Electric Blue Eyes Reflecting Sunlight

Two posts, two uses of lyrics from the new Secret Machines album. I should say that I do love both those songs.

Some random events from the past few days.

I was walking back to the boat and some kids threw an egg at me out of a car. The egg only broke when it hit the ground. Which amused me greatly. I noticed a few more broken eggs further down the road.

I really should find out where they got those eggs from.

I've discovered Chilean chandeliers and Chilean curtains. Mauro, who used to own Chuffy and now lives a few boats down is Chilean. He's working on this system to improve the lighting on Venancia by fixing CDs under the small halogen spots to reflect the light back. And there you have it: Chilean chandeliers. Chilean curtains are even easier to make. You just hang a t-shirt over a small porthole sized window.

Magic.

I'll get a couple of pics up after the weekend.

I had a really special night with Annie last night. We sat up and talked about all sorts of things; how bad I've been feeling, work, life, relationships and we talked very openly and honestly about what we were going through when we split up. All the while getting utterly trashed on vodka. It was funny how differently we remembered certain events. It wasn't at all strange to talk about such dark days, and there was neither animosity nor recremination, just two friends fondly sharing memories that tie your bonds ever closer.

We slept next to each other, which we don't do very often these days. It doesn't matter how long it's been since a relationship has ended, it's still an enormous buzz to feel the body of someone you love lying next to you. Yah boo hiss to having to get up in the morning.

You can guage the strength of your friendship by how you feel when you part. I've been feeling like me all day.


Tunes: Marvin Gaye: Let's Get It On

Sitting At Home, What Am I Doing? A Boy Waiting By The Phone

For anyone for whom it's been a while since they last experienced any lengthy period of unemployment, here's a reminder that it's incredibly debilitating. You can't go anywhere, do anything; there's folks I haven't seen who I should have ages ago. And once you cross the line between timeout and not working, as I have done, you begin to feel a snowballing sense of social unworth. On top of that job searching is a long, tedious and depressing task. At the best of times. Project managing a web site is far easier than keeping tabs on the multiple balls you need to juggle to find any kind of job these days. I'm beginning to think that people should be given management status and a six figure pay rise simply through having found a job. So all in all it doesn't look too promising on the cheery front. It hasn't helped that the past month seems to have passed under an extremely dark cloud. Looking back on it, I'd rather just not.

So do I regret the my decision to leave my last job? Not in the slightest. If I'd still been there, I wonder if I'd still be here (metaphorically speaking, it wasn't that bad...). Life would have been easier if I'd got my shit together a little sharpish but I've learnt some pretty interesting things about myself and what I want to do with the rest of my life and I'm walking out of this one feeling like I know myself a little better and feel a little more comfortable with my place in the great scheme of things, at least as I see them. At the moment, though, I feel as if the two sides, good and bad are continually clashing, but that'll pass once I'm paying taxes again!

It's also been really cool to see how cool people have been, and how so many have risen to keep me smiling. I count myself lucky that I know so many damn fine folks. Thank you to you all.

P.S. A couple of songs aside the new Secret Machines album is a bit of a let down on the first few listens.


Tunes: Secret Machines: Ten Silver Drops

We Are So Conditioned To Think That Our Lives Revolve Around Great Moments. But Great Moments Often Catch Us Unawares.

If I'm asked what the worst thing about living on a boat is, it's the leaks. Water on the outside, not the inside: prime rule for floating living. Most leaks are reasonably small, but devastating over time, and finding them tends to involve completely overhauling your roof. The exit point into your home is rarely directly below the entry point through your roof. If you haven't heard anything about some major roof renovation by the end of August feel free to kick my arse. It needs to happen this year. I've been living under canvas for well over a year now, but I am a three tarp kind of guy, so that's ok then. As long as the tarps remain on, I remain dry. When they come off, I'm going to be spending much time with my sander!

If you've ever had that cosy tent / rain feeling, well being on Chuffy in the rain is much the same. The rain's hitting only a few inches from my head, only I know it won't come in if I touch the sides, and I can still watch a DVD if I want. Unfortunately today it also means that it's raining on Rob and Nina's wedding. But as double Glastonbury veterans they should be taking it in their stride.

As the spring rain brings life to the earth, it's bringing life back to me, and the world around me. In only a few days I've seen a host of new wildlife around the river, the highlight being my first kingfisher. I was standing on the mooring after my run and noticed a flash of glittering blue skimming over the river towards the mooring and with a flick back across to the other side. Much bigger than I'd expected but that blue is unmistakable. It was beautiful. I've also seen what I took to be a vole since it was much squatter than a rat with no tail, and plenty of robins and grey wagtails. Only grey wagtails have yellow breasts. There's also a pied wagtail that hangs around near Mike and Trish's boats, skittery little thing, looks a bit like a swallow that's been spray painted to look like a panda.

I learnt today that ducks don't like being flicked with water. Even when it's raining. So don't flick ducks with water. They don't like it. Even though you think they might.


Tunes: The Secret Machines

Last Night A DJ Saved My Life

Only it wasn't last night, it was this afternoon. And it wasn't a DJ, it was a mad Chilean called Mauro. And he didn't pull from a burning building or anything, he just popped round for a cup of tea and a chat. But you know what I mean. Sometimes folks just pop into your life and say a couple of generally general things but somehow they take on an added significance, because of where you are at the time. The Universe does talk to you if you're prepared to listen.

Last week I needed to call an old work friend and ask about a job agency she used. That afternoon I bumped into her quite randomly in Waitrose. I wasn't even sure I needed to be there. Except of course I did.

Spring tomorrow.

Tunes: Iron Maiden: Live At Donnington

When You Are Born You Cry And The World Rejoices. Live Your Life So That When You Die The World Cries And You Rejoice

Welcome to the world Mr Zach Cassar, it's getting a little crowded, and I'm not sure how user-friendly it is any more but there are a ton of people out there who'd like it to be a little more Tiger and a little less XP. So to speak (ask me about that one later). You've got a good start in life with two exceptionally cool and loving parents and an elder sister who has so far, in her two short years, embodied more life and laughter than many who've lived twenty times that amount. I wish you well for the journey ahead, just don't get into being a Chelsea fan like your Dad...

It's been a funny old week, not one of my best but suitably improved by this morning's news. Ironic maybe that one of the other highlights was Channel Four's documentary: The Falling Man. If you missed / avoided it, it proved to be one of those examples of fine documentary making, eschewing sensationalism for careful, thoughtful study. Perhaps a little repetitive at times, but it covered the topic of those who jumped from the upper floors of the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11th, 2001 with great dignity and respect.

I wasn't aware of how quickly the pictures and footage of those who jumped was exorcised from the media coverage. I was shocked at the way in which the Coroner's Office apparently reported that none had jumped, only been blown through the windows. In some cases perhaps. But not all. Overall it represents our inability as a society to truly face all our demons. We concentrate on the heroism of the day, the grief for all those who lost their lives, perhaps too much for a nation to bear, the horror at the few who took the decision into their own hands, even more so.

But to airbrush the horror from reality is to paint a friendly, smiling face on the boogeyman when he's standing right infront of you with a powerdrill to your temple. The further we distance ourselves from the human essence of any tragedy, the easier it is for us to accept that tragedy. And to accept a tragedy of this kind, is to be complict with those who make them. If every victim of human violence were to be given a name, an address, a history, a record collection then soon we wouldn't be able to stomach the incessant horrors of a few men's twisted fantasies. And we'd start changing it because our only other choice would be to shut the entire programme down. All of us.

To me the saga of the Falling Man, embodies this idea, and the reluctanceof those to accept it, is a sure sign that we're not going to get any better. To me these people were faced with possibly the worst decision any human could make, to decide on how they were to die, there being no other alternative, and old age ripped from them. Those who consider them in some way cowardly or not worthy of respect and remembrance are unable to see the bravery in this decision. And those who feel God would punish them should surely have to examine their faith in a God not willing to accept the victims of such violence into his heaven. I can't think of a God I'd less rather have.

And I think of my sister's friend, Gillian, who jumped from Beachy Head last January. To think of what must have been going through her head as she looked down at the sea has haunted me ever since. She didn't face iminent death but the demons that haunted her must have been as toxic as the fumes that filled the top floors of the twin towers. And at some point, she, like those on September 11th, took that decision to step out into thin air. And fall.

It's not, I grant you, a particularly apt comparison to make, but in some way the programme has helped me to find some peace with what Gillian did. Perhaps, one day, the image of the Falling Man, might help to lay a few more of our demons to rest.

Tunes: Lloyd Cole: The Collection

I Use Everything I Have To Get Through Life. That's What We All Have To Do. Use Everything We Have.

It's funny how simple it all is. There's really nothing difficult about it at all. About anything. It's all just ones or zeros, black or white, life or death, yes or no. Polar opposites, seemlessly balanced. That's it. There are no maybes. All maybes do is stop us from making decisions and thinking for ourselves; they are not pure, they don't fit. I think that's what the bad guys really do. They sell us maybes. Just as you're about to answer yes or no, they sucker punch you with a maybe. It's the emotional equivalent of the magpie instinct they're developing in us. The easy road, the glittery object, the maybe.

By the way, if you haven't yet seen the documentary Murderball, I suggest you do so at your earliest convenience. Don't let the name put you off, it's about quadraplegic rugby. It's honest and dirty and refreshing and inspirational, as only real human stories can be. It's about guys who no longer have any maybes in their lives and it'll make you feel good.

Tunes: The Flaming Lips

Matters Of Small Concern Should Be Treated With Great Seriousness

Somewhere out there is a silver ring with curved sides and five silver hallmarks imprinted on the outside, that used to sit on my left thumb. I noticed it was missing this morning as I sat on the pontoon after my run. After a couple of really shoddy weeks this might seem like a pretty petty incident but it was the one that finally brought tears to my eyes.

I've worn that ring every day since Annie gave it to me, her first birthday present to me, ten years ago. It has been infused with the love I had for her when we were a couple and infused with the love I have for her as my best friend, six years later. If when I die, I can look back and say that I had even an ounce of her passion for her family, her zest for laughter, her energy, her determination, her understanding of life, and her desire for justice I will die a happy and righteous man.

It's fair to say that it's not a great idea to invest so much emotion in an object, but only the other day I was thinking how I expected to wear that ring for ever. Annie, like all my friends, lives forever in my heart but I still loved that ring.

I walked back along my run this afternoon when I got home not expecting to find it. and I didn't. To be honest it could be anywhere between Teddington Lock and Leicester Square. If I'm never to see it again I hope it's in a bird's nest now. Or at least if someone has found it that it gives them great pleasure.

Do I feel as if the events of the past few weeks have been bad karma?

Yes.

But I think it's over now.

Now would be a good time to say that the reaction I've had from everyone about crashing the Mac has been really beautiful.

Thank you.

Tunes: Erm, I'm going to watch Murderball in a minute.

And She Gave Me A Look I Could Not Believe...

A woman checked me out as I was walking across Kingston bridge the other day. I can't say that I found her particularly attractive but it made me feel good so I gave her a nice smile to say thank you.

The new Soul Asylum tune (use the link below to hear it on their MySpace site) may not be the best thing they've ever recorded - although I've played it a few times already - but damn, it's good to have them back. I saw them at the Shepherd's Bush Empire on the Let Your Dim Light Shine tour and it's still one of the best shows I've ever seen.

Tunes: Soul Asylum: Best Of

I Got My Eye On The Waterline, Trying To Keep My Sense Of Humour

The earth is 70.8% covered by water. We are made up of 72% water. That's a pretty close match don't you think? I often wonder whether the next stage of human evolution will be gills. We'll all be like Kevin Costner in Waterworld! Water is life, essential to the survival of most species on this planet. It is also death. I don't think anyone who survived the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami or hurricane Katrina would particularly argue with the potentially destructive power of water.

It took no more than a few spoonfulls of water to seep into the boat and under the bed to wipe out half my books, and a ton of my posessions. It took about the same to eat away at the wood of my sofa (although having to rebuild it may well be a good thing). It took only a couple of drops to seep through the keyboard of my Mac, fry the logic board and turn £1700 of stunning technology into a pretty box. The amount of water that's done damage to my possesions would fit in a tea cup with room for a top up. The cost of that damage is well into the two grand mark. And that's what I'm aware of...

Water rocks me to sleep every night. The sound of the rain on my roof softens me and the river brings me peace. The life that lives upon it keeps me grounded. It could easily destroy my home and everything I own.

Tunes: Tom Petty: Wildflowers

I'm Gonna Rip Your Balls Off So You Can't Contaminate The Rest Of The World

One of the things I have leant this week is that the people who hang around outside stage doors waiting for autographs can be very scary indeed.

The news about Bush being briefed on the potential damage a day before Katrina hit New Orleans has to find its place in history alongside the footage of him hearing of the World Trade Centre attacks. It's days like this when I really hope there is a God and all the attendant upstairs downstairs malarky. Because, then, hopefully, there would be something out there sharpening a pitch fork with his name on it.

In unrelated news the UK government have rejected plans for a wind farm in Cumbria that would have powered 45 000 homes because of the effect it would have on the landscape whilst Prescott continues to grant planning permission for tower blocks that are considered to do exactly the same kind of damage. You can almost hear the whetstones working over time...

I love the English language. After I saw the sign above in a coffee chain toilet a couple of days ago I was wondering whether to ask one of the serving ladies if she minded if I pissed in the sink then. But they were both really nice so I didn't.



Tunes: Dio: Holy Diver