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December 20 Joy to the WorldYou tube Music Video - The Mountain Goats, Love, Love, Love.
Not the best day. Second session with the dentist. After a morning breaking up fights and watching Shrek 2 in Spanish, I went off at half one for round two of the sorting out of the fractured tooth. Last week I had two hours gazing into the deep brown eyes of my german dentist while he sadistically borrowed into my jawbone, and today was round two. Two hours of further fun in a rubber covered chair - and I get to pay £800 squid for it.
The worst bit was when he stopped, packed my jaw with cotton wads and said, 'Excuse me, I have two emergencies downstairs. I have to leave you for a short while. I will be back as soon as I can, ok? Just relax.' then he sat me up and went! Now, when your jaw is levered open and packed with plugs, its difficult to relax in any way, especially when the view from the window is an arse of a leylandi tree, the only picture on the wall is of a goat rendered in pastel, and next to you is a tray of implements shortly to be shoved into your cake hole and wiggled about. While the saliva pooled mercilessly in my mouth and began to dribble down my chin, I surveyed the goat, trying to extract some meditative lesson in life from it. Nothing came. I inhaled, and one of the cotton plugs shot to the back of my throat threatening to choke me. The door opened and the cheery young dental nurse came in.
'Are you alright?' she asked, sharpening a pointy thing
'Arghghghlrt' I said.
'Oh good. He won't be long.'
'Arglerhhgrh...!'
She went out, leaving me with the goat, which was wearing a mocking expression. Crap, how much I wanted to close my mouth. How much I wished I wasn't drooling. It was suddenly very lonely in that chair. I thought of torture chambers, and how long I'd last. I tell you, before they got to the stage of 'showing' me the instruments of torture, I'd have folded. At the top of the stairs I'd have asked for pen and paper to write down all the state secrets I knew. Then again, I'm nothing if not terminally stubborn. I just don't like dentists.
'Ah,' said a voice behind me. 'You like my goat?' He was back. No I didn't like the bloody goat, but couldn't say so. He lay me down again and off we went once more. This time steam rose from my molar as he did whatever he was doing. I eyeballed the goat and tried to think of nicer things. Trouble is, my head is a strange and empty place. Out of the corner of my eye the goat winked at me and began to count the money draining invisibly out of my pockets. The fracture is right down deep apparently, and all this joy might be in vain. I might have the enormous pleasure of being able to go back and have it forcibly evicted. We'll see. For now, it was done. Four hours down, two more to go tomorrow.
Walked home through the busy streets, traffic and fairy lights, and the music playing my feet forward in the biting cold. Tomorrow my nice German dentist will finish fixing my tooth, and I'll be able to chew again.
Nadolig Llawen (Happy Christmas) to my friends.
December 06 Let's wipe thatMy last post is embarrassing me. It was splurged out on a very low day when I'd had a drink or two, and was something best left between me and myself. Pulling it off now is a bit stable door, so I'll have to live with the scorn and embarrassment. However, I don't want to be remembered like that, so I thought I'd best cover it over with these thoughs of a rainy day in Surrey, on a time wasting course in behaviour management.
I parked in semi-darkness at the station, squeezing my way into a space left by two others who seemed to have no idea how to stop between two white lines and went to put my money in the machine. It had gone. No fee. Sounded good to me (more later). Then I made my way to the train to the accompaniment of my i-pod nano, which gave it a strange 'I'm in a movie quality' as I waited to the sound of violins, got on the train to the sound of Eric Bibb and stared out into the gloom to the strains of 'I need some sleep' by Eels, which I sure do.
Getting off the other end I had 'insomnia' - bit of a theme here, but if anything could have put me to sleep it was the course. Delivered by a man who thought he was funny but wasn't, in a room three sizes too small which soon had me wanting to strip naked just to get some air, we spent the hours until lunch vainly searching for a grain of new information. I was sorely tempted to put my earphones back in like the kids at school do, but made do with doodling instead.
There was a woman who kept dragging her bra straps up, a man who kept investigating the inside of his nose, the rain coming down over the river just outside the window, and those danged christmas lights coming on over the bridge. I wanted out. Everyone was sweating like it was a sauna, and after lunch - which wasn't half bad - a brandy and a snooze would have been ok. but wasn't forthcoming.
We finished up about 3, nice and early, so I wandered into town to try and absorb some Christmas cheer. The rain was drifting down in a soft, fine mist and the lights were defiant amongst the shopping. I always feel rather separate, but with the i-pod I discovered a whole new world. Firstly that (because I have funny ears and the normal earphones fall out) when you wear in-the-ear phones, you can't hear a damn thing of the outside world, so that when you drop a pound coin and it rolls down the street and you say 'bollocks' in what you think is a quiet undertone, its actually very loud - and tends to frighten old ladies who you happen to have been looking right at as you said it. Second, that when you have a favourite song come on, and are singing along in your broken french, you are actually giving a concert performance to the stalls - and the stalls don't really appreciate it.
I went into the bookshop and spent some time amongst the secret gospels of Jesus, the poetry section (not good), the Sci-fi section (no one has written anything I'm waiting for) and the Science and technology section (good) before deciding to take off by way of HMV where I spent £78 in a rare burst of retail therapy. Then I walked over the water (the bridge, not on foot) and along the street to the strains of something sad and boarded the train home. I sat opposite a man with silver hair who was also 'plugged in' and kept shutting his eyes and waving his hand gently in his lap like a starfish in warm water to the strains of whatever he had going in his ears.
When I got back to my car some bugger of a parking attendant pissed off with having to work in the rain, in a duck's arse of a station car park had given me a bloody ticket for 'parking outside the lines' - !!!!!! half a tyre tread???? because I had no bleeding choice? £60 for that gross violation?
I put the i-pod on and calmed myself for five minutes. It played 'The Monkey Song' by some insane children's choir from America. When the hell did I download that????
Home, glass of wine. Try to sleep early.
Less embarrassing if only slightly less dull. Still, I'd not want to be remembered as a lame duck. I'm not really. The question is - why do I care what anyone thinks? It's all to do with measuring up. God, I'm so full of garbage. This blog started as a way of offloading stuff that needed offloading. Maybe it was easier when no one read it. Sorry folks. Wipe over the last offering as you would any other unwise disclosure.
December 02 Nothing is funnyGuys. It's coming up to Christmas and everyone knows I hate Christmas. A few years ago, two weeks before Christmas Dad died. We held the funeral five days before. Driving through the traffic among the pointless street decorations and the beered up people in reindeer horns and red noses was a surreal experience. Never before had it struck me quite so forcibly how pointless it all actually is. If it's a religious thing - what is all the boozing and eating and reindeer stuff all about? and if its just a good old food fest, why all the pressure and the debt and the drinking?
I realise I'm Scrooge, that I'm missing the point. All that. Perhaps its all the Christmasses I spent under tension. Sitting next to a stinking alcoholic that everyone was scared of, and too many Christmas Eve's dreading the pub closing hour. Dad's death finished it off. I remember mum had bought him this ridiculous battery operated parrot that said things, I can't remember why. I remember how we tried to carry on with Christmas that year, and how totally, utterly pointless it all appeared. The tinsel and the turkey and the fake bonhomie (sp? who knows or cares?). The parrot was on mum's lap and she kept making it go - 'Give us a kiss baby.' .... 'Aaark, pieces of 8.' Dad never had much time for such things. It was meant as a joke, but boy how lame it seemed then.
A nice online friend has been asking me to blog again - something funny, and I told her I'll try, but sorry. Nothing is funny.
My raison d'etre has gone. My mojo has failed. My heart is sleeping. I am undone.
Well, I can't seem to be good for anything much, so I guess I'd best be.....
Last night driving home from a late shift I was sad. A man I didn't know had asked me on the 'phone. 'Don't go, please... talk to me.. take my hand' and I couldn't. I can't even take my own. All I could hear on the way home was an old voice saying:
'Stop your whining boy.... stop it or I'll stop it for you...' on a Christmas long ago. 'Don't even think about shouting,' it said, 'No one will hear you, and no one really gives a shit anyway. Why would anyone give a shit about you?'
And I guess he was right. I'm no real use to anyone. Just a voice on the end of a 'phone trying to make up for the fact I stopped reaching out in real time long ago.
So, nothing is funny anymore.
I wish you all a Merry Whatever, and I'm sorry for everything. Bad news is, its only 1.28 in the afternoon and I think I'm pissed.
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