johnny9fingers: (Default)
Amazingly I got a message from the Glam Ex today. She asked if I was still keeping her musical stuff (which I am) as she has new desires to make a lot of noise. I'll have to find some day to meet up and return her bass guitar and associated bits and bobs. Not that I play bass too often, but when you can't find a bassist you have to do it yourself.

She seems to be well, and her Ma is still a stalwart on that London based soap opera.

Kudos to them.

Last week I leant my 17 year old godson my unused Les Paul on a semi-permanent basis. For some reason or other I just can't seem to get on with LP's. 335's, 175's, L5's, yes: LP's no. Go figure, as the saying is. I guess I'll always be a 'Strat' sort of guy. Which is, I suppose, why I have four of them.

Go well and do good things, and if tempted to do bad things remember: it'll always turn out worse than you think.

Look at Tony Bliar....a man unable to admit he got it criminally wrong about invading Iraq, and who now desperately tries to massage this message by trying to come across as sensible on every other matter. Oleaginous creepy man who somehow or other has made millions upon millions of pounds or dollars.

Honore de Balzac said behind every great fortune there lies a crime. I may just except Paul McCartney and his musical/entertainment ilk from this sweeping generalisation, but I fear T. Bliar esquire doesn't make the cut.
johnny9fingers: (Sri Yantra)
After eating a small supper of smoked salmon I wandered back into my study, and for want of anything better to do turned on the telly.
It was tuned to BBC Three, and it was about ten pm.

The programme showing was Eastenders, repeated from the earlier evening showing on BBC One.
Now I'm not a fan of soaps in general, nor 'Eastenders' in particular, but because (as shall be revealed) I had some small connection with the show (well a couple actually) I watched it.

It was a single-handed episode. June Brown, who plays Dot....well I quote from wiki...and please note, I didn't write the wiki entry.

"On January 31st 2008 June made history by being the first and so far only actress to carry an entire episode single handed in the history of British soap, with a monologue looking back over her past life, dictated to a cassette machine for her husband Jim to listen to in hospital following a stroke."

This performance must be the best I've ever seen in a soap*: in fact, if it had been an Alan Bennett 'Talking Heads' play it would have won every acting award available to UK television programmes.

Now I have to declare an interest here: a few years ago I stepped out with June's eldest daughter, Louise. In fact she (the daughter, that is) is mentioned in my blog as 'The Glamorous Ex', and is someone of whom I am still extremely fond, though I haven't seen her for many months, as she now lives in another country.

Even so, tomorrow I shall go to my florists, buy a dozen roses, and deliver them to June's door. The woman is a genius, even if she used to be in the position of mother-in-law by proxy, and we disagreed terribly on politics.

*Not that I watch soaps that often. This was a happy co-incidence.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Spoke to the Glamorous Ex today. She's still in Blighty, having failed thus far to go back to Darkest Africa and young husband. Her mother needs her to oversee various improvements to the new house, liaise with builders, and keep things running smoothly. Amusing 'phone call, nevertheless, and full of gossip, and kindness: she asked after Mother, and was understanding about our emotional responses to Dad's death. I think she's a bit down (she said as much, and even I'm not that dim). Will try to pay a visit to her and her family sometime next week. She's finding it hard to play guitar at present, she cramps up after fifteen or twenty minutes. Will have to look at what she's doing wrong, or whether it's just age and frailty -  she's been unwell too, which can't have helped.

The Library Thing gets more addictive: 594 books thus far, some 2000 more still to go. I still have 6 shelves of non-fiction to go before I start on the novels, which comprise the bulk of my collection. But I've worked out tags.
Now I have to go back through all my LJ posts and tag them.
Bliss.
Luckily I have a bit of time on my hands, so....
johnny9fingers: (Default)
I've been overreacting like hell these last two days. And no, it's not just the cricket - though congratters must go to the Australian side who have good claim on being the best of all time. I've taken potshots; stupidly put myself in the line of fire, such as it is on LJ; and generally been cantankerous and curmudgeonly.
Apart from the Cricket and our doughty lads being overwhelmed by stern-faced steely-eyed chaps determined to put right previous wrongs the only other thing that has changed is that the Glamorous Ex returned to Africa after lending me two mics.
Oh dear.
Shall think on't
But will remove of my own accord the interest in theology in profile. That's meeting the bastards halfway.
johnny9fingers: (Sri Yantra)

About to go to pay Christmas visit to Glamorous  Ex  (who's back in the country for the holiday).
Glam Ex's Mama is getting on a bit, but still working as actor in long-running soap (and quite frankly, is the stand out performer in aforementioned serial), and understandably needs folk to help deal with day to day stuff, as her workload is pretty punishing. When Glam Ex is in the country, she takes over lots of this stuff, to ease the burden. (See what I mean about a 'good sort'.)

Ah well, no duties until this evening when I have to go and see Steve K, his Missus, and two daughters.
Have books for my godchildren.
Oxford Companion to Classical Literature - Harvey
Oxford Dictionary of Quotations
Collins Biographical Dictionary of English Literature
Should help 'em with school work, at the least, and also broaden minds and horizons, which is more important.
Will have to replace them in my library, but will do so when I find them, rather than search over the web.

I now need to find myself a job, work, paying occupation, whatever.
I reckon I need about £800 pcm minimum, which is not a lot, but I have few overheads in comparison to others (no mortgage or rent, just bills). I could earn almost double that stacking shelves, but somehow feel I'm not exactly suited to the rigorous demands of the job.
This is the problem when you leave school at seventeen to follow some rock 'n' roll dream. When you hit forty and you aren't a graduate you become effectively unemployable in the real world. The difference between ones person and ones academic accomplishments is such that interviews become something of a minefield.
Ones musical CV doesn't count for much in the world of wage-slavery, neither does ones published work in music, prose, or poetry. And having applied for a shelf-filling position, when it comes to interview, they don't expect someone like me (though the Latin must give 'em a bit of an indication).
The other problem is I'm blessed (or cursed, more like) with an accent that can only be described as Patrician. My musician chums have gotten used to it, & most of my schoolfriends and other old chums sound similar, but ordinary folk tend to look askance the minute I open my gob.
I did work in computers in the early 90's, but doubt I could pick up the threads of the thing now.
I could teach guitar privately (as I have done on and off for more than twenty years).
I could beg some sinecure from a chum (which has been offered without me even asking, but I'm a proud man and I'd rather starve or eat my own shoes).
Or I could bite the bullet and retrain, but as what?

45 yr old man with compulsive reading disorder needs work. Can do almost nothing very well, but showed a remarkable aptitude at an early age, especially when it came to tying shoelaces. Has spent too long in the music business and acquired all sorts of bad habits, and is insubordinate to boot, especially when instructed by morons. Worse, he's worked with folk of whom you've heard and bought the albums; has had a string of beautiful girlfriends, most of whom he's still chums with; and hobnobs with the upper classes despite extreme left wing history, since repudiated. Once owned a record company that went bust due to inattention and bad business decisions. Published as a critic and poet, but very rarely. Voice sounds too posh to live and is a positive invitation to revolution and the guillotine.

Can't see it drawing in the employers somehow.

Perhaps it is time to do like Petronius, but being cowardly, I'll put it off for the time being. I shall tape two bits of paper to a coin. On one side will be written 'Day-gig' and on the other side 'suicide'.
Heads
Heads
Heads
Hades...
I jest of course, a real job's far worse than killing yourself.

johnny9fingers: (window)
Oh blimey, It's been so stressful I can't tell if it Monday. And I've just been told it's Friday.
Dad got out of hospital yesterday. He was desperate to come home. He's on various drugs including some antibiotics which have some unusual side effects: hallucinations, mental confusion, etc etc. and guess what, he's got all the side effects, which led us to believe that he was finally...well, you know.
We called the doctors and the priest, who agreed that something was v wrong to the extent that the priest took his confession and administered what I believe to be the last rites.
And then he started rallying. I don't know what it is about religion. Given that the list of his sins must have taken at most twenty seconds to relate in complete detail, I'm gobsmacked at the level of co-incidence which constantly occurs around those who believe. I sometimes wish I still did.
The Brother got here at noon, by which time dad was feeling considerably better.
We know we've got days or weeks now, not months.
Both Mike and I found ourselves in tears at odd moments. Happens to mum all the time but we're guys and it's not meant to happen to us like that.
Glamorous Ex offered to help. Trying to borrow a microphone from her and was due round her place to pick up aforementioned item, but phoned instead to let her know our situation. I will miss her when she's left for Africa, especially after her kindness and generosity and her goodheartedness. She is a good person and I would hope that her guardian angels take v special care of her.
Everyone has been wonderful, but the old man's still failing fast.
Dammit dammit dammit
Feel very stupid headed.

I want to write about Christopher Logue, which came up on one of the forums (fora? surely some mistake), but I'll leave it for a couple of days until my head gets back together properly.
The Politicartoon forum has kept me sane this past month, and made me think about something other than my family problems. I'd like to thank each and every person I've crossed swords/come into contact with, but I'm still not quite sure of how to do it. Have to get to grips with the interweb as something other than merely a communication system - looking at other folks pages makes me envious of the designs and personalisations.
I am such a luddite really.

Couldn't believe GWB on telly asking for ideas. Perhaps no-one is beyond redemption. He may be a bigger man than I've given him credit for. Let's wait and see, but if he can help put right some of the fuck-ups he instigated, he'll have gone a long way to redeeming himself in my eyes. I hope things can at least move towards solutions. Have to think more when my faculties aren't shot to bits.
johnny9fingers: (pegasus)
Amazing 'phone call from Glamorous Ex who was v.amusing, and in her own way, pretty profound. She's V. easy to get on with & reminds a chap of what 'twas about her. I think she's turning into a v.good sort indeed, and can be a bit more balanced about things. Both her and me, it seems. V easy to be on her side - charm counts for so much in life, and elegance of behaviour, rather than merely of form, is devastating. She may well conquer the dark continent with such artillery, as there are no defenses.
She was and is a good thing. Kudos to her. May all her geese be swans.
johnny9fingers: (Sri Yantra)
Back from the Hospital. For the first time in days the Old Man seems like recovering. Last scans showed new bad bits: Jaw; Liver; Places on Spine etc, but the Pneumonia seems beaten. Any opportunistic infection could lay him low. There are some things I wish I'd inherited from him. This wizened old man whose looks belie his voice (which is whispery now) manages to get more pretty nurses and female doctors running after him, desperate to please, than any man I've ever met. With one tenth of his charisma and charm (when he wants to exert such) I'd have made myself a cabinet minister, or perhaps the leader of a esoteric cult, or maybe had a harem of beautiful and intelligent women.
Oh well, solitude and tea, and at least I can think, in a small way, of my own woes.
Thought properly about Glamorous Ex.
One of her things being, that although being v. beautiful indeed, she hates glamour. Can't really be bothered with make-up and the cult of beauty, probably because she's so drop dead gorgeous. One of the many things which I admired her for, though it seems a hard won battle in her case - she was not always thus. Also q. admire her for sense of adventure: she now has a man half her age (there's no competing with that) prepared to worship the ground she walks upon (there's no competing with that, either) whose second language is French, which is what they converse in (no competing with that, either).
Good trade, really.
And I will continue to think of her as Glamorous Ex.
And it must be difficult living with a chap who is fairly obsessive about getting things as right as possible, or at least not wrong.
I wish I had a cat called Joffrey to consider. Jubilate Agno.

Blast

Nov. 6th, 2006 03:02 pm
johnny9fingers: (window)
Visited him in his sideroom. Was V.hopeful until found he was not eating. A particularly nice nurse got him some food supplement drink thing, and he managed about half of it.
The Docs told Mum that the radiotherapy which dealt with the sternal tumour had probably damaged both Trachea and Oesophagus - which may explain both eating and speaking difficulties.
I suspect he feels the loss of dignity very much in this situation.
He seems to micro-sleep in the middle of conversations, sometimes in the middle of sentences. And he dreams in these microsleeps, and the dreams are very vivid.
For some reason or other he assumed I was doing a parachute jump, the notion of which I had to reluctantly disabuse him. Oh well. I told him people were looking forward to seeing him on his birthday (24th November). He looked a little down and said 'but I'll still be in here'. Tried to tell him he'll be back home by Friday, albeit with a zimmer frame, but he looked inward, and didn't say anything. Spent most of visiting time in mute incomprehension, but I held his hand for most of it and tried to jolly things up. Bought him his newspaper (for the crossword, and for old times sake - in his later life he had worked in Fleet Street). He gave it a cursory glace, which was better than nothing.
Non-Einstienian deity better start changing dice soon, else the gig's up.
No time or inclination to do my practice, or argue my point, or very much at all really. Visit him this evening.
Also must try to let Glam ex exercise her guilt (or whatever) by allowing her to lend me this and that.

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