my life as a artist
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find a peace settlement and drop Lampard
Tuesday 27th March 2007 10:05 PM
Mogadishu is burning. Baghdad is burning. The cold soya milk in my morning muesli sometimes causes a sharp pain in my lower left jaw. In-ger-land were tedious against Israel on Saturday night.. it was a nil-nil, no-thrill, no-skill, wish I'd taken a pill, all-out-war, what's it all for? no-score bore-draw.
My lower legs itch.
…. And I might be getting dandruff…
Today I exchanged e-mails with my good friend Pat, who works in Somalia. Her fear of getting dandruff is less than mine. As I walk the sodden wastes of Walmgate stray, my fear of land-mines is at a lower pitch than hers.
Despite the fear, I'm still here,
Sat by the cup of tea, drinking fire,
Watching the fall world apart
Watching the apart world f
A
L
L
Watching the fall-apart w o r l
d
On the other hand Steve Maclaren might get the sack and my mum's lemon and ginger biscuits are delicious.
Posted 10:05 PM | 1 Comments | Permalink
I must be brie
Tuesday 20th March 2007 7:52 PM
Ah, gentle reader!
I must be brief... for a second then, before I put the 'f' on 'brief', I thought I'd come to the conclusion that I was a piece of smelly French cheese. (and its the cheese that's smelly, not the French, OK?...Touche pas mon pot) ... and that doesn't mean leave off my marijuana, It's an anti-racist slogan from Coluche, a now deceased French comedian.. it means ' leave my mate alone'
I must be brief. ....If I've read that rightly, and if the lack of a definite article is just indicative of my general character, then what I'm really saying to you is that I'm half a pair of underpants. And yet I feel I'm so much more....
Honestly, I must be brief ,because I'm just about to give birth. Have got an exhibition at the weekend and I need to produce some puking, squawking, dribbling bundles of art-joy... the first piece is going to be a condom, and I'm going to write on it the names of everyone I've ever camped with.... ooh!.. I can feel the contractions.....
Posted 7:52 PM | 2 Comments | Permalink
suddenly nothing happened
Sunday 18th March 2007 8:45 PM
Apologies faithful blog-readers for this weeks scant offerings… spent Wednesday and Thursday preparing for Friday's solo gig at the Winning Post. There's more pressure at a home gig. People have heard my stuff many times and I felt obliged to work in some new material.
I often think about keeping the same set and going out as a Rory Motion tribute act. I did once go out on a million Glastonbury Festival fliers as 'Ron Notion'… it's got a certain ring to it.
On Saturday morning the mighty Corinthians had a game against Tim United on an all-weather pitch in Acomb. It was absolutely dismal. The wind was howling and we were completely outplayed and lost 6-1. I'd used so much nervous energy at the gig that for the first 45 minutes I bumbled around the pitch uselessly. In the second half I found a duvet and snuggled down in the centre circle with a mug of Barleycup.
This morning the mighty Corinthians had a game against Tollerton on a traditional grass pitch at the Sim Balk Lane Stadium. A higher than expected crowd of two witnessed a 1-0 victory for the Corinthians, in extremely trying conditions. The wind was stronger than Saturday and a good few degrees colder. My face felt slapped.
I was wearing gloves. Brian asked if I had a spare pair but I could only find an odd one, so he wore that. He looked a bit like Alvin Stardust, but with less kunkachoo. We were a man short so they lent us one called Martin.and he scored the winning goal. It had to be.
So that's what I've been doing…. And now I'm going to watch 'the trap', a documentary on Channel four about how the government is always doing bad things……could be true.
Posted 8:45 PM | 1 Comments | Permalink
Were the greatest football team the world has ever seen
Tuesday 13th March 2007 8:21 PM
Me and my mum have applied for the vacant post of manager of Huddersfield Town Football Club. Andy Ritchie (ex-Barnsley) and Gary Megson (ex-Star Trek) are favourites for the job but I think me and my mum have got a strong shout. (even though it's a big ask)
I have had over forty years of football playing experience, at the very highest levels, including magic spells at York Corinthians and Totnes Dodos, and my mum makes really good biscuits.(including lemony ones, and some with nuts and ginger) Also, she knew my dad really well and he was Peter Lorimer's (Leeds Utd and Scotland) dominoes partner at the Boot and Shoe in Tockwith, for two fabulous seasons.
My Mum reckons that she took Nottingham Forest to two European titles in the seventies, but her memory's not that great and because we're not sure, we didn't mention it in the application. As far as tactics go, I'm a 4-2-4 man but my Mum's a 4-3-4 woman. She reckons the extra man in mid-field gives the team some sort of advantage. It's an intuitive thing.
If we get the job my mum says she's going to have her hair done, in case we draw a big name in the cup and get on Match of the Day. It'd be great to meet Gary Lineker, and foul him, just to see what he did. Maybe me, my mum , Gary Lineker, Alan Hanson and Mark Lawrenson could get involved in a melee.
The money would come in handy as well. I reckon we could get about two hundred grand a year between us. It'll certainly help to eke (what was that noise?) out my mum's pension and I'd be able to buy a new bicycle and go for tea at Betty's.
Since Town beat Bradford City two-nil at the weekend, thereby making relegation very unlikely, the board will be in no hurry to make an appointment. This is to mine and mum's advantage. As spring blooms into summer, the light of truth will inevitably wax, and under this bright sheltering canopy of wisdom, uncommon good sense and reason will prevail, and me and my mum will be made the new managers of Huddersfield Town Football Club, probably.
Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye!
Oldfield is better than Yashin,
Dobson is better than Eusabio,
and Bury are in for a thrashin'.
Posted 8:21 PM | 139 Comments | Permalink
Out of pocket
Tuesday 13th March 2007 8:06 AM
Yesterday I went to see a past-life therapist in York. I hadn't been to see one since I was a heretic monk in South-East France in the twelfth century. She was very good. I think it was the same bloke as last time. Some of them are very expensive and inclined to deceitful flattery… they'll say things like, 'Ooh… you were Cleopatra and then you were Socrates.. after that you were Merlin and then Joan of Arc and after that you were Cliff Richard.'
This woman charges very reasonable fees and seems more realistic. She helped me process a difficult incarnation that I underwent in the late nineteenth century in Northern India, in a town called Mussoorie. It was during the Raj and Mussoorie was developed as a hill-station for the wives and children of the British officers, its sudden elevation offering respite from the crushing heat of the northern plains.(When the middle classes of Delhi are planning a holiday they like to look at brochures full of people frolicking in thermally-lined chunky knitwear)
My short and troubled incarnation in this place, much to my amazement, was as a snooker ball. She told me I was a red. I respected her for that. In my humbled state I would have been susceptible to deceitful flattery. I wouldn't expect to have been a black or a pink but she could have said I was a green or a brown without arousing suspicion .
In the incarnation prior to being a snooker ball I had died of an overdose of opium and strong hashish. It's said that we choose our incarnations to help aspects of our soul that need development. These choices are usually taken from the clearer vantage point afforded by the hereafter. However, in my case, because I was still enjoying the effects of the opium and hashish, I chose to be a snooker ball, for a laugh.
The first twinklings of consciousness in this new incarnation were quite traumatic. I thought I was dozing in my bed after a particularly heavy night, completely unaware that I'd died and that my eternal soul had transmigrated into the small, spherical, ivory body of a red snooker ball. The violence and shock of that first break! The crashing of ivory bodies and the dreadful spinning! The confusion subsiding and being replaced by the sickening realisation that I was a snooker ball!
Such was the trauma of these terrible memories, that not only did they stop me being a happy and fully integrated snooker ball, they carried on and influenced subsequent incarnations. However, despite the pain of those first few moments, my life as a snooker ball was not without reward.
Many of the other snooker balls were sentient, and over the years, as beings do when surrounded by a bewildering universe, they had evolved a cosmology. The white cue ball was seen as the Christ Force, the cue as the Holy Spirit and God was the The Snooker Player That Plays Himself And Never Wins Or Loses.
Although the colours were often aloof and superior, there was much camaraderie, and often romance, between the reds. However, in the headlong foolishness of youth I developed a powerful erotic yearning for the pink. I'd often admired her rosy glow from afar but the first time I actually SAW her was when we lay next to each other on the balk cushion. The firm pink roundness of her body and the shiny smoothness of her ivory skin was an intoxicating mixture. One magical game I was fortunate enough to kiss her by the middle pocket. In my excitement I thought I was going to snooker her, but Christ came along and broke us up.
The past-life therapist said that the unfulfilled erotic love that I'd had for the pink might affect me, in the long run, as much as the birth trauma of that first break, and she recommended that I come back for another session next week. I'll let you know how it goes.
Posted 8:06 AM | 2 Comments | Permalink
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