As a boy, these images of a euphoric future flitted into my mind and out again, like slides from the world yet to be. They were never of anything specific, maybe landscapes or cloudscapes, but they were always so ethereal and awesome, such a warmth felt in the body and a wonder at it all, and yet so fleeting, and so tantalising of what the future might hold. I could never just bring it on or predict these sensations, they just came upon me, which only added to the radiance of the moments. Like some pieces in classical music that you hear for the first time and think ‘my God, I didn’t know such beauty was possible’. I feel now I get the images still, here and there, but not the huge charge. Or do I see the images but only wonder that at the future that came to be the present and yet carried none of the spiritual lust? I see the shapes, but the colours are faded, and there’s none of the glow.
Long day at the Wearslide, not the best day out for anyone, but the sky was amazingly clear and blue and the sun shone so brightly …
At home the view of the Tyne Valley from Dawn’s allotment was without a shade of haze, everything could have been up so close … felt a sense of ease when I worked out income coming in, and Shozzy 7 hit a particularly calm part – if only such a sense of tranquillity could always so easily come from marking some income and remarking on sunshine. Trees are coming out in light green sprouts of leaves, if not heaving with blossom.
Around dusk I went for a spin in the Volks to clear my head, and went west, where an amazing volcanic plume of cloud was rising from the horizon, with its immaculate backdrop of blood red merging into light yellow and grey blue. Hammering along, Moby on, some woes of the world eased while mulling the past that’s gone and the futures that won’t be.
Mixing 1990s choons with a newish car, full of vigour, grappling with age by way of weights and new Wranglers. No more baggy blue jeans hanging off a beanpole, lumbering around in the Skod. The missus also looks outstandingly fit these days. We both are .. which makes the lack of a nebula all the more vexing. But the good things remain. Richard Burton wrote about how he and Liz making love had all the carefree abandon of a one-night stand every time, while his approach to money was, ‘we’ll always grow some more’. What a fascinating man, rising from the valleys to true global stardom, and yet …
I digress. See this? The kitchen’s tilted under the weight of my guns
A lot of extra work on a TV series that my agent put me up for and for which dates were laid out, isn’t in the end materialising. Why is this, agent?
‘They seem to have forgotten about you!’
‘Ah. Is there a way by which they might unforget? smile emoticon [lost in translation – Ed] ‘
‘Well I will ask but they are very busy this week.’
Hahah… good for them. I spose we can’t all be busy, eh?
OK. I’d thought the agent’s job was to find me work, and for that they took a cut, and we both get by. Well obviously that’s wrong.
I’ll go into empathy mode, and take it from their perspective.
Right … there’s a load of work that pays some … but there’s a load of other work that pays more … and there are some actors designated for the ‘more’ and so they outweigh in import the ‘some’ … ummm… .. there’s some kind of priority pile, and … I am at the bottom. Something like that, plus some added thread of the unknown where their response to finding me work that pays them to do their job can yet be compromised by being weak.
I … I …
…. this image is forming in my head …
I, can’t see it properly, …
blurry in my mind, coming into focus …
some, some kind of writing …
what is it? What does it say??
‘Go …. go fukc yourself’ … ?
‘Go fukc yourself’ – what does that mean?
PS: Apparently I didn’t have the right hair. Or something. What a load of shit anyway.
PPS: May 22: Said agent the other day urgently emailed (urgently emailed!) to ask if anyone (urgently anyone!) could get to Blyth within half an hour. Today, they capped that by urgently emailing to ask if anyone could get to Stanhope in 20 minutes.
PPPS: May 22. Left said agency.
PISS: … really? No, actually it’s a good thing 🙂.
PPPPS: Said TV series was not repeated, due to poor reviews and viewing figures, despite an online petition being set up by some of the cast to get a second series commissioned … because that’s how it works … lol
That’s him out, then.
PS: May 2015, it’s still a point of contention for some. Well, good.
Poor Skod. It’d got to 115,000 miles, about 60,000 driven by me, taking me to Dawn and back, Dawn’s stuff to London, all our stuff to Newcastle, on holidays, to weddings, to the vet’s with an injured Ben-dog, and it was genuinely sad to see it go, stoic vehicle. But by the end it was seriously knackered, scratches and dents all over it, mileometer bust, right window handle bust, sun-rise leaking, brakes chuntering, clutch going, driver seat painful after 50 miles, and so on and on.
I however am going from strength to strength! I’m preening and posing all over the shop these days, basically because I’ve never looked like this before: ! 😀
From 30:00 to 30:50 … why can’t one feel like that all the time? Or without even having this music to be prompted by?
Wind blasting through your hair atop some cliff somewhere … well I guess we don’t spend out lives sitting on cliff tops on sunny days.
Although at 16:45 it starts with that wonderful, jaunty but despairing trumpet. Very good for doing bench presses to, I’ve found.
then you have the bass clarinets at 1.09:10 … ssss ….. and the music plots …
I gave the stereo every opportunity to give back my Flash Gordon CD, and it refused every time.
Who’s sorry now, stereo, eh? Who’s sorry now? Tell me – who won this round?
Sorry I can’t hear you – oh that’s right, shit yeah, you’re in bits.