I Quite Like The Ballads

Foto Phriday

2010-07-23T18:40:00.000+01:00

All Is Not Lost ... Yet

2010-07-20T18:33:00.002+01:00

Dear Non-Existent reader,

It's not that I've forgotten about this blog, it's simply resting for a while as I decide what to do with it.

K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2010-06-04T10:01:00.000+01:00

Head

'Til we see her once again ...

2010-05-12T22:00:00.005+01:00

I often wonder what my mum would think of me if she knew me today. I wonder what she would have said to me over the trials and tribulations of the last few years, of how she would have reacted had she known what I was going through.

I have this idealist dream where rather than keep everything bottled up as I did, dealing only with issues as they fizzed out of my ever loosening cap, that she would have instinctively put a motherly arm around me and have known all the right words to allay my fears, guiding me to a better place.

Would I really have bared my soul in such a way? Knowing me, I doubt it. She had enough to deal with during her time ... I might tell you about that one day dear none existent reader.

But not today. Today I remember an brave and determined woman who never gave up. Today I realise there's just as much of her in me as there is of the Aged P. At least I hope there is.

Happy birthday mum, I hope I turned out ok.

In the arms of an angel

2010-04-13T22:30:00.006+01:00

Derby Day

2010-04-02T11:43:00.003+01:00

I know it’s ridiculous … I know it’s just a game … but … I’m nervous …

As I write this, kick off is just over three and half hours away to one of the biggest rugby league games of the year … Wigan vs St. Helens.

As a boy this was one of ‘those’ days … a father and son quality time day. Pre-match nerves, much pacing around, much shouting and screaming during the match and, on the good days much celebrating and man hugging, on the bad days silence and sulking. I wonder sometimes how my mum managed to retain her sanity in our house.

2010 … here I sit waiting to go to the home of ‘the enemy’ and my heart is actually pounding with nervous excitement. How must it feel to be a player on a day like today? To hear the roar of the crowd from the dressing room, the exaltation as you take the pitch? It makes me proud to wear the team shirt just to the game, imagine pulling on the cherry & white (or whatever your team’s colours) for real … the honour and tradition of the greats that have gone before you, and to add your name to those immortals …

When John Monie joined Wigan as head coach in 1989 he was told two things. One – Wigan is a lot like Australia … which proves nothing other than Maurice Lindsay has a rose-tinted view of the town.

Secondly, he was told two things matter in Wigan … takes us to Wembley and beat Saints on derby day.

C’mon Wigan!

The cherry & white 'til I die K.O.S.

The Return of Dr. Fate

2010-03-28T15:47:00.005+01:00

I'm starting to think 'fate' isn't all its cracked up to be ...

12 months ago the whole should I/shouldn’t I move out of London issue raised its head. Having let the opportunity pass me by, when it came round a second time, I took it as a sign I should at least look into it. It virtually came down to a drunken flip of the coin that brought me back and for what it’s worth, the good stuff is worse while the bad stuff is better. I left it to fate, if I moved, I moved and so be it. C’est la vie, and all that..

Fate’s been rearing its mystical head again recently and someone who’s become a very close and huge part of my life has been telling me to trust in fate again. The thing is, it’s not working out the way either of us thought it would.

So here’s the thing fate, a few more pointers would be good if it’s not too much trouble. Just some kind of indication that you’ve decreed the way life is supposed to go, rather than all this maybe/maybe not, mystical shrugging.

Or maybe that is fate’s sign … if something is so hard work you’re barking up the wrong tree.

But then again, if a tree’s worth barking up …

Life Goes On

2010-03-27T18:10:00.003Z

A few days ago I sat in the exact seat I’d sat in six years ago, one New Year’s Eve.

As the crowds slowly massed around me that night while the fireworks were set and the barriers erected, I sat shivering into a hot chocolate, fighting back tears, my head spinning as my heart literally broke.

As I sat there again this week, remembering that night, and the feeling that my world was literally ending, that I had no place to go, no one to turn to. I’d felt alone and lost.

Fast forward six years and though there have been several dark, scary days and nights since then, you know what dear imaginary reader – the world didn’t end that night.

That’s the thing perspective brings I suppose. Once you get away from a crisis, and you gain some ground to look down on it, it rarely is as bad as it seems. Even if it is, you can find a pathway through it once you decide you’re ready to take on the fight.

Since then people have come, people have gone, I’ve moved a few times and sorted myself out. It was good to go back and vicariously feel those emotions again though. To remind myself of what I’d come through, of how far I’ve come and that even when I’d wanted the whole game to be over, it kept going.

This week, I finished my drink and walked away to meet friends and have a good night. This week the final demon was put to rest.

It’s bloody good hot chocolate there though.

Foto Phriday

2010-03-26T10:49:00.000Z

Foto Phriday

2010-03-19T19:59:00.000Z

Anytime, anyplace, anywhere ... or not

2010-03-13T21:24:00.010Z

Text messages, mobile phones, Twitter, blogs, emails, landlines … it’s getting harder and harder to disconnect these days.

Am I the only person who feels the need to get away from everything somedays? To just disappear, be uncontactable, be still, to be alone.

I know I returned to “The North” for my work/life balance, and it’s been a whole lot of work recently, so today I took off to the wilds. Twitter off. No emails checked. Most radically, phone – off.

I never turn my phone off. Except on New Year’s Eve when I have to work early on New Year’s Day … yeah, your drunken HNY texts can wait. But today I needed to just switch off for a few hours, and have no one know where I was.

I used to disappear all the time when I lived in London, and no one would know or care where I was or whether I came back. At least until I didn’t show up at work! Which I never did, so obviously I can take care of myself.

You hear that? I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!!! I don’t need anyone checking up on me. I am still alive, and just because I don’t reply doesn’t mean I’m lying in a gutter with my brains leaking out of my ear.

And breathe …

As you may have guessed, someone was rather irritated with me today for not immediately replying to a text message. Ok, by immediately I mean yesterday … and today … or to the email … emails … or the IM message … messages … but come on, get the hint …

I could have been more tactful in dealing with the “Where the fuck are you, are you ok?” general subject matter, I know the intention was well meant. However … I didn’t. I know, I know … mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Somedays I just need to get away, to hit the road and to be anywhere but 'here'.

Maybe that hermit plan I came up with a while ago isn’t such a crazy idea …

Shy Boy, Shy Boy

2010-03-07T19:14:00.000Z

At heart, I’m a quiet person.

Ok, those who know me can stop laughing now … not in terms of making guitar related rackets or singing along to Bon Jovi in the fast lane … but in character. I’ve done all the HR psychometric tests, and every time I come out as an introvert, a thinker, a planner … yeah … I know … a dullard.

Still, after much internal wrangling I’ve come to accept dear Abbie, “you are what you are and you aint what you aint”. I’d love to be the life and soul of the party, the kind of person who knows someone everywhere they go, but it’s just not me.

I’m fine with that.

So, why oh why oh why … do I constantly put myself in the situation of facing new people, who I have to mould, motivate and mentor? Juggling them and thousands of ‘the public’ on a daily basis. Really? Why do I do this? Why don’t I have a nice 9-5 job? In a library. A quiet library. In the middle of nowhere.

So here I am tonight, the night before another new shop (unlucky number 13!), another new team, another new set of people to get to know and figure out what makes them tick.

Perhaps there’s something in my subconscious, that keeps pushing me, forcing me to challenge myself. Every time I find a plush armchair in my comfort zone I seem to find myself sitting on a hard floor in the corner of my worst nightmare!

Of course deep down, I know it’ll be fine. Much to my chagrin, it seems this is what I’m good at, and time after time I’ve turned the sweaty palmed night before into a success.

Maybe my inner self knows me better … or maybe it won’t let me rest, just yet.

Babble without a Cause

2010-03-03T02:07:00.004Z

"What are you rebelling against?"

"Whadya got?"

6 Music is being turned off ... and it was turned on ... when? Anyone? Anyone? You at the back? Any idea? No I thought not. How many of those waving the 6 Music flag had actually tuned in before last week's 'leak'?

Another week, another outrage, another band waggon to jump on for another cause celeb.

I know the BBC is funded by our ridiculously over-priced licence fee, but it doesn't follow that it fulfills every one's personal wish list. I pay my licence fee, I want Richard Bacon to get off Radio 5 and I want Radio 1 to play real music ... but neither is likely to happen.

If the number of people now bleating on about how important 6 Music is actually listened to it it might be worth keeping going.

No doubt there'll be another reason to foam at the mouth next week, and who knows, it might be mine foaming. But I'll let this one go by.

Oh, Canada

2010-03-01T11:20:00.009Z

So, the next time you watch an Olympic ceremony, it'll be ours. Gulp.

Let me be clear ... I think London hosting the 2012 Olympics is fantastic. I'm not the most patriotic of people, but to have the honour of hosting the world's biggest sporting and cultural event is going to be incredible.

Yes, I know all about the spiralling costs, the compulsory purchase orders on people's homes, and the added strain it's going to put on our already failing transport system. I've just returned from a five year sojourn in the big smoke, and for every one those five years I happily paid the extra pound or whatever it cost in monthly council tax to pay for it.

It's the OLYMPICS people! Stop bitching and be proud!

Except ...

I watched the closing ceremony from Vancouver last night between my fingers. Oh. My. God! Did you see it?! I'm all for a bit of self depreciating humour, but huge Mounties and dancing Beavers?! After such a beautiful opening ceremony it was like watching the bastard child of a Mel Brooks/Baz Lurhmann marriage.

Swap the Mounties for 'British Bobbies', the swaying totem poles for red phone boxes, and the kayaks for London buses and you can imagine the scene that awaits in 879 days.

Of course, I could be wrong ... and I pray I am. But if I see one high stepping chimney sweep or pirouetting Big Ben I want my extra quids back Lord Coe!

Foto Phriday

2010-02-19T16:39:00.001Z

Going Down

2010-02-10T03:10:00.008Z

"What's the problem mate?" a voice from above boomed.

"It's broken" I replied.

"Ahhh ... right. That'll be the problem."

It was dark and cold, and I was stranded somewhere between the ground floor and floor one. I was also pretty sure I could here an ominous creaking from the undoubtedly fraying and imminently unravelling cable. I've seen enough movies to know how this ends.

With nothing but the good folk of Twitter and a frantically texting S to keep me company, I stood in the dark wondering what I supposed to do now. There was always the option of panicking, the consensus of messages via my phone suggested that's exactly what I should be doing, but I couldn't summon the energy for that.

There was a team of people expecting me in work at any moment, so I phoned to let them know where I was. Through stifled laughter they expressed concern, but reassured me that they were fine and everything was going to plan. Bastards.

After much banging, and a fair bit of 'pinging' (never good in that situation) the car began to shudder and without warning the floor fell from under me as I plummeted 30 feet down the life shaft to certain death ...

No of course I didn't. Clearly with no real idea of what he'd done 'Lift Hero' got everything working again and like Excalibur raising in the hand of the Lady of The Lake I ascended the shaft to freedom and to much applause. Of course I bowed and waved ... you would too.

So to sum up today ... I have broken one computer, one printer, one till and Excel. I did not however, break the lift.

*Bonus points to anyone who can connect the picture to the blog post

The Candyman Can

2010-02-01T03:29:00.009Z

I think when I started this blog, one of my golden rules was that I wouldn't recommend anything.

There'll be no "you should read this" or "you must hear the other" within these walls. So instead, I'm just going to shine a spotlight today, on The Danny Baker Saturday show on BBC Radio 5 Live (or BBC Radio V as it was re-Christened this weekend at the Candyman's behest).

I think Baker is the Marmite of the radio world. Personally, I can't get enough, if for no other reason than through him I got the opportunity to be at the world premiere of The Beatles "Love" cd in Abbey Road Studio Two. For ever and a day I will be indebted to him for one of the truly great nights of my life.

One of the true joys of living in London was his daily afternoon show. His ill-fated All Day Breakfast Show podcast got me through a summer of night shifts with sanity mostly intact a few years ago. I guess you either get him or you don't.

The Sausage Sandwich game ... fun with Roman Numerals ... the School Register Sweepstakes ... why the invention of trousers caused the decline in statuery ... it's all there at 909 or 693 at 9am on your radio on a Saturday morning, on the iPlayer or on podcasted iTunes.

I just wish the BBC podcasted his London show. Then, and only then, could one truly stand up and say "NOTHING CAN GO WRONG NOW!"

January 2010

2010-01-31T01:33:00.002Z

I'm not a thriller reader, and I have to confess the prospect of tackling a Swedish tale of a serial killer didn't exactly fill me with joy or seem the most positive life affirming way to start the new year. It was with a heavy heart that I opened "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo". And yet ... how wrong I was!

When you trust in someone else to pick a book for you, which is how Larsson came into my life, it's fraught with potential friendship ending danger. What if you hate it and they love it? Also, the problem with books (yes, you know, 'books') is that for every one you read, there's another 100 written waiting to be read. Even when you get rid of the Jilly Coopers and Mills & Boons and the Jeffrey Archers, there's still a whole stack of novels I actually want to read that I'll never get around to. So then throw in what someone else wants to read. Well, it's enough to make you want to commit literary suicide.

Which in a way is how "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" starts, with political journalist Mikael Blomqvist losing out in a court battle for an unsubstantiated article exposing corruption in the business world. His career in ruins, a fine draining his bank account and a jail sentence waiting for him, he relinquishes his position on his own magazine 'Millennium' and retreats to the middle of nowhere to work on a biography of the celebrated Vanger family.

That's the less interesting stuff. The counterbalance to Blomqvist is the enigmatic Lisbeth Salander. Yes, she of Dragon Tattoo fame. Social misfit, dark and brooding, vengeful and downright strange, yet, a wholly compelling character to read.

It does take some following, to keep up with who's who in the sprawling Vanger family, stretching back through the years but throughout the novel there's a sense that it's building towards something. Give it the time it deserves, it delivers.

When the truth finally outs, it's some of the darkest and most disturbing chapters I've ever read, yet Larsson handles it not in a grisly voyeuristic way, but with suitable contempt and distaste, voiced through Salander. The forthcoming Hollywood movie concerns me on this. Subtlety and taste isn't something Hollywood is known for, especially if the Scorsese rumours turn out to be true. This coming from a worshipper at the alter of Scorsese.

It's undoubtedly a heavy read and I was desperate for some light relief after it like a lemon meringue after a big juicy steak. It's an absolutely gripping novel that is as enjoyable as it is rewarding. Not for a while have I read something that I literally couldn't put down for wanting to find out if a character was safe.

There's two more in the series that would have been a series of ten had Larsson not died a few years ago, and although I bought the sequel a good 200 pages before the end of the first novel, I needed a break and a pallet cleanser before returning to Stockholm.

Which led me to David Nicholls "A Question of Attraction" ... perhaps even less substantial than a lemon meringue. But, like all good deserts it's light, fluffy, enjoyable and makes you feel a little bit guilty.

Late last year I enjoyed Nicholls' "One Day" mainly thanks to the truly lovable Emma and equally loathsome Dex characters he created. In "Question of Attraction" they're less lovable, more cringe-able. Just as you were back in those spot-ridden early university days. It all hangs together around the premise of a University Challenge appearance, but that's secondary to the all encompassing romance between Brian and Alice. There's nothing more painful to read than unrequited student love among the acne.

I did want more of the fiery Rebecca though. Most female characters in this type of fiction are smart-arse, always ready with a pithy remark, one step ahead of all men irritants. This is the second Nicholls female character I've actually wanted to get to know, although I have to confess to falling head over heels for Emma in One Day. Rebecca is probably less of a head over heels, more of a hand round the throat kind of girl.

Well written and pacey, like a pre-midlife crisis Nick Hornby it's a quick and easy, fresh read, the perfect antidote to Larsson.

We've all see your typical 3D movie ... things popping out out of the screen, arrows landing in the row behind you etc etc. Fun, but you wouldn't want three hours of it. Enter James Cameron ... remember him? He used to make movies, a long time ago.

He's back ... with a tale of endangered forests, ethnic cleansing, corrupt foreign policies, and tall Smurfs.

The most expensive movie ever made (again) the biggest box office grossing movie ever made (again) this was always likely to end up in either another shed load of Oscars, or a very realistic, 3D egg.

The thing is ... I still don't know which it is. It's so visually stunning that it distracts you from the story. When I think back, this could be a bit weak. It's certainly much more political than I expected and it's definitely an attempt by Cameron to make a statement. But he makes it over and over again, it's like being battered round the head with a rolled up copy of Greenpeace Monthly and Pacifist Weekly at the same time.

It really is dazzling to watch, and definitely something to see on the big screen and in 3D ... perhaps in the the 2D version the story is allowed to take the lead more. To be fair, it's not like spears and spaceships are whizzing around the cinema. Cameron must have learned some taste in his 10 year sabbatical because he's used the technology to add depth and realism to proceedings in a way that creates a wholly immersive world.

Is it shine over substance? Is there any substance? Or was I just easily distracted by the shiny-ness of it? It's an epic of a movie, but I suspect it's one left best to the memory, not one of those you'd sit and love time after time.

I'll check back in 2020 when his next movie comes out.

Until next month ...

K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2010-01-29T23:59:00.000Z

Follow me, follow me

2010-01-24T13:45:00.000Z

Ten months ago I wrote this. Now look at me!

Twitter went down a couple of mornings ago and I felt cut off, isolated. What was happening in the world? Was this start of the end of the world? Ok, I wasn't that bad, but I sure had some fun with the hash tag #whentwitterwasdown when they put the plug back in.

When I wrote the first blog post, I just didn't get it. I'm verbose and long winded, why restrict yourself to 140 words when you have the rich and textured pallet of the English language at your disposal? Text speak is something you're not going to get from me. I punctuate and capitalise my text messages thankyou very much.

Yet ... over 3,500 tweets in, I'm LOL-ing, #ff-ing and RT-ing with the best of 'em. Me and my 80 odd followers are getting along famously. That's 80 some odd, not 80 odd followers just to be clear. Although there is ... no, I won't name names, they might block me. Some of my followers are even real people.

On a communication level, it's actually proved to be useful. When I was contemplating risking life and limb and driving back from Newcastle in the heavy snow, my Manchester based Twitter-mates were letting me know about road conditions and snow fall. When marooned in that Newcastle hotel room, alone and feeling decidedly sorry for myself, they kept me company and stopped me unscrewing the suicide bars on the window. Incidentally, why were there suicide bars on a hotel widow on the ground floor?

I've had some laughs, some genuinely interesting conversations and 'met' some pretty great people so far. So, I take it all back. It's not all cheese sandwiches.

Of course, it'll never last ... there's bound to be something else round the corner. Perhaps something more prescient ... what are you about to do?

Regardless, you're still not going to get me on Face-Book

@K.O.S.

Help!

2010-01-23T02:32:00.004Z

I need you to do something for me.

I'm serious. For once, there's no sarcasm in this blog post, it's a genuine request.

Please click this link, and visit Rachel's blog. At the bottom leave a comment. Just say "hi" or "this blog is so much more interesting than I Quite Like The Ballads", anything. For every comment left, Rachel is going to donate £1. I'll match each £1 and maybe we can make one Haitian's life a little bit easier in this hour of need.

It'll take you less than a minute and will generate £2 for someone who needs it.

Alternatively, text GIVE to 70077 to instantly donate £5 to DEC's Help Haiti appeal.

That's it for this blog post. No sarcasm, no cynicism, no self depreciating blather. A simple, heartfelt request from whoever wanders through my corner of cyberspace.

No, I lied. One more thing.

Thankyou.

Foto Phriday

2010-01-22T10:16:00.001Z

With apologies, I've not really been out much with my camera recently so one from the archives, albeit tiltshifted.

Living in a box

2010-01-22T01:25:00.002Z

So it seems I'm homeless. Which is a bit of an arse.

I may be over extrapolating here, but the company that own and rent out the building I live in seem to have been inconsiderate enough to go into administration. Subsequently all rental payments must be made to Sprockett, Wazinsky and Piddlesplash, accountants at large.

I wouldn't be too concerned as the terms and conditions of my lease remain binding and unchanged ... except that lease expires at the end of next month. Now I know why I've not had a reply to the email I sent asking to confirm the 12 month extension I requested. I'm not sure how these things work, but I'm guessing they'll be looking to sell off assets quick smart to raise capital. Assets such as my apartment?

Don't they understand? It took me four months to get an internet connection here! I can't go through that all over again ...

All Right Now

2010-01-18T16:01:00.003Z

In this day and age of nanny state, government health warnings and health and safety orders, I fear I've uncovered a glaring oversight. Ironing is bad for your health.

Ok, maybe it's not bad for your health, but the mind numbing tedium does send you into some sort of other-worldy trance where all kinds of thoughts and feelings can chanel and send you God knows where. Perhaps I'm on the verge of uncovering the secret to time travel.

It was in one of these trances a few days ago that I realised something.

I'm ok.

Further than that, it doesn't hurt anymore, and the constant ache has gone. The person I used to miss, who's ghost used to haunt me has been exorcised, and looking back, that happened almost a year ago now. It's funny how you only realise something has changed long after the event some times. I think it's about perspective. That's what I keep being told anyway.

Of course I've subsequently complicated things ... so much for never going there again, so much for never putting myself in such a vulnerable place again, so much for never letting anyone in again. Especially when there's no hope. But you do what you do at the time. Right now, it feels good.

After so much time lost planning for tomorrow, for being ready for a future that evaporated I think just looking after the 'now' is fine. For now.

In other news, I may quit my job today in a spectacular bit of toys out of pram throwing ...

K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2010-01-15T14:09:00.002Z

Into perspective

Ride Cowboy Ride

2010-01-13T16:30:00.004Z

A few years ago I did something I never thought I'd do. I left my keys in the key safe at work, walked out of the door, and never went back.

I hated the company, hated the people I worked with, hated the very culture I'd come to embody and without being too dramatic, it very nearly killed me. I performed well in my role, and was sucessful with a good reputation within the company, but I lost a stone in weight, couldn't go to work without vomitting, and lived in a constant state of anxious, panic stricken insecurity.

So, one day, I just didn't go back. It wasn't an easy thing to do, it just sort of happened. I'm not proud of what I did. I hated myself for giving in, for letting them beat me into submission, but subsequently, that one act has been liberating.

I work in an industry that is reasonably easy to get a job in. I may not get what I want, but I know with a good cv and plenty of quality experience I will always find work. Please don't think that cocky, or over confident, it's just the way of things. That's one of the few upsides to the profession I ended up in.

Long term then, that one decision has been liberating. I know, I could leave a job behind and at least still be able to pay the bills reasonably quickly.

So, I have the upperhand in any career games that a company wishes to play with me, provided I don't over-play that hand, of course. I'm aware it's a dangerous game, and my bluff could be called. Think of it as one big game of poker, without the late night Sky TV coverage.

I'm in the middle of one of these games of poker at the moment, there's another round of negotions next week and currently there's something of a deadlock. They want me to take a certain role, not because I'm the right person for the job, but because no one else will do it. Not the most flattering offer. While I didn't play my ace card this week, I hinted at its existence and the look on my 'opponent's' face tell me it was recognised.

It's a dangerous game at times, but sometimes you have to turn up at noon and face your foe down. Oh, and I'm having a coffee with one of my recruitment contacts next week. Well, you never know ...

Get on your horse.

The Long and Icy Road

2010-01-11T02:42:00.005Z

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a pedestrian should be on the pavement, and a car on the road. Whenever the two meet, it always ends in trouble. It won't be the cars that lose out either!

So, in these frozen times, I know it's snowy on the pavement but please, if you're walking around ... get out of the bloody road! Roads are for four wheels, not two legs.

There's bugger all gritting happening, so how do we clear the roads? By driving on them and squashing the snow into submission.

C'mon, strap on a pair non-drivers, get back onto the pavement and get out of my way! Unless you want me to drive along your bit ... 50 points for each 'target' that's 'acquired'?

Give me faith, I'll give you truth

2010-01-08T12:24:00.007Z

Am I the only one viewing this new year with trepidation?

Not in a geo-political, has-it-all-gone-to-hell-in-a-hand-basket kind of way, but just in a general, sort of, you know ... 'what now?' kind of way.

I'm not a big new years eve party animal guy. In fact, I'm perfectly happy with a bottle of wine, Jools Holland's Hootenanny and to be left alone at midnight on that fateful night. It's partly due to personal circumstances, I'd love to be surrounded by drunken friends toasting and chiming in the next year, but I'm not that guy. Partly it's due to bad memories which I have no need to discuss again. I know, dull dull dull, miserable bastard, blah di blah. Quite possibly. My choice, not your issue.

2009 was a momentous year for me, something profound happened that came out of the blue. Bringing with it feelings I never though my heart possible of accepting. The real shock is that, although difficult at times, it's been a good thing, making me realise that I've not locked away every good part of my soul. It's not without problems, but it's mostly good.

In addition, I moved 'home' (again), changed jobs (again) and now I have this heavy sense of ... what now?

What am I supposed to do with 2010? Before you give me some blase, fortune cookie "anything you want to" bullshit, I'm serious ... what the hell am I supposed to do this year?

Moreover ... what does it say about me, if I bring in 2011, on my sofa, with a bottle of wine, watching Jools Holland ... again? Does it say I know what I like, now feck off and leave me in peace? Or, and this is what truly worries me, does it say I'm frozen. Stuck in time, a moment I can never escape from, and this is my life for the next 40 years?

Change, it's said, comes from within. You've got to know what you want to change into first - that's the problem.

Foto Phriday

2010-01-08T11:53:00.000Z

Think for a minute

2010-01-06T23:14:00.002Z

Humour me ...

I know sometimes life gets in the way of love. It seems idealistic when you’re in the middle of the chaos of every day life to remember why you’re with the person you are. But do one thing today. If you’re lucky enough to be with someone you love, stop, take the time to tell them and remind yourself just how lucky you are.

It could be different. You could be kept away from that person, with no absolutely no hope of that situation ever changing. Ever.

Think about that.

Now go tell them.

Do it.

It’s a royal decree.

K.o.S.

July-December 2009

2010-01-06T22:51:00.006Z

When this blog started out life in 1893 every month I used to round up my reading, watching listening etc in some vague attempt at giving it a purpose, rather than just an outlet for my blatherings.

Then I moved this summer, I was offline for 4 months thanks to the chump monkeys at Sky and it lost it’s way.

I did consider shutting it down, deleting it all and de-camping to my new favourite online activity. No, not that one, Twitter (@King_of_Swing if you’re interested) but I thought better of it. It’s kept me entertained in the preceding 15 months or so, and although comments are few and far between, according to Feedjit I get visitors from far and wide. Whether they actually read what I write or not is anyone’s guess of course!

So, time to tie up a few loose ends, and crack on with 2010 …

In the last half of the year I read …

By Any Means Necessary (Charley Boorman) – lots of transport, mate of Ewan McGregor, lots of countries, mate of Ewan McGregor, a bit smarmy, mate of Ewan McGregor. Oh, did you know he knows Ewan McGregor?

One Day (David Nichols) – Two people get together on the last day of their university lives, we pick up their respective stories on the same day every year. Touching, sweet, funny, had an event that actually made me cry out loud in bed. I was reading it there at the time, not because I was doing anything kinky with it.

When We Were Beautiful (“Bon Jovi”) – Jon’s a tyrant, Richie’s purpose in life is to make him happy, and the other two who do exist and the one who doesn’t.

Juliet, Naked (Nick Hornby) – It’s Hornby, it does was it says on the tin. It's funny, and had it’s moments of poignancy; all men are idiots, all women one step ahead. Lots of musical references for the geek reader. Ahem.

America Unchained (Dave Gorman) – Very funny, made me desperate to get back on the open roads of America, apart from the one in Alabama where I got pulled over for speeding in 2005. Gorman on the search for the independent America, no chains allowed. Friends don’t let friends drink Starbucks apparently, which is a bit of a shame, I quite like an Americano and an apple and cinnamon muffin …

Right then ... 2010 ... let's get on with things ...

The Shape of Things to Come

2009-12-13T23:44:00.005Z

A few days ago I was caught out by the past ... today I had a glimpse into the future ...

It was the King Father of Swing's birthday today, we went for a thoroughly good meal (2 mixed grills, both well done, 2 pints of bitter - grrrr!) talked blokey stuff about rugby, cricket and ... well, a bit more rugby. Then off to the cinema to see a movie.

While I was darn sarf, my dad didn't go to see any films, now I'm back he's turned into Barry Norman. My days off are now planned around the latest cinema releases. (If you're interested, "The Box" and no, not really. Think The Twilight Zone meets Cocoon meets Truth or Dare.)

For some God only knows reason, the ticket booth was closed, as was the large concessions stand. This meant everyone had to queue at the small concessions stand for everything ... ice cream, tickets, drinks, pick and mix ... huge queue, one assistant. Poor sod.

I know, this is where I normally rant and rave about crap service, only in the country ... etc etc ... but I didn't need to, as my dad launched forth instead ... it was like he was my ventriloquist dummy come to life. It didn't help when the woman in front turned round and nodded in agreement as he railed against 'rubbish service' and 'no wonder people go somewhere else' and 'they wonder why they go out of business' and all his greatest hits. I smiled, nodded and hoped he'd get distracted by the ice cream.

The thing was ... he was absolutely right! The other thing was, while I may blog or tweet about it, he was quite happy to stand there and share his thoughts with anyone who cared to listen. I think if he could have got a few more followers he would have led a charge on the box office and pillaged the pick and mix.

My dad - revolutionary leader. Happy birthday Aged-P!

I turned my face away and dreamed about you ... then rinsed and spat

2009-12-10T14:05:00.009Z

I got caught out a couple of days ago, at the most unexpected time, while I was brushing my teeth.

There I was bent over the sink, rinsing and spiting, when out of nowhere came a flood of memories and feelings about someone I used to know. For a split second, I was awash with warm glows and unconditional love.

My brain must have dialed 999 and asked for the Karma police to come and drag these feelings away kicking and screaming. Almost as quickly as I recognised these feelings they were gone, locked away in the penitentiary of my mind, replaced by the bitter and painful memories of how everything went wrong.

Then all was well again. I rinsed and spat some more and everything was minty fresh well, in fact.

Where do such mental farts come from?

This one was yet another musical trigger ... Kirsty McColl and the Pogues "Fairytale of New York", and one line shared on one day a million lifetimes ago. No matter how much talking you do, these are the things that never go away, and hide in the recesses of your brain just waiting to trip you up.

But it's ok, I can see a better time, when all our dreams come true ...

K.o.S.

Never Say Goodbye

2009-12-06T21:07:00.005Z

I'm moving on today.

From tomorrow I take up a new job role for three months as so after only a couple of months I had to say goodbye to all my team today. To be honest, I found it pretty easy! Call me a heartless bastard, but I've only been there for a couple of months and to be honest I'm not so bothered!

That's probably more of a reflection of me and my detached relationship to the world around me - did London do that to me, or did I do it to myself? No, I can't blame London for all my shortcomings ... I've moved so often I developed that tactic years ago. I've just refined it in recent years.

I try to move through the world untouched, that way I protect and inevitably, isolate myself. Apparently. So I'm told.

It's just easier that way, I know at some point I'll be moving on, why get attached to the permanently temporary?

Foto Phriday

2009-12-04T12:08:00.002Z

Eye Spy

Think for yourself

2009-12-03T21:18:00.008Z

Not wishing to make any sweeping generalisations ... but ... the general public really aren't all that sharp.

I was having an important conversation with a colleague today ... ok, we were discussing the merits of ketchup vs brown sauce on a sausage sandwich ... when we were rudely interrupted by a 'public'.

No, "excuse me", no "I'm sorry to interupt", straight in there with "I can't find the tills". To be fair, that isn't an unusual occurrence, the designers of our place of moral corruptness did do a cracking job of hiding the tills behind a bloody big promotional pillar. But still, there is a bloody big sign that says "PLEASE PAY HERE" and there's something else that gives it away ... can't quite put my finger on it ... oh yes ... the bank of tills, bleeping and chiming away with people queuing up handing over something called money. You may have heard of it. You may have had some this time last year.

What I'm rather inelegantly driving at here, is that 'publics' don't try to solve their own self-conjured problems when out on the loose. Where's this? Where's that? Will you wipe my nose for me? How much is this? Look at the bloody ticket! We ... the 'non-publics' ... spend hours making sure the tickets are correct, have the right information (ie the price) on them but you're too damned lazy to pick the box up and look! Let's be honest, I have no idea how much it is, and yes, I am taking the piss when I pick the box up and read the ticket to you.

I hate to be the one break it to you, but you know how deep down, in the shadowy corner of your mind, you're convinced those people in that shop were talking about you? We were.

And it wasn't complimentary.

River of Dreams

2009-11-29T13:42:00.004Z

Did I ever mention my love of music?

Just a phrase, or even a single chord can transport you miles and years away. You can be whisked away to a happier time, a broken heart, a wet Wednesday in Newcastle ... all courtesy of a totally unconnected piece of music. It must be odd for songwriters who write about the loss of someone to meet overly-thankful fans for whom the song has become a symbol of their enduring love!

I've always loved music, it's always been part of my life, I've played various instruments since I can remember and it's been something to ease pain and celebrate life throughout.

I was a pretty decent student too, I always attended and participated in class, studied hard, did ok ... but when it came to music class, it was a void. I can remember nothing of them, which is odd when you consider the connection the subject should have had. There may have been an afternoon of "Peter and The Wolf", but that's probably a given for everyone.

One thing I do remember, was a few weeks of Smetena's "Ma Vlast" ... confession time, I'd remember the piece as Vltava which is the second movement, but hey, I remembered it was something about a river. I found this piece again on Spotify this week, and instantly I was taken back to those Formica tables in school. I was sitting with the window to my left, in one of the larger classrooms. That's all. Nothing significant happened that day, I can't say it changed my life ... so why is it burned into my mind, released by a few notes of music?

I wonder what other memories are locked away waiting for the right key to release them ...

Foto Phriday

2009-11-27T15:45:00.000Z

Bad day at black rock

2009-11-25T22:47:00.006Z

Ever just have one of those days where everyone and everything totally pisses you off?

It's no-one's fault (apart from my own) and no matter what I do, how I try to accentuate the positives as the song goes, every silver lining has a cloud.

Nothing has failed to irritate me today. My colleagues, my team, my bosses, my customers (both of them). Most of all, myself. I really piss me off sometimes with the way I just sink into a morass of morbidity unable, or unwilling to lift my head above the self constructed gloom.

I'm not sure my recently found self-awareness is helping, it seems to be annoying me even more. I'm in bad mood for no reason ... because it's for no reason I get in a worse mood ... which makes m more irritated because I'm in a bad mood for no reason ... and on.

I would give anything, to be somewhere else, with someone ...

And so to bed ... got a big day, got to be shiny and happy, even if it is fake.

With apologies for the grumpy-ness, K.o.S.

The end of the world as we know it

2009-11-25T00:15:00.004Z

If you thought Y2K was bad, buckle up for 21-12-12!

I went to see 2012 tonight and it's actually a lot better than expected ... which is damning with feint praise. I expected a movie full of doom, concerned looking faces, disparing scientists and stuff being destroyed.

Let's review ... check, check, check and check!

Apparently the Mayan's, being the clever buggers that they were, predicted the world will end on 21st December, 2012. I can't tell you the personal irony this date represents ... Anyway, as a disaster movie it works reasonably well, although it's too long, the editing is fairly sloppy half way through, but the special effects a movie like this lives and dies by work well. The scenes involving LA are particularly good. That said I can't see it took Cusak and co too long to learn the script, dialogue, with the exception of "oh noooo!" and "aaaaaargh!", is pretty thin on the ground after the first 45 minutes.

Maybe not two thumbs good, bore like two not bad ... on a wet Monday night.

Remember at the start of the decade when planes were supposed to fall out of the sky and the world was going to turn to shit? It seems we're going to do it all again in three years ...

Will this make my palms hairy too?

2009-11-23T19:18:00.001Z

I'm in love!

I downloaded Spotify this weekend and have been clicking and enjoying ever since. I've not clicked so much since I found that free porn site ... I jest. Of course.

As of yet there's only a couple of obvious things missing, well you didn't really expect The Beatles to be there did you?! Plus, how pointless would it be, having just paid a not inconsiderable amount of money for the remasters, to then listen to them in what can only be described as sub-FM quality.

That's my only mini-gripe ... the sound is a poorer quality than say, iTunes, but through a decent hi-fi system it's pretty much radio standard. The sound stage is narrow and on the wrong side of thin, and the bass on some tracks is a little weedy, but it's all passable. Is it going to replace my cd collection? Of course not! Is it going to stop me from adding to my collection? Again, no. Is it going to lose me hours and hours while I go from one track to another? Absolutely!

The problem with downloads is the lack of physical possession. I'm proud of my cd collection, despite most people's reaction when they study the contents. It's a symbol of my years of dedication to certain bands, and the range of my tastes. But my pockets aren't bottomless. There's loads of cd's I'd like to try out to see if I'd enjoy them, but just can't afford ... enter Spotify! You can live with a complete cd at a listenable quality for as long as you want until you decide it should be in your collection. Of course many people wont take this route, but I'm a bit of an audiophile deep down.

There's one other bonus to Spotify ... it's legal! I have a huge problem with music piracy, it is theft, no matter how it's 'justified'. It is stealing property, art and ... and ... I could go on and on about this, but that's for another day ...

Anyway, enough ... back to the clicking and perving ...

The completely legal King of Swing

Foto Phriday Rides Again!

2009-11-20T15:42:00.003Z

Work for the working man

2009-11-18T22:57:00.011Z

I had the fortune to spend three hours of today in an HR meeting. All was well for the most part, rare for such a meeting, it wasn't a complete waste of time until the topic of staff incentives came up. I knew before the words even came out of my mouth I should stay quiet, but as usual I couldn't help myself.

There were various hair brained ... sorry ... inventive, ideas floated, including a loyalty card if you will, for not phoning in sick and attending work. Yes ... that's right ... a loyalty card for turning up for work.

Is this what it's come too? Bribing staff to turn up for work?

I have a number of friends (hard to believe I know) who are genuinely concerned for their employment status, a number of whom will live or die by the next four weeks trade. Now that's pressure, your career hinging on 28 days of Christmas.

My kooky suggestion, that hey, well, I don't know, don't we pay them after all? was received with gasps of astonishment and an amount of incredulity. As if THAT's enough?! What was I thinking?!

Well, actually, this time last year the 'great' British public was bemoaning the loss of high street pillar, Woolworths ... I bet any ex-employees would be happy to get a pay packet from them this year over a gold star.

I could be wrong here, it's been know, and I am open to challenge, maybe I'm over simplifying things. But I'm motivated by the fact that if I don't turn up for work, I won't get paid and I'll be homeless.

That gets me out of bed in a morning.

Ride Cowboy Ride

2009-11-17T18:25:00.008Z

At what point do you jump off a band's tour bus?

It's strange how you form an attachment to certain bands/artitst's. For me, it's Bon Jovi, Sheryl Crow, Fastball and Steve Vai predominantly. Whatever they release, I'll buy it, listen to it, and see what I can pull from it. It may not always hit the mark for me, but it's part of the overall body of work that shows a band in development.

It's the sign of an interesting artist if they go through musical flux and change. It's inevitable some of it won't fire my synapse's but it all adds to the whole story. Did I bail after the Bon Jovi Nashville CD? Surprisingly in terms of songwriting, "Whole Lot Of Leaving Going On" and "You Want To Make A Memory" were considerably more relevant to my life than "You Give Love A Bad Name" or "Bad Medicine" despite the warm fuzzy place those songs have in my memory. Are they a band I can identify with? No, not really, although Sambora's personal issues and parental loss certainly tweaked a chord. But millionaire football team owners with private jets; proto-typical American rock stars ... no, that's really not me!

Sheryl Crow's heartbreak CD, "Wildflower" came at a relevant time for me, and though a million miles away from "Tuesday Night Music Club" or " C'Mon C'Mon", to me, it was musically interesting and lyrically hit home. Echoing her own life experiences she delivered a new chapter of her musical travels.

Steve Vai ... well who know's what the hell he's going to do next! You just hold on to the reigns and hope you survive! But all his twists, turns, loops and spins make it a roller coaster ride of music. It's going to be challenging at times, but ultimately rewarding, and where he is today is a result of where he's been before.

Bon Jovi will never produce another "Livin' On A Prayer", but what's the point of that? It's a journey, probably with a few blind alley's along the way, but for better or worse, I'm along for the ride.

This Left Feels Right

2009-11-17T14:41:00.006Z

I went straight on at a roundabout I always go left at today, and discovered the most amazing view. Just 5 minutes away from home and I felt as if I was in the middle of nowhere. I love that feeling, the sense of isolation, that you're the only person on the planet.

Anyway, this is the view ...

No ... I didn't have my camera with me so I'll have to go back another time but believe me, it's worth it. Yes, I know ... my phone has a camera ... well it's a bit late pointing that out now isn't it?!

It's amazing how little things can give you a new perspective on your surroundings, I'm a stones throw from the moors and Pennines and I need to go wandering. Caaaaaathyyyyyy!

Suddenly I'm full of hope and optimism, there is a viable opportunity to big city life.

Jaws IV ... This time he's not really interested

2009-11-16T18:15:00.007Z

I had a bit of a revelation when I was looking for a new castle to move into recently.

Estate agents are supposed to be like sharks, circling, poised, ready to pounce and relieve you of your money in exchange for a new home. As with all things, my first place to look for anything was the internet, and I sent my contact details off to a number of companies, expecting a call back within hours trying to push me into all manner of unsuitable abodes.

With the exception of one ... I'm still waiting! No one wanted my business! No one wanted to fleece me of bond, admin fees, monthly rent, handling charges etc etc. It almost got so bad I was contemplating actually having to go into an estate agent's in person! Can you imagine such a thing!

In the end, the place I moved into was set up through an online contact, although I had to make the call (the cheek!). They put me in touch with the building management who promptly stole his business and took over. To be fair though, the agent phoned me back to see if it was suitable.

A month after I'd moved in.

Considering how tough times are, how few people are moving I was astonished. But then I've been surprised by the general level of customer service in this country during my move. Wait til I get around to sharing my experience of Sky's customer services ...

So, coming soon ... King of Swing Estate Agents ...how hard can it be?

No More Tears

2009-11-15T17:14:00.006Z

I keep being asked the same question, time and time again ... "Are you glad you moved back?"

Invariably the people who ask don't want the truth, they want to hear how much of a glow I am with my feet firmly planted on home soil. How I feel content and at peace to be back in the bosom of my heritage.

Unfortunately, it's all I can do to scream a loud, defiant "NO!".

I miss the buzz. I miss the feeling that somewhere, something is going on and it's only just around the corner. I miss the feeling of possibility. If I could click my heels and return, I would. If I could turn the clock back 6 months I'd shake myself by the shoulders and restore some sense into myself.

But I can't ... so here I am. I can feel my life slowing with every day that passes, my mind narrowing and my horizon lowering ... I'm even calling people "love"!

Although every silver lining has a cloud, there are upsides ... being near to the King-Father of Swing; Bag and Baguette, the ever illusive V & C; Wigan rugby league, Greenalghes bakers ... I even made a new friend this week, who I probably wouldn't have, had I still been in the big smoke.

Anyway, I'm drawing a line under things tonight. I'm not sure how much longer this blog will live, maybe I've just got out of the habit, maybe it's served it's purpose ... time will tell.

However, no more complaining about the choice I made. I used to live in London. Now I live near Manchester. Get over it!

I've made my bed, it's time to lie in it ... quietly.

Just don't ask me if I regret it!

At the dying of the day

2009-11-11T11:11:00.002Z

We will remember ...

Playing solitaire

2009-11-08T19:56:00.005Z

I got out of bed fantastically late for me these days today ... a whole 30 minutes past nine!

My London days of sleeping late and staying up until the late hours of the morning are behind me now. Not because of a change in social life from the buzz of the big city to the dull thud of the small town, but simply because my working life has changed dramatically, requiring more 'normal' hours. In turn this has knocked my body clock right out of whack.

These days I find myself wide awake at 7am on a day off, unthinkable in the past, and ready for bed at 10.30pm! I may as well get the pipe and slippers now!

It's been a day of solitude. No emails, no phone calls (that I've answered anyway!), no text messages replied to, not even any Tweeting! ... just one online chat. Somedays it's good to cut yourself off from the outside world, it's restful and lets you switch off, if just for one day.

The madness starts again tomorrow, and I'll be saying yes to my 'opportunity' and all that will bring. But for the last few hours of the weekend I'm switching back off, and powering down.

The King of Swing is offline

I Rule The Night ... or I will ... for 3 months ... maybe

2009-11-07T01:30:00.004Z

I'm over a bit of a barrel work-wise suddenly. I've been 'asked' to step up a level for 3 months to essentially do a job no one else in their right mind would do. The thing is, as it's promotion (albeit temporary) and my shot to prove I'm made of more than I currently do, and remembering I've only been working at this particular coal mine for just a few months now ... it is, so I'm told, 'recognition of ability'.
If I say no, I'll rot. A chance spurned is not forgotten, and deep down I know I'll also kick myself for feeling as if I've either bottled it, or was too lazy to avoid the gift horse's mouth. If I say yes, I can kiss goodbye to the next 3 months of a social life as I'll be working over nights. Bah, who needs Christmas?!

What to do, what to do, what to do ... you've just got to love the politics of a life in retail ...

It Was Me

2009-11-02T21:01:00.005Z

No reason for this post other than just because this is a beautiful song and it'll probably pass you by ...

You Give Greed A Bad Name

2009-11-02T20:11:00.005Z

It's Bon Jovi day! The Circle was released today ... more of that another time.

Instead, I'm here to share my horror brothers and sisters ... the devil is within our midst ... and his name is GREED!

Jon Bon Jovi's benevolent charity work is well documented and his humanitarian awards continue to stack up. Fair play to him. His JBJ Soul Foundation has done some tremendous work in local New Jersey comunities providing schools and homes for the homeless ... here it comes ... BUT ... £1299.97 for a front row ticket at the O2 next June? In the words of Billy Joel, "I might have played that if Hendrix had shown up".

Of course there's the starting price of £40 which is probably a seat somewhere in Greenwhich town, so that's worth the 200 mile drive. Am I going? Hmmm ... stay tuned. But no, not for the Platinium seats. "Who's gonna work for the working man?" Bongiovi asks on The Circle ... I don't know, but the working man won't be anywhere near the front row in London next summer.

'er, mister ... got the price of a cuppa tea?

Meanwhile ...

2009-10-28T22:03:00.008Z

I'm gutted. I missed my one year blog-iversary by just three days. I'm not sure what's more suprising, that I'm still writing this blog, or that I just used the word blog-iversary.

So where were we before we were so rudely interupted? Oh yes ... sitting surrounded by boxes encompassing my life, eating peaches out of a tin. Ahh ... those heady days of living in the big smoke. Thems was the days hey? It's quite sobering to see all your worldy possessions in boxes stacked in just one room. Is that all I really have? Or, what the hell have I spent all my money on all these years?!

I'm now back in my home town for better or worse, finally unpacked and back on the interweb (that's a tale for another day) most of the utilities have new accounts in my name ... I'm sure any I've missed will arrive before any court date, or the burly men with gold chains and ponytails come to take away my TV in exchange for non-payment. I've discovered it's a real pain in the arse to be the first person to move into a property. To try to get any kind of service set up when 'the system can't find it' has proved to be increasingly difficult and frustrating, as my nearest and dearest can testify (again, that's for another day). It does tend to wear your nerves down when you're resiliently told by a phone monkey that the address you're standing in, paying a fortune per minute on your mobile phone, doesn't exist.

So what did I miss? A second consecutive British F1 world champion ... posties on strike because they don't want to work for the hours they're paid ... England regained the Ashes ... Nick Griffin on Question Time ... Wigan bundled out in two semi-finals once again ... Balloon Boy ... rugby union's 'bloodgate' ... Chubby Checker .... psycho ... We didn't start the fiii-iire ...

I'm not going to do any retro-blogging, what's the point? Twitter has managed to be a pin-prick valve within the building bubble of tension that I have become recently to prevent me from spontaneously combusting. Oh God ... has it really come to this? Twitter has been my salvation?

In the words of Fastball ... How Did I Get Here?

Instead, it's on with the show as before except a bit slower and with a narrower mind and a flattened vowel or two.

There's no place like home.

The Returning King of Swing

Back in the Saddle

2009-10-28T19:39:00.002Z

... almost ...

Any minute now ...

Back to the future

2009-07-22T02:15:00.000+01:00

So I finally did it!

I'm gone.

As you read this I'm hunting for a new castle and trying to plug back into the interweb.

See you on the other side, some time in September hopefully ...

Walking on the beaches, looking at the peaches

2009-07-21T01:01:00.009+01:00

I hate moving.

Ironic considering this next one will be lucky number 13 and will hastily be followed a few weeks later (fingers crossed) with number 13b. Before I start the process I'm always very blase, super-cocky as I pull out flattened boxes with the scars of old packing tape, marked up 'kitchen' or 'bedroom'. This will be a doddle, I smirk to myself.

Fast forward a few days and I'm in the pit of despair, surrounded by the same no longer flattened boxes, 'kitchen' stuffed with books, 'bedroom' over burdened with pans, mugs and unopened pasta.

It is now a little after 1 am. Most of the shelves are empty, the cupboards bare, and boxes stacked into what was once a my recording studio. I'm sitting in what used to be my living room with my man flu/swine flu and a mug of tea, knackered following two solid days of packing, and emotionally drained after an evening of goodbyes.

I needed a treat. Just something just end my day in a good way. Then inspiration hit me. With trepidation, I peered into my fridge and there they lay, hiding behind the half tin of mushy peas ... Tesco Value Sliced Peaches. Hardly an example of haut cuisine on a normal day, but tonight/this morning they have put a smile on my face. Simple pleasures are indeed the best.

On a side note, it it only possible to eat a tin peaches (the whole tin, as all my Tupperware is packed, so they'd only go to waste) direct from the tin when you live alone?! I suspect my married readers would not get away with such travesties unchided.

There are some perks then, it seems.

All Things Must Pass

2009-07-20T09:33:00.006+01:00

I have mixed feelings as I prepare to leave London this week, and more than just the 'why the hell am I making myself put my whole life into boxes yet again?!'

Part of me is excited, another chapter is beginning in my life and with it comes a chance to finally bury the past. Part of me is triumphant - I survived London, and all it threw at me. Call yourself one of the biggest, baddest cities in the world?! Ha! Well, you didn't take me down! You may have had me on my knees a few times, but like Rocky I always came back up off the ropes in the final round. You see that as I leave? It's my middle finger salute! Screw you London, I'm going home!

Alternatively, I'm sad to be going. It's been exciting living here in the capital, I've enjoyed living in the beating heart of the country. I've seen and done things I could only have experienced here, and that's why I stayed. I didn't quite make it to the Olympics, but then if that volunteer application gets pulled out, I'll be back!

Leaving is also a final farewell. A goodbye to someone. To something that was supposed to last for ever, but with hindsight was probably a better idea than a reality. Nothing lasts forever, but even regret fades with the passing of time.

So, dear non-existent reader, it's been real. It's been nice. It's been real nice.

See you on the other side.

Probably.

The King of Swing

Preaching From A Chair

2009-07-20T00:03:00.000+01:00

The recent departure of Thunder (oh God ... he's going on about them again!) has seen me fairly eulogising the band.

I have an evangelical love of music sometimes, and anything I find and fall in love with gets shoved down other people's throats until they ... I'm not going to continue that analogy, but you get the idea.

So when I recently mentioned to a friend that I was off to the final Thunder gig, the expected 'who?' response stirred me into action. You tube links were fizzing through the web instantly and I waited smugly to get a "wow! They look great! Wish I was going" type of response. Instead what S actually replied was, "Oh yes ... I tried to watch them .. really I did ... but ...."

There are three known facts in life.

1) Danny Bowes is one of the finest British rock singers in history.

2) Luke Morley is one of the most talented songwriters of his generation.

3) Live, Thunder are untouchable. Were.

But, supposing, just supposing ... I'm wrong. What if they're just another nothing band with a bunch of ok songs, forgotten before they were ever known?

Music is a direct line to emotions, good and bad. I find it impossible to think of virtually any memory without there being some piece of music linked to it. If I hear a certain song it can elicit an instant emotion wanted, or not. You don't consciously make that link, it happens by force of nature, unbidden.

So it's not surprising that one of the first bands on stage at one of the first really big rock shows I went to have a special place in my heart. I can't explain it any further than that though, and no amount of trawling through You Tube, sending links and pleading could possible communicate that connection.

But that's ok. I get it, S joins the list of the many who have missed out.

But I don't give up the fight that easily!

Foto Phriday

2009-07-17T19:17:00.002+01:00

Goodbye

Foto Phriday will return

Probably

You've got to got there to come back

2009-07-16T23:48:00.003+01:00

One week today, I'll be back.

Scary thought in a way, or exciting, or comforting, or concerning, or <insert any one of a hundred emotions here>. So much to do, in so little time ...

I've been thinking about whether it'll last this time. As I think I've mentioned previously, this isn't the first time I've made the big return home only to bugger off a few years later. The thing is, I think this time it might. The old cliche says you don't know what you have until you lose it, and having spent a couple of years alone in the wilderness, in the last year or so I've come to finally understand the meaning of true friendship.

I've done a pretty good job in the past of losing all my mates, and to be blunt and brutally honest, not giving a flying f**k about that. I didn't need anyone, I was bullet-proof ... which was fine until I did, and found out I wasn't. When in truth they should have told me to piss off, they rallied round and rather than told me what a tit I'd been, were fantastic friends and got drunk with me. Then told me what a tit I'd been.

Home isn't a place, it's a feeling, a sense of belonging. Whatever town I end up in will be no different from the one I live in now. The shops will look the same, there'll be the usual mix of drunks, weirdos and normal people and I doubt I'll ever speak to my next door neighbour!

But there will be people I know, people who care about me and even more unlikely, people I care about.

Of course, I'm not ruling out a blog post two years from now from the Outer Hebrides ...

I'll be waiting

2009-07-12T19:35:00.003+01:00

Following the Thunder sauna last night, I'd pre-ordered Concert Live's recording of the show. I expected a bit of a wait, after all, they were producing a live CD of a gig that had just finished! I wasn't expecting to have leave the venue, join a queue that snaked all the way round the Hammersmith Apollo ... in the rain!

Only in this country would customers be treated in this way.

Only in this country would we do it.

It was worth the inevitable pneumonia ... a great memory from a great night ... probably, my ears are still screwed!

So Sad Today

2009-07-12T10:10:00.001+01:00

I make no apologies for sentimentality in what you are about to read, to quote Del Amitri, "I just got my hand on my heart, no better location."

Last night I went to the final night of the final tour in Thunder's 20 year history. It was, as always, a glorious sing along party from start to finish with a bunch of guys who feel more like mates than idols. But it's over now, and this morning it's hard to believe there'll be no more nights of a 15 minute sing song to Dirty Love; no more nights screaming just a little bit louder just because Danny says so; no more chanting 'Harry, Harry, Harry' to elicit a wave from the best bald drummer on the planet. The best band you never heard of, are over.

Personally, this makes me genuinely sad. They seem to have been around all my adult life. From the first faltering steps as a teenager going to big gigs - Donington 1990 where a new band called Thunder opened the festival and promptly put it in it's back pocket and ran off with all the glories - to being away from home for the first time, struggling with who I was and feeling like I was the the only one who's changing, no longer fitting in at home - "Long Way From Home". In Luke Morley's songwriting I've always stumbled across lyrics and songs that seemed to fit whatever I was going through at any given time, "A Better Man" found poignancy as I fell in love and "Like A Satellite" seemed to describe the state that relationship, and while "A Lover, Not A Friend" echoed the bitterness as that love died, "I'm Dreaming Again" and "In My Darkest Hour" were as if Morely had tapped into my struggles to re-build my life. Of course he didn't, but such is the power of his talent, that every one who listens to his work can't help but find significance in his lyrics.

The likes of "Dirty Love", "Everybody Wants Her" and "Stand Up" have been the soundtrack to many a drunken night of partying and to play along with "Backstreet Symphony" or "Fly On The Wall" will always bring nothing but joy.

Last night was the 8th Thunder gig I've been to, and it's fitting to be back at Hammersmith Apollo one last time before I leave London, it was the site of my first London gig (The Finn Brothers in 2005). I held back the tears, unlike a few around me, there was much manly hugging going on, but that's what this band has meant to so many people. It's been like a private club that only a handful of people every find.

Therein lies the problem. To be a successful band, EVERYONE needs to know you, and despite a number of top 20 singles in the early 90's, and a number 2 album, they never quite made it, always the support act to the big event, never the headliner.

Yet last night, Danny Bowes held London in the palm of his hand, and as he waved it goodbye I hope he, and the rest of the guys got one message.

Thankyou for 20 fantastic years ... you will be missed.

The misty eyed, ringing in the ears, K.o.S.

Foto Priday

2009-07-10T09:49:00.000+01:00

Green London

Craze of the day

2009-07-04T23:53:00.004+01:00

A while ago I dismissed WhySpace, Wastebook and Whitter not really getting the point.

Only this week I was talking to someone else who just doesn't get the point of Social Network sites full of self important, overblown egos. Who give's a rat's backside what you've been doing, what you think or how you're feeling? You know, everyone has an opinion ... they don't all need to be shared.

So here's my two cent's worth ... yes ... I know ... kettle ... pot ... black. But you're the one reading it ..!

I did set up a Twitter account a while ago, but then never used it, devoid of anything interesting to day ... and yes I know, that hasn't stopped me blogging. I get the irony, it's ok.

Imagine the annoyance when out of the blue, someone started 'following' me. Well, I felt compelled to Tweet then (ohhh God help me ...) Granted it's the same person who planted the seed about writing a blog ... it'll never last, I'm sure. After all it's not every day I hang out with Amir Khan, and then chase after a shoplifter!

I fear I may have peaked too soon and it will just become another outlet for my increasing grumpiness!

Feel free to click the follow me link though ... while it's there ...

Conspiracy of Dunces

2009-07-03T23:54:00.006+01:00

Did I miss the meeting?

Was there an announcement in the paper?

Was today wind up The King of Swing day?

Even the most reliable members of my team, those who I can usually trust not to burn the shop down left their brains at home. You can imagine how the usual bag of fools behaved in comparison. The lunatics not only took over the asylum today, they nicked the keys and locked the sane people inside.

Or am I not one of the sane ones? Maybe I'm the insane one ... or does having the ability to wonder that prove I'm sane ...

To top off my day someone stole the Mars bar I'd been saving for my coffee break.

I need to go to bed.

The no less grumpy K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2009-07-03T10:12:00.001+01:00

Free Money!

2009-07-02T18:44:00.009+01:00

Good Lord above, I'm grumpy tonight ... I'm going to have to stop reading newspapers and watching the news, the world is driving me mad. For now I'll blame the heat,

1) Un-requested credit card cheques to be banned. Good.

2) Credit card charges to be lowered. Good (although I'll believe it when I see it)

Since when were you unable to control yourself? Radical idea I know, but your credit card balance isn't a target, something to aim for. It's supposed to the point at which you go "hmmm, maybe I've spent a bit too much" and then you STOP SPENDING and like a good MP, pay it back!

Here's a shocking piece of news - money isn't free!

"Every time I got to my limit, the credit card company just increased my balance. What else could I do?" moaned Useless from Uxbridge. Wild thought, but ... not spend it?

"I didn't know what it was going to cost me" commented Dopey from Doncaster. Take a wild guess at 'shit loads', then work your way up from there.

Good grief ... how do some people not choke on their own toothbrush in the morning? "No one told me I should stop pushing it into my mouth ..." commented Gagging from Grantham.

The sooner we all cark if from Swine flu the better, if you ask me.

100,000 a day?!

2009-07-02T18:00:00.012+01:00

We're doomed!

Panic!

Worry!

I think there's about four million people in London, so by all accounts we'll all have swine flu in 40 days. Ha! I'm out of here in 21!

In an incredibly doomed tone, it's been announced that all attempts to try to contain it have been abandoned. So it's time to stock up on tins and powdered milk, board up the windows and load the 12 bore. Trust no one! Don't shake hands with anyone! If some one sneezes near you - kill them!*

Perhaps I'm over reacting, but then the media will be happy then won't they?

* For the record, don't kill them. The King of Swing does not condone violence of any sort ... except on the rugby field. Be good. Love everyone, even the dicks ... don't give them the satisfaction.

Smells like tube spirit

2009-07-02T15:28:00.007+01:00

People of London, an appeal ...

It's hot ... we're all a bit sweaty and possibly a little less fragrant than we should be, but ... please ... for the love of God ... I know you get a nice cool breeze gusting through you if you stand in front of the window at the end of the tube, but the rest of us get over heated and nothing but a whiff of eau de B.O.

Have a heart ...

Have some fresh air ...

Move away from the bloody window!!!

Thank you.

This has been a public service announcement my your friendly neighbourhood King of Swing.

This is home?

2009-07-01T18:13:00.006+01:00

I've been thinking a lot about my pending move home, well, it's only natural I guess, it's all anyone can talk to me about at the moment.

I've been trying to imagine what it's going to be like, to wake up in the general vicinity of my home town, to not have a wistful longing when I hear an accent vaguely like mine used to be or to spend an evening drinking wine and eating pizza with friends simply because the mood suddenly takes us, rather than as a result of two months of planning and re-scheduling.

On the whole, I doubt it will be too different. Work will still be work and rule my life far more than it really should, I'll still avoid phones calls from my dad when I'm not in the mood to be the good son, and I'll probably still never meet my neighbours. But then that's just me.

Every time I've relocated, and believe me I could do this professionally, I've sworn to myself that I'll be the person I want to be, that I'll re-invent myself as a funny, gregarious and outgoing social butterfly ... and yet I am what I am, and always will be. That's not so bad though, I don't piss myself off too often.

I know that 'home' is more of a concept than a real place, a state of mind rather than a place of being, but I feel I've been in search of it all my adult life. I'm not convinced I'm about to find it, but it's worth a look.

Time will tell, after all, I've been wrong before!

June 2009

2009-06-30T17:41:00.003+01:00

Ahem ... this could be a bit tricky this month, dear non-existent reader.

The idea waaay back when starting this blog seemed like a good idea, was to chew over my readings, watchings and listenings each month, in a thinly veiled rip off of Nick Hornby's contribution to The Believer Magazine. So far so good, I've turned in an average of two or three books each month, and a healthy dollop of cd's, tv watching and the odd movie. Until now.

Somehow, June has slipped by me and I stand before you with just one book in hand. No cd's, no decent tv to cogitate over, and not a single new cd ... I could lie, but in this day and age of contrition and exposition I feel it best to don my own sack cloth and ashes ... mea culpa.

I fear I am sinking under the ever growing pile next to my bed ... and those stored in my Amazon basket, waiting, poised calling me ...

In my defence, I have been slightly busy this month with move planning, now job negotiations (all high level stuff, of course) and packing. Which I must get round to soon. That's not to mention a near death swine flu/man flu experience ... well, a nasty cough ...

But I digress (what choice do I have this month?!) I did make it through at least one offering this month, the result of being tricked into waiting for a train inside WH Smiths instead of the platform at Euston. Sneaky bastards ... 2 for £10 ... I was defenceless!

I can't claim to be a big fan of Mark Radcliffe's brand of radio broadcasting, not because I don't think he's up to scratch, mainly because I've never listened to him. In fact, apart from the yearly Glastonbury jaunt, he's pretty much passed me by. But, his book of recollections of a life in music journalism looked interesting and well, I already had one novel ... and if I bought this one too I would save 99p! It made financial sense, although I did end up spending £10 I didn't intend ... besides the proverbial point me thinks ...

Anyway, it turned out to be a good read, more like a chat with a mate down the pub. Albeit one who has a really really cool job, and met loads of famous people. "Did I tell you about the day I bought flowers for Kylie?" No Mark you didn't, go on ... "How about the day I took Bros into a goods yard?" Er ... no ... don't think you've mention that mate ... "What about the day I ..." You get the idea. Rather than plotting a probably dull life story of a northern boy made good in the south (sound familiar? Oh go on! Be generous!) it's more a series of anecdotes, pretty much all the interesting bits from his life, chopping out all the chuff. What a great precedent to set, if only all autobiographies took this route. No more 3rd year Geography field trips from a future rock God, or Rishikesh tales about The Beatles even.

It may all be an act, but Radcliffe comes across as a guy who genuinely appreciates how lucky he's been to get where he is (which I assume must be somewhere other than hanging around in mud with Jo Whiley once a year) and to have enjoyed his career. Isn't that a thing to aspire to?

No. Really. That's it this month. Lost and Heroes has finished and as it's summer, nothing replaced either. So ...erm ... see you next month!

Or maybe not ... as this blog is likely to go into hibernation part way through July I'll see you on the other side of summer ... at least I might have made it through more than one more book by then!

K.o.S.

Quote of the day

2009-06-30T16:16:00.002+01:00

"Michael Jackson never looked better"

I beg to differ.

Baby we were born to moan

2009-06-29T16:39:00.004+01:00

What a nation of whingers and complainers we are ...

After a weekend of the best Glastonbury in living memory, how are we celebrating and remembering such a fantastic stew of musical goodness? By complaining that it cost £1.5m and involved as many people as Olympics coverage. For f**k's sake ...

There's 174 stages at Glastonbury, each needing a bunch of cameras, cameramen, blokes with microphones on sticks, directors, techies etc etc ... plus the management side of it to organise getting those pithy and fascinating interviews from Katie Ting Tiny or from the next super-cool-undiscovered-blink-and-you-miss-him-poet-of-his-generation ... of the week.

Didn't you see Bruce Springsteen?!?! Didn't you sing along to Madness?!?! Tap your foot to Quo? Chuck your undies at the screen for Lord Thomas of Jones? Best of all, because it was in TV and you weren't actually there, you could turn N.E.R.D. off ... oh hang on ... they did that at Glastonbury too!

Jeez ... people of Britain ... lighten up! No one complains how much it costs to keep Bruce Forsyth in wigs for Strictly Come Clog Dancing do they?

Perspective?

Anyone?

At least The Boss didn't try to claim Glasto as his second residence, although, there are rumours Lady Ga Ga included a duck house on her rider.

The slightly irritated, but still rocking K.O.S.

Five things I will miss about London

2009-06-29T12:10:00.002+01:00

1. It's London baby!!!! See that big house at the end of the road? That's Buckingham Palace! The Queen lives there! What time is it? Oh ... hang on ... just let me check ... on Big Ben!!! This is not some two bit town centre we have here, this is THE town centre. Fancy nipping in to offer a quick prayer to the big fella? Well, St Pauls or Westminster Cathedral are at your disposal not your average St Thomas of the Divine Sheep Shearer, is it? Blimey, the traffic's bad today ... yeah ... Lord Mayor's Show ... ahh ... I see ... You never know what's going to happen down here, good or bad. It seems like everything has some famous or important connection to history. You don't get that in your average identikit new towns do you?

2. Public transport. Ok, so the tube drivers tend to bugger off for a couple of days every few months and the buses are full of drunks, anti-social yobs or lunatics (and that's just the pensioners) but you can get virtually anywhere at any time of the day or night. I've not had a car since losing a game of dodgems on the North Circular over three years ago, and it's not stopped me getting anywhere. I'm 25 days away from going back north and I have a car on order already! Bang goes my carbon footprint.

3. The Southbank. Sunday morning, strolling along the banks of the Thames with a fresh coffee in hand ... it rarely gets better than that. My single favourite place in London.

4. Theatre. I'm not a big star spotter, I don't really care to be honest. But in the last few years, I've seen Rob Lowe, Don Johnson, Jessica Lange, David Schwimmer, Ewan McGregor, David Suchet and Christian Slater, up close and personal in various plays. Not one has been a let down, or a disappointment. I have a thing for Arthur Miller's work though, and the highlight has to be the first West End play I went to see, Death of a Salesman, starring Brian Dennehy. It was the most exhausting experience I've ever had sitting down. In public at least. Not a heart was left unwrung as the well told story unfolded. Simply stunning.

5. Anonymity. No one cares about anyone here. You can be who you want to be and you get left alone, the very attraction that made me stay down here. You can blend into the melting pot and disappear into yourself. I've lived in this building for just over two years and the only interaction I've had with my neighbours is a brief nod of acknowledgment about 6 months ago. That's fine with me ... or it was.

It's time to rejoin the community now though, perhaps there's a half way house I need to go to first though?

Rocking in the free world

2009-06-28T01:47:00.009+01:00

When did Glastonbury get good?

Back in the day according to my (admittedly hazy) recollection, it was full of hippies and floppy fringed shoe gazers caked in mud. When did it become the most diverse and interesting festival ... and all for 'free' on TV?!

Ok ... I say free ... yes, I know, you have to fork out whatever the licence fee costs these days, and hock your sanity to get through the spread legged Edith Bowman's guffawing and "ermm-ing" every 4 minutes, but seriously ... it's been bloody good so far. Even the sun is shining.

I spent Friday night watching it with a friend, both poised, witticisms sharpened, ready to slice Lady GaGa into pieces ... except she turned out to be really good! She can sing! And play piano and a key-tar (you really don't see enough of those anymore) and no-one, but NO-ONE fills out baco-foil like she does!

White Lies (great version of "Dancing in the Dark" ... The Specials ... Ting Tings (somehow less annoying than usual) ... Jack Penate ... Neil Young ... a thoroughly sound night of music. Neil Young's "Day In The Life" was spellbinding.

Sadly I had to work tonight, so Springsteen, Eagles of Death Metal ... Kasabian ... CSN will have to wait for me to catch up later in the week, as will Madness from tomorrow. Actually now I look at it, Sunday looks a bit crap to me.

Why isn't Bruce closing the whole shebang?

The not muddy, armchair hugging K.o.S.

Don't Stop 'til ... oh

2009-06-26T15:44:00.011+01:00

It's hard to really know what to think about the death of Michael Jackson.

Like everyone else I had my phase where I obsessed with him, at his peak around the Thriller/Bad era he was untouchable, unreachable and an unprecedented genius. He danced with grace of Astaire and had a back beat as bad as James Brown ... a deadly combination.

Later in life he became a much murkier character, a couple of bizarre marriages, drug addictions, skin colour changing and a face ravaged by surgery, baby dangling and ... his sleeping arrangements, let's say. Interestingly, his more seemingly seedy side is being swept under the moral carpet today. I guess we remember what we want to remember. It's ironic that a man today being lauded for breaking down cultural barriers between races, changed his own skin colour. Evidently it did matter if you were black or white.

It had been a while since he'd contributed anything of any significance to the music scene and you could get good odds that he wouldn't completed his 50 shows at the O2.

So ... mock or mourn?

Ultimately, for me, it's neither. It's sad. A man with so much wasted or simply lost talent, lost and alone. How can your heart not cry when you see the old Jackson Five clips now on endless rotation on television today? How did such a joyous, talented young kid go so wrong. How did such a once great talent end up with such a nothing, meaningless death?

If he is dead of course ... I half expected to see him throw off the death shroud and moonwalk on top of the stretcher he was carried out of UCLA medical facilities on this morning.

How long before he's spotted in KFC or Wal Mart?

The single wooly mitten wearing K.O.S.

Foto Phriday

2009-06-26T15:10:00.000+01:00

Watching over you

The lights were on and someone was home

2009-06-25T18:39:00.005+01:00

So ... it turned out what I thought was no.3 actually wasn't and no one showed ... just like no. 4, also a no show. So I've been sitting here, on pins waiting to open the Ideal Home Exhibition for nothing.

Bastards.

Things happen, plans have to change I get that ... but to just not show?! That's just plain rude.

A courtesy call from the agents wouldn't have hurt either.

Is it going to be like this for the next month?

C'mon over a my house

2009-06-25T15:14:00.003+01:00

Exactly four weeks today I'll be speeding up the M6 at the head of a convoy boasting the triumphant return home of the King of Swing.

Crikey ... that doesn't leave much time!

It turned out this week that if I give notice in my current flat ... er, sorry ... castle, within a 6 months renewal period, I have to give an extra month's notice - bastards! So unless this place gets let by 23rd July, yours truly will be stiffed for an extra month's rent. Oh, the joys of renting.

As I type this I'm waiting for the 3rd viewing in 24 hours, with number 4 due later this evening. It's a horrible experience, having total strangers poking round your home, mentally criticising your taste in furniture or the size of your kitchen. Hey, what do you expect from a two bedroom flat in London for this price?! Jamie Oliver I'm not, and it's big enough for me thank you very much!

Already I've had a couple of odd looks, just because my master bedroom could be mistaken for a recording studio. The rack of guitars, microphone, computer oh, and lack of bed may the be reason behind that. Come on people - how hard is it to imagine a bed in a room?!

Even more testing, I have to keep the place tidy! No cereal dish left behind in the morning, no socks on the bedroom floor, no wet towels left lying around in the bathroom. Not that I do anyway. Ahem.

Must go now ... no 3 is here ... have patience ... and smile ...

The welcoming K.o.S.

Foto Friday

2009-06-19T11:45:00.001+01:00

Not fit to wear the shirt

2009-06-17T12:08:00.013+01:00

When I was a little boy ...

There were two things I really wanted to do when I grew up. One - open the batting for Lancashire with Graeme Fowler, and two, be stand off to Shaun Edwards' scrum half and run out at Central Park for Wigan.

Ok ... I also wanted a bike, but that's another story.

While my cricketing prowess is now legendary, my rugby career never really got off the ground, mainly because it involved getting hit a lot, and in truth I'm a bit of a soft arse. But that has never diminished the passion I have for the cherry and white, and the fervour with which I shout at team/tv/internet radio - whichever is available.

It's not been easy over the last few years keeping track of the soap opera that Wigan-Enders has become while I've been in isolation darn sarf. Well, you can't really call Harlequins rugby league, can you?! Well, actually, judging by the table, yes you can, and a damn sight more than Wigan can.

Having been spanked like new born babies at the weekend in the traditional hotbed of rugby league that is the Celtic Crusaders, I think I'm at my proverbial wits end with the club.

We've (and yes, it is we, don't go there) not won a piece of silver since 2002's Challenge Cup final. This from a team when I was growing up won stuff just by turning up. I swear if Wigan Rugby League had stood in the 1997 general election, we'd be looking back at the right honourable Maurice Lindsay's expenses claims at the moment.

Today, that's a distant memory. Now they shuffle round the field, not really giving a damn of the outcome of a game, totally disinterested and wholly without passion. It appalls me. I would have given my left arm and sold my mother to run out for Wigan just once (sorry mum, but she'd understand). The pride and honour to wear the mighty cherry and white shirt is priceless, to represent the town so steeped in the history of the game, to follow in the footsteps of Billy Boston, Jim Sullivan, Eric Ashton, Shaun Edwards, Andy Gregory, Kris Radlinksi, Andy Platt, Andy Farrell, Martin Offiah ... ok, I'm taking the piss with the last one, but you get the point. Every one of those players (except Offiah, obviously) would live, die and die again for the club, to save one last try, to make one desperate tackle.

It's galling today to see the current team bend over for Celtic, Salford and Castleford as we have already this year, and after every game to listen to Brian Noble, Mr "Hanging by a Thread", bleat on about respecting the ball, learning from our mistakes, and getting better every game. I think Nobby plans to have us peaking for Christmas Day, which is a shame seeing as the season ends mid-October. Surely only a Wembley victory can save Nobby now, and somehow we've got ourselves one game away. A Challenge Cup semi final ... what could possibly go wrong?

Since that last great day at Murrayfield in 2002, we've got a new set of players, several new coaches and even a new owner - but still not one of them seems to get what an honour it is to be a part of the club. Don't expect any solutions from me, I've given up!

Ok, I lie. I have two .... pay per win rather than cushty guaranteed fees - if your mortgage payment depended on getting over the try line, you might give it a bit more effort, and ditch the Aussie imports. I worshipped at the boots of Lord Trent of Barrett as much as anyone, but only home grown players will really get what it means to play in Cherry and White hoops. Oh, there's a third ... play Ainscough, and the Tomkins brothers - don't rest them, don't develop them, let them play - that's the only way our youngsters will learn the game. Shaun Edwards signed at 17 and became a regular starter that same year - he did ok.

I'll end now ... I could whinge for days on this subject, believe me, I have. But here's a sobering thought ...

Learn to play the Warriors way? For £50? I'll teach it for £25 quid. Turn up. Don't care. Collect your pay cheque and laugh all the way to the bank. Then at the end of your contract, also known as a two year rest, go and perform well for another club.

But as Nick Hornby said - choose your team carefully, they're yours for life. Oh bugger.

The Cherry and White til I die K.o.S.

Shut up! We know you can play!

2009-06-16T23:55:00.012+01:00

I went to one of my favourite events of the year, this weekend just gone ... the London Music Show. It's a tempt-a-thon as far as I'm concerned and I'm more distracted than nymphomaniac in a brothel. But with a house move, new car and flat to pay for I was a good boy. Leaving my plastic at home helped.

The expo itself was noticeably smaller than previous years, the whole thing fitting into just one side of Excel. Previous years saw the live music hall and the drummers in one side, and the real musicians in the other. This year we were all together, like one big happy family. This had it's bonuses, it's unlikely I'd get to attend a Nicko McBrain drum clinic normally. But he's funny, interesting and entertaining. But the real reason I was there was for the six-string stuff. Jan Ackerman and the Albert Lee both played gigs and were fantastic. Two outstanding musicians and guitarists with more talent and tast in one finger nail than I'll ever have.

Highlight of the day - Steve Vai's appearance, naturally, even though it was only for a handful of songs as part of the Nicko McBrain/Phil Hilborne jam session, the perennial cumulation of the event. More known for his flash bang widdle approach to playing, he performed an impossibly elegant "Little Wing" while still finding room to inject a dollop of Vai-ness. Jaw dropping, as always.

I didn't purchase as I say, but I did check out my next purchase, call it prep-work. But I'm not going to take any more boxes back north than I have too, it might not all fit in the van as it is!

Moan of the day ... music should be inclusive, and musicians part of a community to support and collaborate to further the art. So why is it that every stand was full of tasteless wankery? Not from the demonstrators, but from us, the public. Widdle widdle widdle ... very good ... EVH would be proud ...

Now play something worth listening to.

(Not) Going Underground

2009-06-13T19:58:00.007+01:00

I'm a man of principles, often to my own detriment. Sometimes though, even in spite of myself, I am forced to retain my nose in a face saving way

The disillusioned RMT dained to go back to work yesterday, gracing those of us tied to the London Underground for mobility the joy of freedom again. What was achieved? As with most strikes, bugger all. No pay rise, no guaranteed redundancy protection ... so they're promising to do it all again in a couple of weeks. Fantastic.

The thing is, most of us that use the tube do so out of necessity. We're not performing some sweaty sardine-like tribute. But the other alternative is the bus network which, although not an utter disaster just takes so damn long ... I blame the bikes in the bus lane. Anyway, I'd like to have boycotted the tubes, stay off them and in my own defiant way stick two fingers up at Bob Crow and his cronies.

Instead, I muttered thanks to the transport Gods that everything was running again, and glad to be home in the 40 minutes it should take, rather than the hour and a half it did take on Wednesday.

Is it a sign of maturity when you learn not to cut your nose off no matter how much you want to spite your face?

Foto Phriday

2009-06-12T13:37:00.002+01:00

Heads Up!

Five Things I Wont Miss About London +1

2009-06-12T13:25:00.007+01:00

1. The nightbus - Brilliant in concept, why don't all buses run 24hrs a day, it's a 24/7 world after all. I'll tell you why, because the world of the night bus is full of drunks, puking their way back from whichever sofa filled wine bar they've just rolled out of. The few non-alcohol soaked seats that are left, are filled with suitcases. Not people. Suitcases and bags, backpackers and tourists making their way to another stamp in their passport. Why do you have to have a bag the size of my living room?! This potent cocktail means I arrive at work smelling as if I've spent two days in Stringfellows followed by a camel trek though the Himalayas. All I want is a seat as I try to get to work, is that too much to ask?

2. Tourists. The ones who seem to thing the penultimate step at the exit to a tube station is the perfect place to stop and consult their pop out London guide. It's fine, really, I'm in no rush, take your time. We're all standing here behind you admiring your interesting Euro-dress sense, slightly in awe at the amount of tourist crap you're carrying around with you. Need directions? No problem ... well, I wouldn't start from here ...

3. Whopper guzzling pigeons at Euston station. And the idiots that feed them.

4. Foreign Exchange students running rampant around the city, practising their English in that irritatingly mocking and unnecessarily loud way. "Ahh 'ello sir ... 'ow ar' euu tooday?" Is this what the French Monsieur et Madame Marsaud teach nowadays? The English Channel was formed for a reason you know.

5. City wankers. Yes you, the pin-stripe wearing, red braces twanging, rah rah blagging throw back to a dead decade. You f*cked it up for the lot of us didn't you? You tossers. I see your copy of The Sun secluded inside your Financial Times, and your Dan Brown stashed in exchange for Sun Su when you get near to Bank. You pretentious, pompous, arrogant dicks. Go jump off Canary Wharf. No, on second thoughts, The Thames is polluted enough.

6. Tube Strikes. 5% pay rise?! Guaranteed no redundancies? Read a newspaper recently Mr Crow? There's a bit of an issue in the world at the moment, you may want to take a reality check lads. But go on, knock your selves out. I didn't mind the hour and half magical mystery bus tour I had to take instead.

Foto Phriday

2009-06-05T23:41:00.001+01:00

Black and White Tower

I'm on my way

2009-06-05T03:02:00.004+01:00

After much discussion, consultation, negotiation, changing of minds and changing back ... I'm going home.

Finally after many weeks of offers and counter offers, phone calls made but not returned, humming and ahh-ing ... the deal was done, and my fate has been sealed.

8 weeks to go ... ohhh shhhit ...

I'm not filled with excitment if I'm honest, but that could be due to the huge job of moving to be done, the fact that I have to find a new home, a new car, find my feet in a new environment and team when the easy route would have been to keep my head down, stay put in my admittedly uncomforable comfort zone. It's surprising what you can put up with when you have to.

However, the prospect of not having to arrange to see my friends two months in advance and being more knackered after a holiday because I've run around like the proverbial blue arsed fly is very appealing.

What swayed it? A good friend told me that now would be a good time to close the London chapter. Everything has played out it's drama here, and now would be a good time to begin to write new story. She's right, and the opportunity to do that fills me with hope and encouragement. For the first time in almost four years, I'm ready to move on. Literally.

Or maybe I just missed the pies.

The homeward bound K.o.S.

May 2009

2009-05-31T23:16:00.002+01:00

It's been quite a music orientated month at Castle Swing this month. I've previously moaned about the lack of new music that attracts me, and to this day I refuse to accept that as an indicator of old age. I'm not Radio 2 fodder yet, although, that James Taylor interview the other week was fascinating ...

I believe I may have mentioned my excitement at the release of the latest Fastball CD, "Little White Lies". The good thing is, my hype didn't let me down. The harmonies are as tight as ever (All I Was Looking For Was You) the lyrics as poignant as always (How Did I Get Here?) and when they let loose, they can rock with the best of them (White Noise). It bewilders me how some bands break and become worldwide megastars despite limited depth of ability ... Coldplay ... anyone? Yet others toil away for years, garner respect and a loyal yet small fan base. Zuniga, Scalzo and Shuffield fall into the last group, and the enduring fear is that they'll just get so sick of getting nowhere they'll call it quits. Be honest, if you poured everything you have into creating a musical version of your broken heart and no one gave a toss, wouldn't you knock it on the head? Ah ... maybe that's why I didn't make it.

Meanwhile another trio, Green Day, also returned last month with their long awaited follow up to American Idiot - 21st Century Breakdown. I honestly never thought I would use the words "long" and "awaited" in the same sentence as "Green" and "Day". Previously they'd seemed to be nothing more than another bunch of dumb wannabe punks a la The Offspring, who occasionally managed to strike silver with the likes of Good Riddance and Minority. Then along came Jesus Of Suburbia and the rest of American Idiot and I had to take them seriously. Sort of. Despite my prejudices, I found myself absorbed by Idiot, and I listened to it obsessively for far longer than was good for me before an intervention was finally required. It wasn't pretty.

Surely 21st Century Breakdown couldn't repeat the trick? No, it can't. But it's still bloody good! Ok, there's far too much 'telephone vocals' and what Billie Joe Armstrong no doubt calls a 'recurring theme' I call a lazy repeated melody. But lead single Know Your Enemy, Murder City and Horseshoes and Handgrenades show them on full on pop rock form, while 21 Guns will no doubt prove to be the lighters in the air moment during the ensuing world tour. Lyrically it's as pretentious and naive as its predecessor, musically less ambitious in scale despite the pre-release hype. Still, it's been on constant repeat on my iPod since it came out ... perhaps that intervention my be necessary again.

Thank God for that ... Lost is over. For now. Just one more mind bending season to go. The really worrying thing, is it started to make sense towards the end. The fade to white was only shocking in that it wasn't a fade to black, and could the lame and whiny Juliette really be dead? That'll conveniently put the cat among the Kate/Jack/Sawyer pigeons for the finale. Who are the good guys? Who are the bad guys? Oh who give's a flying fu....

Literary speaking, the music theme continued through the month with Mikael Niemi's "Popular Music", a tale of growing up in Sweden and discovering a love of music. Niemi describes the moment he first heard The Beatles, as a moment that literally turned his life and bedroom upside down, in a maelstrom of excitement, fear and adrenaline :

"... all our blood rushed to our ears, formed gut-red clump - then suddenly everything changed direction, torrents raged into fingers and toes, red spurts of blood to every extremity of our bodies till we gaped cod-eyed ... this couldn't possibly be a human creation."

Who hasn't thought that about so many Lennon/McCartney compositions? Other-worldly pearls of brilliance. What I loved about this novel, is that Niemi was able to put into words, the feelings stirred when you are really, truly affected by music. The obsessed can never communicated the hold music has over them :

"Once you've discovered the power music has, there's no going back ... it wrests the door out of your hand, rips it off its hinges and leaves a gaping hole behind."

Yes, yes, yes! Exactly!

Oh, and please note, my third piece of translated literature this year, I'm getting so European.

It's that time of the year when all the good tv programmes end to make way for all the good sport of the summer. So Heroes joined Lost, and wound up it's madness until September. This series will be missed though. What a season it's been! It may have been slow to get going while it corrected the various cock ups from last year, but once it hit top gear, there was no holding back. One of television's greatest villains, Sylar may be gone, but he lives on in Nathan, The Company has been reborn, and once again Hiro enters the off season powerless. Thanks to the usual delay for US programmes, it'll probably be October before we get Season Five, wake me up when September ends ...

Many moons ago, a proto-nutter sang a song about a rat called Ben. My last novel of May concerned a rat called Firmin. Sam Savage somehow manages to imbue the little creature with empathy, longing and love throughout, and you come to genuinely care about the little creature. Born into a bookshop, Firmin is a gifted little bugger, and it turns out he can read. Short of other distractions (Steve Jobs take note ... rats need iPods) he works his way through every text in the shop. While foraging for food in a porno cinema, he falls in love with the screen 'lovelies', finds love reciprocated by Jerry a writer and fellow bohemian, and eventually finds himself in peril as the Boston city renovation program closes in around him.

Yup. I doubted it too. A book about a rat that can read?! In a moment of weakness I bought this at Euston station while waiting for a train to Manchester. They got me when my defences were down, I was bored and short of anything else to do ended up succumbing to a cunning 2 for £10 offer ... sneaky retail bastards. It turned out to be one of those impulse buys you're glad of though, it's hardly the sort of thing you seek out but you're lucky when it falls into your lap.

But then that's how it always goes. It's all luck really. This month was a good month, the last couple had been less so. That's also the problem about books - there's so many of the damn things. There will always be a hundred books I want to read and another hundred I should read. Indeed as I write this, I'm not reading making it even harder to catch up. Of course I'll never catch up, I'm centuries behind and unless all the authors in the world agree on a let's say, 100 year hiatus, I'll never be up to date ... of course I'll also be dead by then.

That's the quest though. To find the next novel, the next piece of drama, the next exquisite melody that reminds you that to create that one perfect moment however fleeting, is the eternal quest,

Until next month dear non-existent reader ... get reading! You're running out of time.

The boys of summer

2009-05-31T11:02:00.006+01:00

As the sun beats down on England's green and pleasant lands, today is the first day of the real sporting calendar. Some big final? A local derby? Neither.

The soccer-ball season is finally over and now the real sporting year can begin!

The European F1 season is underway; we're down to the business end of the rugby league season with Challenge Cup semi's and the second half of the Super League; the cricket season is less likely to be washed out from here on in; and of course the most important sporting event of the year - The Ashes.

I'm sure there's some tin cup competition through the next few months to give the over-payed, under skilled, dribblers something to do during the summer, and I'm sure there's strip bars and hotel rooms they'll get in trouble in and that will keep the tabloid wolves occupied.

But for real sport, the summer starts here.

Come on Jenson, come on Lancashire, come on Wigan, come on England ... surely at least one out of the four won't let me down.

Just call out my (screen) name

2009-05-30T15:19:00.009+01:00

In this day and age of Witter, Wastebook, and WhySpace where friends are counted in numbers, not years, is an online friend the same as an offline friend?

I'm not a great collector of friends, but those I do have have known me for years and we have been there for each other through the proverbial thick, thin and all the middley stuff inbetween. I don't 'poke' them (my mum taught me that was rude), or write on their walls, (the local authority is really coming down hard on graffitti).

I have an equally small number of online friends, people I used to know, people I may never meet again thanks to the conspiracy of fate, and people I'll probably never know outside of the infinite walls of cyberspace ... yet they're just as real, and almost as close to me. Perhaps the built in annonymity leads to more disclosure, or does the nature of true physical friendship allow for even more honesty?

Just a thought for you on this sunny summer day when I know I should really be outside. But it's Rugby League Challenge Cup weekend, and there's no way I'm leaving my t.v. to venture out into the harsh and unnaturally bright real world ... are you mad? lol

The pasty faced white K.o.S.

"Nobody listens to a word I say ..."

2009-05-30T00:51:00.007+01:00

"Excuse me." The slightly harrassed gentleman asked me. "Where is X?"

I smiled, took a breath, and began, "It's just on your left, past this shop, jump in the lift and you'll be there in a couple of minutes, no problems" I replied with jauntily. That's how I'm paid to speak to "the public". It says so in my handbook. Probably.

"I have to use a lift?!" He exclaimed incredulously. "Oh, for God's sake ..." and off he stomped.

I smiled the smile of a saint as he huffed out of sight, ignoring the 'on your left bit' and carrying straight on.

"Where is X" demanded a particularly sweaty woman as I turned to go back to what I was doing.

Deep breath. Smile. "You just go left after this shop here, you'll want the lift marked X (the sarcasm is always wasted) and you'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"Where?"

"Just over there, after this shop. On your left. You just need to take the lift"

"Straight on?"

Smile.

Breath.

Ignore the phone ringing in my pocket. Customers always come first, but what about idiots?

"No madam, just go left here"

"Hmmm"

Phone is still ringing. I know it's my boss. I should be somewhere else now. My slightly challenged new friend has disappeared, no thanks needed or offered, and yes, she went straight on. My phone has of course stopped ringing now. That's ok though, the other one starts. Mid-conversation ...

"Where's X?"

Stop call, take breath, indicate towards the left (surprisingly) "Just head ..."

He's gone, obviously telephathic.

He went straight on.

I turn and head for the appointment I'm now late for thanks to my impromptu point duty only to be stopped in my tracks with

"X?"

"Yes sir?" I stop and smile. I'm really not paid enough for this.

"X"

I lean forward slightly, eyebrows raised, the international sign for looking keen to help, really just wondering how long I can delay him and piss him off.

"Where is X?"

"Ahhh!" The imaginary light dawns on me now. "You're looking for X?" Much bewilderment to him, but it's funny how him being rude hasn't helped my lack of understanding. "Hmm, well, it's not far from here" I smile, "You're in luck."

I think my cheery disposition, fake though it may be, is really getting to him now. Such a shame. If I was a chef, he'd be getting a spit burger today.

"So where is it?"

"Just head over that way, turn left after this ...." And he's gone. Like all the other chuckle monkey's that ask for help than ignore the answer. He also went straight on.

Maybe next time I'll say what I want I'm thinking:

"Sir, you see that great big, bright yellow f**k off sign that says "X" and has an arrow pointing to the left? Well where the f**k do you think X is?"

Oh what's the point. He'll still go straight on.

The much ignored K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2009-05-29T09:40:00.002+01:00

Standing at the crossroads again

Who are you?

2009-05-24T00:54:00.008+01:00

Do you ever sit in a room with people you know well, who for a few hours turn into complete strangers?

I had the (mis)fortune of having to attend an 'away day' recently with 40 odd colleagues. (I say '40 odd' in full knowledge of both ways it can be read. Should your job not require such things, get down on your knees right now, and thank which ever deity you bow down to. If you don't go in for such things, just thank your lucky stars.

These things always begin the same way, with the dreaded word - "icebreaker" - which generally means "make a tit out of yourself". Something along the lines of 'tell us something no one knows about you' (actually, I'd rather not if you don't mind, there's a reason no one knows it) or, 'tell us your proudest achievement in life' (make up something worthwhile, quick). This one was ... 'organise yourselves in order of your birthday'. Sorry? Did I hear that right? What? Not even without speaking? (Yep, done that one before) Just organise ourselves in date order. F**k me ... this is going to be a long day.

The company I work for has recently restructured (who's hasn't?) and as a result, we have a new set of 'values'. Oh yes, 'values' those things you have to learn before you get visited by the IIP people. Except this time round, we're going to live them. Every. F**cking. Day. I think that was the pledge we all made. I can't really quote them within the walls of this blog for fear of giving too much identifiable detail away, which is a shame, because they range from the hilarious to the down-right mystical. Or is that what's known as wiggle room?

As I was saying, you think you know people, you work 40 odd hours a week with people through the good, the bad and the down right ugly. You think you know how they'll react something, and try to make eye contact, to share a knowing smile, a rolling eyeball ... and then they turn into company autobots ... nodding like the Churchill dog, cooing over vaccuous impractical statements that will one day come back and bite them in the arse. It's also stunning just how opinionated some people can be after the event.

I sat alone, amidst a sea of strangers, the only one who seemed to be able to see the facade. Actually I lie, two other colleaues had the out of the Matrix experience, but had been threatened into silence by their boss.

Now that's living the values.

Oh, and five of us got food poisoning from lunch. We should do this more often ...

The very valued, K.o.S.

Foto Phriday

2009-05-22T09:40:00.000+01:00

Traitor's Reflection

We are the waiting

2009-05-18T10:33:00.002+01:00

For those non-existent readers who may have been following the saga of will I won't I move ... an update.

There is no update.

I've been on holiday for a week and it seems without my pestering for news and movement, negotiations have stalled.

Frustrating really, considering two senior figures promised to phone me with an update ... calls I stopped waiting for by Thursday afternoon when voice messages were not returned. Perhaps they know something I don't!

Or it goes to re-confirm what I always knew. Whether they mean to or not, sooner or later, everybody lets you down. That includes yourself. The thing is, you have to find a way to forgive yourself, or you'll be paralysed for all eternity. Who else you choose to forgive depends on who you want to walk with you through life. You can't walk alone.

Can you?

Photo Friday

2009-05-15T09:23:00.000+01:00

Early Sky

Royal visit

2009-05-14T20:20:00.006+01:00

The King of Swing is pleased to welcome a royal visitor this week, the King-Father of Swing is here from foreign lands on one of his gift bearing visits. Indeed, the kitchen staff were pleased to welcome a fresh supply of pies to the galley.

While here, there is a full itinerary. As we, the people, now own the majority of British banks, we're going to withdraw a small fortune and go on a spending spree. When done, we're off to James Arbuthnot's swimming pool to do a few laps, well, we the people repaired it, so it's only fair he gives us a go. After the exercise, the King-Father and I are likely to be a bit tired, so we're off to John Reid's, to sit on the armchair we bought. There's rugby on Sky tomorrow, so we're going to pay a call to Kevin Brennan's place to watch it on the widescreen tv we bought, then it's round to Phil Hope's newly renovated two bedroom flat for a good night's kip. That's right, we all paid for that too.

Give your local MP a call, see what you've done for him/her lately.

The Sting

2009-05-13T10:15:00.004+01:00

This week is National Be Nice To Nettles week - no, really.

Hot topics to be debated include ...

What are we doing with the nettle today? - and what might we do tomorrow?

There's also a look at nettles in the news ... "a look at some of nettley stories that appear in our newspapers and on our television screens."

I must have missed the big nettle debate of '08 ... ask not what your nettle can do for you, but what you can do for your nettle.

Politicalamity

2009-05-12T14:08:00.008+01:00

True story ... last week I had to travel from London to Manchester for work. As the trip was 'mutually beneficial' I managed to persuade the purse string holders at the coal mine I work in to contribute 50% of my train fare, a sum of £33.20. I wasn't too unhappy with that deal, after all, a life in retail has taught me the benefits of keeping an eye on the bottom line of your P&L report.

Over the last few days though, I think I may have missed a trick and have decided I'm going to run for parliament next time round. I don't have a toilet seat that needs fixing (Mr. Prescott), require any hanging baskets (Mrs. Beckett), a bath robe (Mr Burnham), or any cooker repairs (Mr Letwin) ... but I may need a trip to Ikea if I do move house in the near future (Mrs Blears).

What a bunch of money grabbing scumbags. While the rest of the nation counts its blessings if they can pay mortgages, health costs and keep a job, the likes of David Willetts are re-charging £100 for light bulbs.

I remember the Tory sleaze of the nineties and how damaging it was to the public's perception of government. This is far far worse. Cameron and Brown are vacuously spouting daily how they are cleaning up their respective parties, are we are supposed to believe two career politicians who have been through the system, have only just become aware of what goes on?

Generally, when I get canvassed prior to elections I either ignore them or ... well, no, I always ignore them. My vote is between me and the ballot box. Not this time round. It's Euro election time in a few weeks, and God help the rosette wearing, claim form fiddling, sanctimonious leech that comes a knocking at the Castle of Swing.

Vote Swing! I'll only claim 50% of my costs back.

The reet 'onourable Minster for Swing.

Wish you were here

2009-05-12T10:28:00.001+01:00

Happy birthday mum