Old New Labour Anew - Again

Once more into the breech... Though given a fair method of voting (proportional representation) the political landscape would be very different, you can only admire the front that is the chimeric Tony/Gordon beast. All hail the beast I say. Or should it be 'better the beast you know'?
Having voted for the 'nice' party I can't say I expected to be on the winning side, though given the choices on offer with UKIP being the only 'outsider' on offer, nice was the only path to wander. The alternatives I might have gone for such as the 'Official Monster Raving Luny Party' or 'The Green Party weren't on offer. Damn shame that.
I do feel a tad sorry for Michael Howard. Poor. poor chap. Fangs for the memories.
Hey ho.

A New Pope

Well there it is. We have a 78 year old Benedict XVI. And will he be a wise and worldy man? Nope (it rhymes). Though I'm sure he is wonderful if you know him personally, and probably blind enough not to question discrepancies in the petty cash, I very much doubt he really knows what goes on in the real world. Certainly if he continues in the conservative mean of John Paul II and carries on forbidding the use of condoms he will be doing the planet no favours.

"Dear brothers and sisters after the great Pope, John Paul II, the cardinals have elected me, a simple and humble worker in the Lord's vineyard."

Does the Lord really consider Earth a Vineyard I wonder?

Nothing Less Than Everything

Nothing Less Than Everything is the next Songfight that I probably won't enter. It's the cyan fight, which is apt seeing as how useful a vial of cyanic acid could be. Too painful, though swift. Were I ever to 'top' off, I would like to do it in a... ummm... pleasant fashion; with tweating birds, flowers and nymphs in attendance, not frothing at the mouth in extreme pain.
Damn the fightmaster. If it were the magenta fight the above twaddle wouldn't exist. Instead I could waffle on about camp things like dresses and mincing and angst.

So anyway; I've written a nice song about love. and though the lyrics aren't finished, and it's raw, check it out... Go on. You know you want to. ;-)

Reality - A sharp slap in the face.

I watched an episode of CSI last night. The Miami version with Horatio (who is Cat's hero). The plot involved a woman who was poisoned with a radioactive isotope in her orange juice and suddenly found she only had five days to live.
It made me think. If I was told I had five days what would I do? The short answer, after an all to brief panic attack, would be record an album... A month to live? The same, but abroad in the sun. A year to live? The same... Etc.
It made me realise music is what I want to 'do', to leave behind. Maybe some poetry too, and possibly a novel if I get lucky. I don't want to shuffle of this planet leaving nothing behind except a bitter ghost, moanng at having been 'a good boy', up to date with mortgage and taxes.
Then I realised I am finite. Each day that rolls by with nothing accomplished except a few invoicable hours is a FUCKING WASTE. Each of these days is sand that will never run though the glass again.
I know all this, yet why am I seemingly incapable of doing anything about it?
A cheery point to ponder.

Well Hi there!

And the days shoot by with the turning of the sky...
No songfight entry this week, or last week either, though I did both write for, and record 'Digital Chimera' and 'Ancient'. These can be found (aficionado's only please) here, though beware, they are demo's and not even vaguely polished.
Speaking of which I am supposed to be a web designer and yet have no proper site. This situation, being reminiscent of 'Coals to Newcastle', 'Grandmothers and Eggs, or some such, will be rectified shortly by a fully blown 'thingy' to which I will probably move this blog as well.
I love this free association lark! Having mentioned Grandmothers I must tell you (oh audience of 1) my Grandmother was on TV the other night. BBC 4 had a program about the early days of Television, and my Grandmother, who had a show of her own in the 1950's, was the first featured segment. Hughie Greens 'Double your money was the second. It was very, VERY dated, and stilted. Then it was live.
The sun is out, the birds are singing, and life goes on... And on. Oh to win the lottery!

'tis an odd thing...

... but I started this blog to waffle on about music, and it seems to have wandered off course. In light of this, and because I aim to drift back to a strictly musical flavoured blog I shall end this non musical excursion with a eulogy for my log, who died last night.
I had Sidney, my log, ever since I moved into the house. He was given to me by Brigitte and I had intended to use him as the raw material for a sculpture the like of which will now never be known. Every year I managed to save him from the flames of our voracious furnace. Often only by the skin of his bark.
Brigitte though me silly, but Sidney and I had an understanding. He was a loyal log, a good log, and, I like to think, a wisw log. He was always there for me. Last night, in a moment of mutual catharsis, he has been released. He has travelled to the place where all good logs go, and I wish him well.
Goodbye Sidney.

A new Doctor? Yes. A good Doctor? No!

I was eagerly anticipating the new Doctor Who, and tonight I was badly disappointed. Perhaps It's more from distorted childhood memory, but I remember Dr Who as being fresher, ballsier and rather cutting edge. This new Who couldn't cut its way out of a paper bag if its life depended on it.
I would like to blame BBC Wales for the parochial feel, but I think in actuality Dr Who has been stuck down by the dreaded English disease. Instead of wobbly sets we were given wobbly shop manequins. A Very sad day for sci-fi.
Grant seems to like it, which I find vaguely unsettling.

sad

I read in Grant's blog that Dave Allen died. In the 70's and 80's I used to watch him sitting on his swivel chair (with added shelf for ubiquitous glass of Irish whiskey and packet of fags) getting drunk and telling the most outrageous jokes. The whole family used to watch. His jokes and sketches seemed either political or religious in nature.
Though I imagine he would be tame by modern day standards, I remember him as razor sharp. Whilst his missing finger used to weird me out!
Bye Dave.

Hmm?

I'm continuing to learn Zoops, which I think will be a doddle once I get my head around the concepts and decide on a theme. I've got a meeting on tuesday to discuss three static web sites, one of which will end up being a cms at some 'later date'. I have a pitch on monday for another cms which should be a 'shoe in' (wonderful Americanism), though I have a gut feeling it's going to be grief. I have all these positive signs for a rosy future... So why do I feel like the world is going to fall on my head at any minute?

Finally... Again.

Quite chuffed really. It's nearly 4am, and I'm going to be having (preens himself) Installed apache server, php and sql on my local machine. Then installed both wordpress and xoops AND got them both working.
A doddle, a mere bagatelle, water off a Duck's back... Not.
Bon nuit, schlaff gut, etc.

She is not amused

The Cat I mean.
I let a rather good brunch go cold while playing ' Cat Stacking '. She said it's a spin on the old game of tetris. I said shut up or be stacked.

Click here now!

I had a very happy, though probably not entirely pc half hour... And I made 320.5!
btw do crank up the sound.

Meh.

Meh is such a good word for how I feel as I type. Blech or 'whatever' would do as well I suppose. I writing this more for the must keep up the blog portion of the brain than from anything profound to say. While I'm here I will say this. I want more snowy mornings... Provided the car starts.
I got an entry in early for songfight this week, then on guidance from Grant changed the drum part. Much better and still in early.
The cats are hellish amusing in the snow. I wish I could speak Cat. It would be a useful string to the bow. As would being an astronaut. Maybe next week.

Whoopity doo

I seem to have landed rather a large client (not fat) who wants a web site for his record/agency/management company, along with quicktime and realmedia streaming. He is also interested in a web based radio station.
If he has the money for all this I shall eat my hat (cotton cap rather than bowler).
I shall probably end up doing it for the usual pittance... Still you never know!
To this end I have installed PHP NUKE and am frantically trying to learn enough php jargon to flabberghast with the best.
Fingers crossed.

True

Whenever you feel small, useless, offended and depressed, always remember that you were once the fastest and most victorious sperm out of hundreds of millions...
Thanks for the reminder

Weird but oddly attractive

I hereby decree that Transgenic Tombstones are the way forward. I plan on setting root in an attractive orchard somewhere in Sussex, my leaves rustling in the wind, my fruit providing succour for epicures that so desire it. Hmm.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!

What is it with me and deadlines, and why can't I get it through my dense skull that finishing early would be a pleasant and relaxing experience.
I remember at school it was the same. I'd leave my prep until the last possible second, often staying up half the night to finish. Strange how the excuse 'I'm working on my prep Sir.' never seemed to hold any weight when caught in the library at 4.00am.
I've written a good, nay, a damn good song called 'Hollywood Fantasy.' I can 'hear' how it could be, the production I'd like to throw it's way. Yet what have I done? Watched a shed load of T fucking V, and only started to record it at 11pm. Arse that I am.
Winge over

Somme like it hot

Big fun today. I spent a couple of wonderful hours driving a 3.5 tonne mini digger around the field, raising the brambles to the ground. True the field now looks like the Somme in 1918 (without trenches or corpses), but I now have two LARGE piles of shrubbery to be burnt.
In other news I still haven't reviewed the last songfight, and I still haven't finished my tax. Oh for a brain that has its head screwed on.

A tired bunny

Not that I would actually qualify as a bunny per se, but I am tired.
It's aroung 2.30am and having got to bed at 6am, dragged from the pit 3 hours later by an over enthusiastic neighbour who had 'a mate delivering 80 tonnes of free scaplings for the track' (when is anything actually free?), I have not been in the best of moods today.
I don't really mind the fact that the track is beginning to look like a small 'A' road, or that I had to spend several hours doing hard manual labour, but the perpetual moaning about the state of my land gets me down. They all want to live in the country, but have the country like a glorified B&Q garden centre. Fuck 'em.
Enough. I'm away to my bed.

pondering green

I'm thinking that this 'new' blog template is just too green. I was after something calming, but not too calming. I'm not sure if this is the one.
You see? It's making me write utter bilge, and for no apparent reason.
On another note: My entry for 'When it snows' has already garnered a vote, so I must finally be doing something right. I get the feeling that I'm finding a syle, though the style I'm finding doesn't actually appeal. Odd.
Yesterday my bank manager asked me what I would really like to be doing (bank psychobabble) and without a moments hesitation I said "writing music". Then I had to qualify this by telling him about my musical past. He said "did you play on Eastbourne Pier in 1979?" I replied that I hadn't and he said "Good, it was a terrible gig." It was all rather surreal and a tad confusing.
Now he wants to sell me a mortgage.
If I didn't already live in the country I'd say 'Oh for the peace of the country.'