My wall is no longer adorned by nasty brown patches. No! For these patches have now been covered up by not-quite-matching but still really quite similar squares of brighter, whiter wallpaper.
I'm not very good at wallpapering, but happily it seems that modern technology allows any fool with a paste brush to slather paste all over the wall, shove some paper in roughly the right place, and achieve a pleasing result. With the result that I am indeed pleased.
Carpet tiles next. Wa ha ha hah. :)
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Dirty Ant
Eururrrrgh!!
Well, it's all happening. I decided this afternoon that it was time to get rid of my old bed. It has been providing good service for ten years or so (and wasn't even brand new then!) but just recently it has been lumpy and bumpy, the matress going all weird and poking my bottom with its springs in protest. But today is the end. It is all part of the plan. Old broken-down double bed leaves, lovely carpet tiles go down, new box-fresh freshly assembled single bed is replaced on top. All is well.
At least the first part of that is out of the way. But here's the thing, if you ever get a chance to touch an old bed, don't. It really is very disgusting. I mean, my bed was fine for the purposes of laying down on, but once you start moving and lifting its parts, nothing but filth and grossness is found. Dust, fluff, crumbs, long-lost pairs of socks, newspapers, magazines, pens, floppy discs.. and more dust. And more fluff. And loads and loads of general 'ick'.
Unpleasant, yes indeed. Having moved the bed I notice that my wallpaper has nasty stains on it from where my body (and mostly my greasy head) has been near it. Nasty patches of discolouration and more ick. Gross gross gross gross gross!
I may have to replace the wallpaper before the carpet tiles go down. I had a look through the cupboards and found that the old "never throw anything away" mantra paid off nicely, as I found some offcuts of the wallpaper used for this room some ten years ago. I probably don't have quite enough to remove and re-lay the whole floor-to-ceiling parts, but I've probably got enough square bits that I could kind of paste over the brown bits. I'm sure it won't come through or anything like that.
It seems that I stain everything I go near. This leaves me feeling really rather unclean. Perhaps I should try living in a plastic bubble instead. Although that might make it hard to buy wallpaper paste, which I think I should try doing tomorrow.
Well, it's all happening. I decided this afternoon that it was time to get rid of my old bed. It has been providing good service for ten years or so (and wasn't even brand new then!) but just recently it has been lumpy and bumpy, the matress going all weird and poking my bottom with its springs in protest. But today is the end. It is all part of the plan. Old broken-down double bed leaves, lovely carpet tiles go down, new box-fresh freshly assembled single bed is replaced on top. All is well.
At least the first part of that is out of the way. But here's the thing, if you ever get a chance to touch an old bed, don't. It really is very disgusting. I mean, my bed was fine for the purposes of laying down on, but once you start moving and lifting its parts, nothing but filth and grossness is found. Dust, fluff, crumbs, long-lost pairs of socks, newspapers, magazines, pens, floppy discs.. and more dust. And more fluff. And loads and loads of general 'ick'.
Unpleasant, yes indeed. Having moved the bed I notice that my wallpaper has nasty stains on it from where my body (and mostly my greasy head) has been near it. Nasty patches of discolouration and more ick. Gross gross gross gross gross!
I may have to replace the wallpaper before the carpet tiles go down. I had a look through the cupboards and found that the old "never throw anything away" mantra paid off nicely, as I found some offcuts of the wallpaper used for this room some ten years ago. I probably don't have quite enough to remove and re-lay the whole floor-to-ceiling parts, but I've probably got enough square bits that I could kind of paste over the brown bits. I'm sure it won't come through or anything like that.
It seems that I stain everything I go near. This leaves me feeling really rather unclean. Perhaps I should try living in a plastic bubble instead. Although that might make it hard to buy wallpaper paste, which I think I should try doing tomorrow.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Words and Pictures
I am feeling busy and efficient. Witness my astonishing progress:
Parcels.. sent!
Bedroom carpet... planned!
Environment - saved! (The red line is how much electricity I used last year, the towers are how much I used this year - which is less!)
Good lord, I am productive today.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Jazzed
I can't believe I've left it nearly three weeks without writing a blog entry. Well, actually I can, because I've been kinda busy. But in a good way.
While it's not a particularly interesting subject, I feel compelled to chronicle just how jazzed I am feeling about my recent activities. I've sold quite a lot of stuff on eBay, and also found some people to give lots of other stuff to. This week I posted off no less than 29 items which I sold on eBay at the weekend, and as I write there are five very LARGE boxes of tat (mostly video tapes) downstairs by the door, waiting for a courier to take them all to good homes tomorrow.
Upstairs, life is good. I have more floor space than ever. I still have boxes, but at least they're neat, and diminishing by the day. I even have two spares right now which don't immediately have anything to fill them with. Yesterday I threw away a very old TV 'Pong' game, without even trying to see if I could sell it on eBay. (Although I did check later just to make sure it wasn't valuable - and it doesn't look like it is.) So that's good.
I have further tidiness plans for the week, too. On Tuesday, my old double matress with the springs which point outwards and unexpectedly surprise me in the night -- well, it shall be gone. Away down to the dump it is going. Followed shortly by the rest of the double bed. This will be followed by a few days sleeping on the floor, no doubt, until my nice new carpet tiles finally arrive. Once laid, the carpet tiles shall be augmented by having a brand spangly new bed installed on top of them. A single bed, what is more, on account of how it takes up less room. And there will be space underneath to put some plastic storage boxes too, which I am already busily filling.
The moment of victory is approaching. I shall soon be tidy and carpeted. There is still much to do, but I'm getting there. If everything goes well and I can keep up the momentum, I might even be done by Christmas. I guess two years isn't too bad for tidying up 20 years worth of accumulated 'stuff', after all...
Monday, 1 September 2008
Spoiling It For Everybody
Up and down the country, in the supermarkets of this land, are express checkout queues where entrance (and subsequent checkout) is permitted only to those people who have "ten items or less".
This is obviously no good for the interfering nuisances at the Plain English Campaign, who think that this should be stopped.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7590440.stm
"Ten items or less" is clear, and has no ambiguity. So therefore, it must immediately be changed to something else, like "Up To Ten Items" instead.
[The Change] "is easy to understand and avoids any debate," said a spokesman for the notorious hippies and nogoodniks at The Plain English Campaign.
Avoids any debate? I don't think so. "Up to 10 items.." so does that mean that 10 is OK, or can you only have UP TO but not including 10? So 1 item, 2 items, 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 items, all OK.. but ten items.. Is ten items the maximum allowed, or the minimum disallowed? Room for disagreement there.
If only they could introduce some clearer wording which leaves no room for doubt. How about "Ten items or less" ? And the bespectacled geeks who come out of the woodwork and say "Ah, I think you'll find that actually it should read ten items or FEWER" can go back to their empty lives and their collection of leather-bound dictionaries which are the closest they will ever get to sleeping with an actual woman.
Just so long as I'm not saying anything controversial, right?
This is obviously no good for the interfering nuisances at the Plain English Campaign, who think that this should be stopped.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7590440.stm
"Ten items or less" is clear, and has no ambiguity. So therefore, it must immediately be changed to something else, like "Up To Ten Items" instead.
[The Change] "is easy to understand and avoids any debate," said a spokesman for the notorious hippies and nogoodniks at The Plain English Campaign.
Avoids any debate? I don't think so. "Up to 10 items.." so does that mean that 10 is OK, or can you only have UP TO but not including 10? So 1 item, 2 items, 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 items, all OK.. but ten items.. Is ten items the maximum allowed, or the minimum disallowed? Room for disagreement there.
If only they could introduce some clearer wording which leaves no room for doubt. How about "Ten items or less" ? And the bespectacled geeks who come out of the woodwork and say "Ah, I think you'll find that actually it should read ten items or FEWER" can go back to their empty lives and their collection of leather-bound dictionaries which are the closest they will ever get to sleeping with an actual woman.
Just so long as I'm not saying anything controversial, right?
Monday, 25 August 2008
Boxes
It has been a day of tidying. A day of boxes. Moving things around, in the eternal jigsaw puzzle that is "the tidying-up project", in order to properly ascertain, in a correct and scientific way, the things which I can live without, and those things that I must continue to keep forever and ever and ever.
Progress has been good on the boxes of old videotapes. Nobody seems to want them on eBay but I have found a few people online who might take them off my hands.
I have, therefore, been studiously going through the tapes. There is method to my madness. Tapes which are not of a regulation length - anything less than E180 - get watched, dubbed (if necessary), and dumped. Progress here is so good that my upstairs bin is overflowing with video tapes. Tapes which are E180 or above get watched (in fast forward), classified appropriately (old and uninteresting, old and interesting, new and interesting, tapes in need of advanced dubbing, tapes to be held for further examination at a later date...) and so on.
The upshot of this madness is that I can, at least, persuade myself to let go of a few hundred bulky tapes which were otherwise taking up space, and what is more, that I can do so in a way which does not trigger huge massive anxiety and feelings of loss and regret. Stop looking at me like that, I am not crazy. This is science. I am dealing with my excess hoarding in a scientific manner. Speaking of which:
See this? These are R-Kive/Fellowes Bankers Box cardboard storage boxes, the very type about which I blogged with such enthusiasm some months ago. I hasten to add that the boxes in the photo above are not mine, but in fact those of noted dead film director Mr Stanley Kubrick. This is his "archive", full of old notes and letters which he wrote or received.
It is comforting to know that I am in good company. Although if I was Mr Stanley I probably wouldn't have got rid of them either - after all, future generations and historians would find them ever so interesting. That said, I disposed of most of my paper storage a long time ago, scanning everything into neat little PDF files on my computer. Mr Kubrick really should have bought a scanner.
But truly it is a triple-play day when it comes to boxes, for today I have also been thinking about "food miles", and the hippy eco-warrior idea that it's not good to buy carrots from Tesco that have been shipped thousands of miles around the world, sometimes on proper aeroplanes and everything. This is very bad for the monkeys and the toucans and the dolphins in the rainforest, who get heated up by the carbon, and such. So, "local food" is the way to go.
I am a man of means, and I like my groceries one way - delivered. Happily it turns out that I can have delivery and save the planet at the same time, thanks to a new idea of "food boxes", whereby local farms and such all club together and deliver boxes of food to people in the local area. Eating food that has been grown right on your doorstep - well, not right on your doorstep, my doorstep is a bit mucky but I don't think you could grow vegetables there - anyway, it's very good for the enviro mint because the carrots only travel a short distance in a van, rather than thousands of miles in first class.
I visited a website, typed in my postcode, and was delighted to discover that they deliver in my area. The driver's name is Dave, and he already passes my door every Thursday. If I order next week, I could have a box filled with organic bananas, potatoes, beetroots, a butternut squash, whatever that is, and more besides.
I am almost beside myself with joy. All round, it has been rather a nice day.
Progress has been good on the boxes of old videotapes. Nobody seems to want them on eBay but I have found a few people online who might take them off my hands.
I have, therefore, been studiously going through the tapes. There is method to my madness. Tapes which are not of a regulation length - anything less than E180 - get watched, dubbed (if necessary), and dumped. Progress here is so good that my upstairs bin is overflowing with video tapes. Tapes which are E180 or above get watched (in fast forward), classified appropriately (old and uninteresting, old and interesting, new and interesting, tapes in need of advanced dubbing, tapes to be held for further examination at a later date...) and so on.
The upshot of this madness is that I can, at least, persuade myself to let go of a few hundred bulky tapes which were otherwise taking up space, and what is more, that I can do so in a way which does not trigger huge massive anxiety and feelings of loss and regret. Stop looking at me like that, I am not crazy. This is science. I am dealing with my excess hoarding in a scientific manner. Speaking of which:
See this? These are R-Kive/Fellowes Bankers Box cardboard storage boxes, the very type about which I blogged with such enthusiasm some months ago. I hasten to add that the boxes in the photo above are not mine, but in fact those of noted dead film director Mr Stanley Kubrick. This is his "archive", full of old notes and letters which he wrote or received.
It is comforting to know that I am in good company. Although if I was Mr Stanley I probably wouldn't have got rid of them either - after all, future generations and historians would find them ever so interesting. That said, I disposed of most of my paper storage a long time ago, scanning everything into neat little PDF files on my computer. Mr Kubrick really should have bought a scanner.
But truly it is a triple-play day when it comes to boxes, for today I have also been thinking about "food miles", and the hippy eco-warrior idea that it's not good to buy carrots from Tesco that have been shipped thousands of miles around the world, sometimes on proper aeroplanes and everything. This is very bad for the monkeys and the toucans and the dolphins in the rainforest, who get heated up by the carbon, and such. So, "local food" is the way to go.
I am a man of means, and I like my groceries one way - delivered. Happily it turns out that I can have delivery and save the planet at the same time, thanks to a new idea of "food boxes", whereby local farms and such all club together and deliver boxes of food to people in the local area. Eating food that has been grown right on your doorstep - well, not right on your doorstep, my doorstep is a bit mucky but I don't think you could grow vegetables there - anyway, it's very good for the enviro mint because the carrots only travel a short distance in a van, rather than thousands of miles in first class.
I visited a website, typed in my postcode, and was delighted to discover that they deliver in my area. The driver's name is Dave, and he already passes my door every Thursday. If I order next week, I could have a box filled with organic bananas, potatoes, beetroots, a butternut squash, whatever that is, and more besides.
I am almost beside myself with joy. All round, it has been rather a nice day.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Happy Hippo: Stay or Go?
There comes a time in every busy declutterer's life when the truly hard decisions need to be made. This is one of those times. In nearly 18 months of throwing things away, (or rearranging the things I can't get rid of just yet) I have never faced such a dilemma.
That dilemma is this:
Observe - a blue hippo. I bought this on eBay because it looked lonely and life really is too short to allow hippos to lead an unhappy life. It's a very nice hippo. It is blue, and as the original auction described, it is "made of pottery".
But alas, the hip hippo has remained in its original packaging almost ever since I received it. And we are now at the point where Mr Hippo is, in fact, taking up room that could be better filled by some free space instead.
But is it right to throw it away? It is a happy looking hippo, after all. Surely I should be ruthless and show no mercy, though. And, what is more, it is slightly imperfect. Observe:
Yes, that little pinkish bit is the underlying pottery, of which the hippo has been made.
So... happy hippo - stay or go? You decide, because I can't. Please vote by leaving a comment, won't you?
That dilemma is this:
Observe - a blue hippo. I bought this on eBay because it looked lonely and life really is too short to allow hippos to lead an unhappy life. It's a very nice hippo. It is blue, and as the original auction described, it is "made of pottery".
But alas, the hip hippo has remained in its original packaging almost ever since I received it. And we are now at the point where Mr Hippo is, in fact, taking up room that could be better filled by some free space instead.
But is it right to throw it away? It is a happy looking hippo, after all. Surely I should be ruthless and show no mercy, though. And, what is more, it is slightly imperfect. Observe:
Yes, that little pinkish bit is the underlying pottery, of which the hippo has been made.
So... happy hippo - stay or go? You decide, because I can't. Please vote by leaving a comment, won't you?
Monday, 18 August 2008
I Must Blog All Day Long
I can't help but notice that I've not been blogging as much recently. Clearly, with millions and millions of readers hanging on my every word, this will never do. So today I shall attempt to break the writer's block (actually that sounds a bit grand, so let's just call it "block") by live blogging about my fantastically interesting day.
As I speak, men with hammers are downstairs making changes to my window ledge, which used to be very good until an enormous crack appeared and I could see the outside through it. I hear sounds of plaster and mastic being mixed and applied and smoothed all over the place.
I am not observing them in person, for that would probably be annoying and/or awkward. I am content to leave them to their industry.
More live updates as the day progresses!
UPDATE: 12.01pm. Men have left. Windowledge all better, although it needs a plastics expert to come and finish it off. This will happen at a time and date of their choosing. What mystery! Now considering what to have for lunch.
UPDATE: 4.13pm. Had lunch, wrapped up some parcels (sold some things on eBay at the weekend, so the King of Postage was in court once more), received a parcel I'd ordered from America. Starting to think that all this does not necessarily make for interesting blog reading, though.
UPDATE: 10.15pm. Finished work, bummed around for most of the evening. Listened to a motivational audiobook, but not convinced by it, really. Decided to have a bath. For no reason. I'm not even going out tomorrow or anything. Thinking about going to bed.
As I speak, men with hammers are downstairs making changes to my window ledge, which used to be very good until an enormous crack appeared and I could see the outside through it. I hear sounds of plaster and mastic being mixed and applied and smoothed all over the place.
I am not observing them in person, for that would probably be annoying and/or awkward. I am content to leave them to their industry.
More live updates as the day progresses!
UPDATE: 12.01pm. Men have left. Windowledge all better, although it needs a plastics expert to come and finish it off. This will happen at a time and date of their choosing. What mystery! Now considering what to have for lunch.
UPDATE: 4.13pm. Had lunch, wrapped up some parcels (sold some things on eBay at the weekend, so the King of Postage was in court once more), received a parcel I'd ordered from America. Starting to think that all this does not necessarily make for interesting blog reading, though.
UPDATE: 10.15pm. Finished work, bummed around for most of the evening. Listened to a motivational audiobook, but not convinced by it, really. Decided to have a bath. For no reason. I'm not even going out tomorrow or anything. Thinking about going to bed.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
(I Don't Like Your) Country Music
In these modern times, it's easy to assume that our new action heroes - Jack Bauer, Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal and the like - are relatively modern phenomena of a kind that they just didn't have back in the fifties. After all, if a hoodlum was tearing up the street on otherwise engaging in some kind of ill behaviour, who would have dispensed some instant justice? Bill Haley and his Comets? I don't think so.
But in fact, if you had placed any credence in such a careless opinion, you would undoubtedly be wrong. There are plenty of black and white action heroes as well, and none could be more actionous than the one and only Mr. Bernard Cribbins.
Perhaps best known for appearing in various Carry On Movies, starring as the incompetent sculptor who log-jammed not only the word "erection" but the even more worse word "pubic" into the otherwise perfectly sedentary comedy "A Home Of Your Own", and of course a long stint looking after Humpty and the dollies on "Play School", the great BC's talents were many. But it was through music where Saint Bernard revealed his no-nonsense attitude towards anyone who failed to respect his authority.
To assume that The Cribmeister's works began and ended at the song "Right Said Fred", a searing expose of cowboy builders, would be a gross over-simplification. He had, in fact, many albums, and on those albums many songs, where anyone intending to step to Mr C with intent to diss, would find themselves served with attitude. (I hope you're still following this, my cool friends tell me it's very authentic.)
Perhaps nowhere is it made clearer than in the song "Hole In The Ground", a made-up tale - or so we are led to believe - involving an industrious workman who is, indeed, digging that aforementioned "Hole In The Ground" despite the best attempts of red-tape and bureaucrats to stifle his creativity.
"There I was
a-diggin' this hole
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
and there was I,
digging it deep,
it was flat at the bottom and the sides were steep"
As is so often the case, the toil of the working man is soon halted by interference from a bowler-hatted chap, who looks down the hole and has words of wisdom to offer.
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?...
Don't dig there - dig it elsewhere,
you're digging it round and it ought to be square.
The shape of it's wrong, it's much too long
and you can't put a hole where a hole don't belong."
"Nearly bashed him right in the bowler", comments Cribbins-as-workman. If it had been Chuck Norris digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have stroked his beard a bit. But our workman is made of sterner stuff, and will not allow bowler-hatted nuisancery to interfere with the industrial progress of our great nation.
"Well there was I,
stood in me 'ole,
shovellin' earth for all that I was worth I was,
and there was him, standing up there
so grand and official with his nose in the air"
Few men could tolerate those kind of conditions. If Steven Seagal had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have handed out the odd karate chop or two. But our heroic workman has a riposte for the suited man.
"I just couldn't bear
to dig it elsewhere
I'm digging it round 'cause I don't want it square,
and if you disagree it doesn't bother me
... that's the place where the hole's gonna be."
A grateful nation rises to its feet and applauds. Common sense prevails. If Jack Bauer had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have got shot again for no reason, just to keep the story going. But there's a footnote.
"Well there we were, discussing this 'ole,
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
it's not there now, the ground's all flat
and beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.
.. and that's that."
HE BURIED THE OFFICIAL UNDER THE PAVEMENT!! In the SIXTIES! My west coast friends would describe such a course of action as "harsh" to be sure. Even Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer wouldn't have gone that far. Even Steven Seagal thinks this is unduly violent treatment and would have no part of it, returning to his luxury trailer and three-bean salad in protest. Not everyone can reach the kind of no-nonsense attitude practiced by the Cribbinator - truly, a new hero for our times.
But in fact, if you had placed any credence in such a careless opinion, you would undoubtedly be wrong. There are plenty of black and white action heroes as well, and none could be more actionous than the one and only Mr. Bernard Cribbins.
Perhaps best known for appearing in various Carry On Movies, starring as the incompetent sculptor who log-jammed not only the word "erection" but the even more worse word "pubic" into the otherwise perfectly sedentary comedy "A Home Of Your Own", and of course a long stint looking after Humpty and the dollies on "Play School", the great BC's talents were many. But it was through music where Saint Bernard revealed his no-nonsense attitude towards anyone who failed to respect his authority.
To assume that The Cribmeister's works began and ended at the song "Right Said Fred", a searing expose of cowboy builders, would be a gross over-simplification. He had, in fact, many albums, and on those albums many songs, where anyone intending to step to Mr C with intent to diss, would find themselves served with attitude. (I hope you're still following this, my cool friends tell me it's very authentic.)
Perhaps nowhere is it made clearer than in the song "Hole In The Ground", a made-up tale - or so we are led to believe - involving an industrious workman who is, indeed, digging that aforementioned "Hole In The Ground" despite the best attempts of red-tape and bureaucrats to stifle his creativity.
"There I was
a-diggin' this hole
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
and there was I,
digging it deep,
it was flat at the bottom and the sides were steep"
As is so often the case, the toil of the working man is soon halted by interference from a bowler-hatted chap, who looks down the hole and has words of wisdom to offer.
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?...
Don't dig there - dig it elsewhere,
you're digging it round and it ought to be square.
The shape of it's wrong, it's much too long
and you can't put a hole where a hole don't belong."
"Nearly bashed him right in the bowler", comments Cribbins-as-workman. If it had been Chuck Norris digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have stroked his beard a bit. But our workman is made of sterner stuff, and will not allow bowler-hatted nuisancery to interfere with the industrial progress of our great nation.
"Well there was I,
stood in me 'ole,
shovellin' earth for all that I was worth I was,
and there was him, standing up there
so grand and official with his nose in the air"
Few men could tolerate those kind of conditions. If Steven Seagal had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have handed out the odd karate chop or two. But our heroic workman has a riposte for the suited man.
"I just couldn't bear
to dig it elsewhere
I'm digging it round 'cause I don't want it square,
and if you disagree it doesn't bother me
... that's the place where the hole's gonna be."
A grateful nation rises to its feet and applauds. Common sense prevails. If Jack Bauer had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have got shot again for no reason, just to keep the story going. But there's a footnote.
"Well there we were, discussing this 'ole,
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
it's not there now, the ground's all flat
and beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.
.. and that's that."
HE BURIED THE OFFICIAL UNDER THE PAVEMENT!! In the SIXTIES! My west coast friends would describe such a course of action as "harsh" to be sure. Even Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer wouldn't have gone that far. Even Steven Seagal thinks this is unduly violent treatment and would have no part of it, returning to his luxury trailer and three-bean salad in protest. Not everyone can reach the kind of no-nonsense attitude practiced by the Cribbinator - truly, a new hero for our times.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
"There's A Smile On My Face"
I find myself feeling old. I’ve been feeling old quite a lot recently, and it’s not just the passing of another year that does it.
I guess everyone feels old from time to time, but when, like me, you start finding that you feel permamently old, I guess that’s a sign that maybe there’s something deeper going on. I was thinking about it today and I think I may have got somewhere.
On the face of it, you might think the things that set me off are the constant realisations that things that seemed like only yesterday – e.g. leaving school, listening to Wham! on the radio, etc – were actually more than 20 years ago. But I don’t think it is that. Time passes, and that’s a fact. In itself it’s not a surprise and it’s not the numbers themselves that make me feel old. Not really, I don’t think.
I was tidying up again earlier and ploughing through a box of old videotapes, where I came across some television programmes that were made about the place where I used to work. They brought back a lot of memories. I couldn’t really get over the feeling of what great people I used to work with, what a good group we were, what good things we did. I used to work with brilliant people who were actual proper heroes and – although I can’t truly claim any heroism of my own – I find that I do miss the association. Standing next to greatness is still pretty great… and I seem to notice it more now that it’s gone.
It got me to thinking about what could have happened – and I noticed emotions and regrets very simlar to those which come out when I’m “feeling old”. The things I could have been – should have been – but which now seem out of reach. I’m too old now, the things I’m reaching for are paths I should have set out on long ago if I wanted to make it in time. As it stands, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and just went where the wind took me. A fine philosophy, it seemed at the time – but with my now aged wisdom I wonder if it wasn’t a miscalculation. Having “no plans” was literally no plan at all. And that’s when the big question has to be answered. Have I wasted my life?
But then I started joining the dots, and came to a bit of a realisation. These feelings, these regrets, can only have any validity if I accept an unstated premise – that the best moments of my life are strictly in the past. Surely that could only be true if I believe that my life will never get any better. It’s not exactly bad now, but if all the ‘good times’ are in the past, there must be something about the present that isn’t giving me what I need.
The present, of course, is something I can change. I just need to decide what it is that I want from life, and then “go get it”. And maybe there is the problem, because those are two things that I’m really not too good at – making decisions (or actually “wanting” something for myself) and then doing whatever kind of ‘hard work’ might be necessary to actually go get it.
I could have hundreds of great friends and a social life if I wanted one. I could go climbing mountains, hurling myself out of planes (with a parachute, obviously), sign up with the Open University or go to medical school and become the world’s oldest junior doctor… but that’s such a lot of effort. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could do it. And even if I put all that work in, would it really take me to the place that I want to be, when I can’t even identify where that place is?
Even if I’m not sure where the future leads, it has served as a timely reminder that maybe my clinging to the past is for no other reason than I need to change the present. Perhaps my hoarded boxes of old magazines and tapes are a very real indication of how I can’t let go of the past while it seems like the best of my life is still there. “Spending our money, filling our house with the things we hope will bring us happiness… again.”, as T’Pau put it in the song Only The Lonely.
They had more to say, actually. “Making your mind up – it never did anyone no good, for how do you touch what you can’t have? You cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care – it’s living, I guess, but it hardly compares.”
“Hiding your poor heart, you wouldn’t think could be so hard, from the roaring giant of love. Oh, but he won’t leave, and so you keep silently screaming, filling your head with a love song that no-one will ever want. And yes, we are keeping up resistance to a good time, in case we fall – put up a wall you can’t overcome, well I believe every home should have one.”
“We cover our empty hearts up with a full smile, but it has no joy – put up a wall you can’t overcome, to cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care, I see a world that is empty out there.”
Maybe that’s getting a bit morose. It’s a very good song, though. On which ‘note’ (ho ho) I actually bought some singles tonight, just like an actual proper hip young swinging cat. Of coursewhen I say I “bought" some "singles", actually I downloaded them from iTunes, so at least I’m not entirely stuck in the past, even if I did select six tracks from the late 80s that I’d completely forgotten about (and rediscovered today on an old “songs recorded off the radio” tape.) But it wasn’t all in the past – I also bought the ‘new’ one from Mint Royale. (Well done, George.) So it does at least seem that I have one foot in the now, and I guess that buying the song that’s bound to be next week’s number one is at least some kind of indicator that perhaps it’s not time to bury me just yet.
But it seems pretty clear that I really need to find something to do with my life. Of course I’ve got all kinds of ideas – entirely unrealistic ones – about things I’d like to do, if I were to somehow come into a ridiculous enough amount of money that I’d be willing to burn on making myself happy. Even the most avaricious venture capitalist would probably consider that a rather poor investment, and since I don’t play the lottery the chances of it happening are slim. So I need something realistic to aim for. I wonder if that isn’t harder still.
I’d better think about it some more.
I guess everyone feels old from time to time, but when, like me, you start finding that you feel permamently old, I guess that’s a sign that maybe there’s something deeper going on. I was thinking about it today and I think I may have got somewhere.
On the face of it, you might think the things that set me off are the constant realisations that things that seemed like only yesterday – e.g. leaving school, listening to Wham! on the radio, etc – were actually more than 20 years ago. But I don’t think it is that. Time passes, and that’s a fact. In itself it’s not a surprise and it’s not the numbers themselves that make me feel old. Not really, I don’t think.
I was tidying up again earlier and ploughing through a box of old videotapes, where I came across some television programmes that were made about the place where I used to work. They brought back a lot of memories. I couldn’t really get over the feeling of what great people I used to work with, what a good group we were, what good things we did. I used to work with brilliant people who were actual proper heroes and – although I can’t truly claim any heroism of my own – I find that I do miss the association. Standing next to greatness is still pretty great… and I seem to notice it more now that it’s gone.
It got me to thinking about what could have happened – and I noticed emotions and regrets very simlar to those which come out when I’m “feeling old”. The things I could have been – should have been – but which now seem out of reach. I’m too old now, the things I’m reaching for are paths I should have set out on long ago if I wanted to make it in time. As it stands, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and just went where the wind took me. A fine philosophy, it seemed at the time – but with my now aged wisdom I wonder if it wasn’t a miscalculation. Having “no plans” was literally no plan at all. And that’s when the big question has to be answered. Have I wasted my life?
But then I started joining the dots, and came to a bit of a realisation. These feelings, these regrets, can only have any validity if I accept an unstated premise – that the best moments of my life are strictly in the past. Surely that could only be true if I believe that my life will never get any better. It’s not exactly bad now, but if all the ‘good times’ are in the past, there must be something about the present that isn’t giving me what I need.
The present, of course, is something I can change. I just need to decide what it is that I want from life, and then “go get it”. And maybe there is the problem, because those are two things that I’m really not too good at – making decisions (or actually “wanting” something for myself) and then doing whatever kind of ‘hard work’ might be necessary to actually go get it.
I could have hundreds of great friends and a social life if I wanted one. I could go climbing mountains, hurling myself out of planes (with a parachute, obviously), sign up with the Open University or go to medical school and become the world’s oldest junior doctor… but that’s such a lot of effort. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could do it. And even if I put all that work in, would it really take me to the place that I want to be, when I can’t even identify where that place is?
Even if I’m not sure where the future leads, it has served as a timely reminder that maybe my clinging to the past is for no other reason than I need to change the present. Perhaps my hoarded boxes of old magazines and tapes are a very real indication of how I can’t let go of the past while it seems like the best of my life is still there. “Spending our money, filling our house with the things we hope will bring us happiness… again.”, as T’Pau put it in the song Only The Lonely.
They had more to say, actually. “Making your mind up – it never did anyone no good, for how do you touch what you can’t have? You cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care – it’s living, I guess, but it hardly compares.”
“Hiding your poor heart, you wouldn’t think could be so hard, from the roaring giant of love. Oh, but he won’t leave, and so you keep silently screaming, filling your head with a love song that no-one will ever want. And yes, we are keeping up resistance to a good time, in case we fall – put up a wall you can’t overcome, well I believe every home should have one.”
“We cover our empty hearts up with a full smile, but it has no joy – put up a wall you can’t overcome, to cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care, I see a world that is empty out there.”
Maybe that’s getting a bit morose. It’s a very good song, though. On which ‘note’ (ho ho) I actually bought some singles tonight, just like an actual proper hip young swinging cat. Of coursewhen I say I “bought" some "singles", actually I downloaded them from iTunes, so at least I’m not entirely stuck in the past, even if I did select six tracks from the late 80s that I’d completely forgotten about (and rediscovered today on an old “songs recorded off the radio” tape.) But it wasn’t all in the past – I also bought the ‘new’ one from Mint Royale. (Well done, George.) So it does at least seem that I have one foot in the now, and I guess that buying the song that’s bound to be next week’s number one is at least some kind of indicator that perhaps it’s not time to bury me just yet.
But it seems pretty clear that I really need to find something to do with my life. Of course I’ve got all kinds of ideas – entirely unrealistic ones – about things I’d like to do, if I were to somehow come into a ridiculous enough amount of money that I’d be willing to burn on making myself happy. Even the most avaricious venture capitalist would probably consider that a rather poor investment, and since I don’t play the lottery the chances of it happening are slim. So I need something realistic to aim for. I wonder if that isn’t harder still.
I’d better think about it some more.
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