shame, loss, & finally a happy ending followed by a temper tantrum.

I quite like Mondays because the dustbin men come and take away everybody's crap- and this Monday was just the same- except for the recycling lorry. It came so early that I missed them, so I took my green boxes round to my brothers house where they get collected later.

This Monday was going to be extra super special because it's the day I get my broad band connected.
I was going to start by (i) taking the kids to school (ii) picking up my daughters bike from her grannies house (iii) filling the the car up (iv) taking my tax return to Abingdon (v) packing up my i Book & calling the courier to collect it (vi) trying to get my old P.C. working & connected to the net. I know it's a tall order, but I felt that I was up for it today.

The first two tasks went quite smoothly and then I lost my head. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, thinking of all I was about to achieve, when I picked up the wrong colour pump at the petrol station and started to fill up my tank. I didn't realize until I'd put forty quids worth of unleaded into my diesel car. So I just sat there for a little bit, said a few choice words and made a quick plan B. Luckily I didn't start up the engine. I called the breakdown recovery truck.

Then things really started to go wrong- I went across the road to have a double Latte while I waited, and the chap behind the bar told me their coffee machine & cash till were broken. Thinking on my feet, I changed my order to a cup of tea and said I had the right money. He kindly brought it to my table, but it was instant coffee. Yes INSTANT COFFEE! I thought " I'm not 'avin this" and said politely "I thought you were bringing tea".
He said "I didn't hear ya say tea" and by the look of fire in his eyes, I thought for a moment it was going to kick off right there. Anyway he was quite a nice bloke in the end- he even gave me an extra tea bag.

Next I talked to an empathic man who was refilling the petrol pumps or smelling them or something. He told me the first of what would become many stories throughout the day of peoples experiences of putting the wrong fuel in a car. I think this is a kind thing to do. It's like saying "OK you are a bit thick but I did it too once".

When the breakdown recovery truck came, I have to admit I was a little bit excited. I really wanted my little boy to see it, and then I wouldn't have had to play it cool. I called the local garage and told them what I'd done. On my way there, I jumped out of the recovery truck, close to the nearest legally available car. I was not going to let all this defocus my day. (Also I didn't want to face the mechanics with my shame)

Eventually after lots of faffing about, I managed to borrow a car from my Dad/Brother/Sister-in-law. (I still don't really know who it belongs to.) I did get to Abingdon, but that was the end of my 'to do' list. When I got back to the garage, I had to pay the bill and then fill up the car again. Apparently, part of my bill was for environmentally safe disposal costs which made me feel even worse through guilt.

When I got home, my daughter had heard, through the local chatter, what I'd done. She asked me if I'd done it "on purpose or by accident." I couldn't stop laughing to myself about this. Somehow she'd salvaged something humorous from a sh*tty day.
Finally to cap a weird day, she threw a huge wobbley at bed time because she wanted to watch something else ont'elly.

2006-06-18T15:11:00.000Z

It's strange how just one good thing can change my day. My kids gave me a card & CD for fathers day. I know it's the thought that counts, but it's also a really cool CD. It's a compilation of Soul music mostly from the 60s-70s. It's got Gil Scott-Heron, Curtis Mayfield and some that are less familiar to me.
My daughter is pretty fly for a nine year old. A cool cat & all that. I do try not to be too hard on her because it's not like I'm really tidy myself. I don't want her to tidy her room for me. I don't have to live in it- it's for her. So maybe I should back off a bit- until it gets really bad? I'm confused now.
Thank you for your experience of being told to tidy your room-(from my last posting) I can learn from this, since I can't remember too many tidying experiences I had as a boy/teenager/irresponsible young adult.

O.K. I know I'm ungrateful.

2006-06-18T08:19:00.001Z

Yes I have to hold up my hands and admit that filing a tax return is not a life changing experience. Furthermore I am fortunate to have had money to spend in the first place so I have no right to be annoyed. Also if I had been more organized, it would be easy to do my accounts, so it's my bad times three.
Today I will try not to moan about all my sh*t and see my positives.
Yesterday I cut the grass -it looks nice. Also yesterday my daughter tidied her room which was amazing. A bolt out the blue. I think I finally broke down her defences by telling her she couldn't go swimming until she had at least started it. At first there was the sound of wailing, door banging and gnashing of teeth coming from her room. I just left her to it and then, as if by some miracle, the next time I went upstairs it was tidy.
She did get to go swimming in the end, and as a bonus, had a friend to stay over. I think that's why she's still in bed. They were up late talking- It may have been about sponsering a dog for a pound a week since that's what she talks to me about at the moment.
Today I'm going to try and organize my hard drive. I know it's not very exciting but my i Book has to go back to Apple to have a fault diagnosis done and I must back every thing up so I may not post anything for a week or so.
Then I might go strawberry picking or go to the park to play footie with the kids. I'll probably end up pushing them on the swings- they don't really like football that much, it's really me who wants to play.

Waking up early

2006-06-15T06:04:00.000Z

I like getting up before anyone else in my house. I can think about things I need to do today without any distractions. Somehow my mind is at its most lucid at this time. Also I can think about things which weren't cool about yesterday and try to change them. Yesterday I had loads of time to myself but got lost in working on my music instead of dealing with every thing I needed to deal with.
These are my most pressing issues today:
-My yearly tax return needs doing. This is one of my least favourite ways to spend time. I must gather all of my bank statements and receipts from all of their hiding places and try to make sense of it all. I also hate it because it shows me how much money I've spent. I get side tracked by investigating how I managed to spend 'x' pounds in a certain month. I usually think I've been a victim of fraud at first and then gradually it dawns on me that I'm just crap with money and I did spend it all.
-The garage is a total mess.I need to sort it out. This is where I work/Do my music. It's unfortunate for the nieghbours since my garage door is thin so they might have to listen to me. I do try to keep my hours & volume respectable and I'd like to think that every once in a while they might not mind the sound of an old Fifty-Five Rhodes being lovingly stroked.
-Most pressing is to get the kids to school. Got to go.

How do I use this ibook?

2006-06-13T16:14:00.000Z

One day, when I'm grown up I hope this might be a real blog. For now I'm just a learner- still don't know how to use a mac. Mickey has very kindly assisted me in setting up this blog on my behalf, and very nice it looks too.
Thanks Mickey, this could be the start of something beautifull.
I don't want my commitment to this thing to be in question, but now I have to go to the supermarket and buy dinner and stuff. It's true I don't tell fibs. My shopping list includes Dry Nights & Speadable Butter.-I don't want to give too much of myself away just yet.