millionreasons: (photo)

When I was young, I lived in a town a long way from Life, where the last bus was before last orders. I left for University and another town that became a city but whose nightlife was still Elsewhere. Then I moved to London to an area which was down and going, known only for a horrific child murder in the '90s, but I would think nothing of travelling for an hour on a bus and two tubes to see a gig by The Next Big Thing and The No Hopers with fifty other sweaty people, running as fast as my 20-something legs would carry me to the last tube and then nightbus hell.

But now. Now I earn enough to live where the action is, North East North London, where I can walk to the New Fashionable Outpost in less than 20 minutes. And it's too far. It's too cold. It's too crowded. It's too noisy. I'm tired. I had a hard day. I need to relax. I don't like people. There's a boxset I want to watch. My 16 year old self, laying in awe on my bedroom floor, saying: oh, oh you have smothered me, future self, you lazy SHIT. She hates me. Our 16 year old selves are the stroppy teenage children we'll never have. I'm finally where the action is and the action no longer allures. It's like the bowlful of raw cake mixture that, aged ten, I swore that I would one day make and eat, away from parental dietary restrictions. I no longer want it. All of which is a long-winded way of saying: After you get what you want, you don't want it anymore.

Our House

Mar. 23rd, 2013 11:29 am
millionreasons: (billie)
I watched (some of) Madness playing live outside of BBC TV Centre on the telly last night. My first thought was it that it was unfair to make old people perform out in a blizzard, but I realised Madness, or at least Suggs, isn't really that old (52). He was 19 when Baggy Trousers was released, a mere stripling. Everyone was so young in the old days. I remember watching Joan Jett sing I Love Rock 'n' Roll on TOTP and, aware that she was an icon from a previous era, thought she was ancient, like Tina Turner (JJ was 23). As I've previously noted, being a young pop kid in the '80s was weird because you were witness to such atrocities as Private Dancer, Mick 'n' Dave's horrendous version of Dancing In The Street, and The Frog Chorus, and it wasn't until later that you discovered the wonder of River Deep, Mountain High, Rebel, Rebel and whatever the good Beatles song was (I quite like Get Back).

I really disliked Madness at the time. I think I found them too blokey and jokey. I didn't like the ska renaissance - I preferred the rockabilly revival (Stray Cats, Shakin Stevens), but listening to them last night, I realised that they had some pretty jaunty tunes. I think the other issue is that their songs were used on adverts and I'm afraid that when I listen to Baggy Trousers, I sing: "Brushing twice a day, it's good for teeth as we all know".

This is the issue with allowing your work to be used for advertising, it might fund your next tour/album, but Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John now makes me think of nails and plywood, Camera Obscura's French Navy reminds me of argumentative egomaniacs from Peterborough and as for the Kinks, I heard all their songs on commercials before I heard the originals ("He's a dedicated follower of Bass nights"). It's not just pop music either, who (of my vintage) can hear Air On A G String without getting a visual of a man smoking a cigar in a khazi? Although I suppose Bach didn't have much of a choice about whether he wanted to promote tobacco or not. Perhaps the advertising agency wanted a German composer to create a sense of Gemütlichkeit when smoking that particular brand of cigar.

Anyway, I was 7 when Baggy Trousers came out, and the fact that I can now say "thirty years on" about things in my lifetime, makes me quite upset. I had to go and read a Philip Larkin poem to cheer me up. Pippy always brings the lolz.

I Have Started To Say by Philip Larkin

I have started to say
"A quarter of a century"
Or "thirty years back"
About my own life.

It makes me breathless
It's like falling and recovering
In huge gesturing loops
Through an empty sky.

All that's left to happen
Is some deaths (my own included).
Their order, and their manner,
Remain to be learnt.

Almost 40

May. 19th, 2012 11:21 am
millionreasons: (cake)
My fave moment from my birthday drinkies last night was when Alice asked: "So how old are you now then? 37 or 38?". This was better than, when moaning to a work colleague about my increasing age, being told: "You don't look 40." I think I'd prefer it if I looked a bit "used" (as another friend said about my 60 year old chum). As I've recorded on these pages before, I was never told that I was a pretty little girl so I never grew up thinking being attractive was the be all and end all. But I've always been told I looked young (when I was 18, I looked about 12, which was hard for pulling anyone but perverts) and so I am really paranoid about jowls and wrinkles and grey hair. But on the other hand, maybe looking older would make me feel older with all the attendant benefits. I'm not going to do one of those wanky 40 Things To Do Before You're 40 lists (which always seem to involve dangerous sports and charity runs*) but I have now decided that I am looking forward to being 40 next year. I will legitimately be able to:

1. Stay in 6 nights a week
2. Moan about my aches and pains
3. Complain about young people
4. Not sleep on floors or settees
5. Ring minicabs rather than waiting for a bus in the rain
6. Prefer food to booze and books to drugs
7. Say I'm too old to have kids
8. Have a blanket over my knees
9. Say "It's a bit loud in here, isn't it"
10. Have a nice cup of tea and a sit down.

I will think of another 30 things before this time next year.

* talking to a friend about Facebook going public, I said I would pay for a service that filtered out words such as "10K" and "just giving"

I should probably post a super pic of my friends looking happy and drinking beer, but look, lovely things! Don't be hating me cos I got swag:



The Trooth

May. 10th, 2011 11:18 am
millionreasons: (Default)
After yesterday's tooth debacle, I gave up on today's plans to loaf about the British Library and went to the dentist. Because of our wonderful NHS, I was seen in ten minutes (although I have had to change dentists), but because Aneurin Bevin lost his fight to keep prescriptions free, I am now the cost of a weekend away and a bag of chips lighter. It's awful having to pay for something that causes you pain and stress, unless you're Max Moseley, I suppose. I should be glad it's happened now before Cameron and Lansley shut down the NHS and the non-rich have to go to travelling tooth barbers.

Because of Doncaster Royal Infirmary's sterling work in transplanting my tooth, it took four goes of the drill to extract it. "It was hard," said the dentist, who looked spookily like Principal Figgins from Glee, "but you are tough." I hoped for a sticker, or at the very least, the remains of the tooth to put under my pillow, but no, adults have to be brave. I cheered myself up by buying a book with the gift voucher I got when I left work. I didn't want to open my mouth and bleed on the counter so made autistic-y grunts of thanks to the cashier (plus ca change and all that). I'm going to tell everyone I got into a fight with a cast member of Made in Chelsea. Chewing on a pen is a bit pathetic. Even Dentist Figgins looked a bit incredulous and they hear all the time about people falling over and getting the hoover stuck in their bum - ah, that's A&E doctors, sorry.

Anyway, now I have a huge gap in my teeth and have to go back next week for a falsie. Would it be tacky to have an R shaped diamond on it?

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