January 28, 2002
"Wake up! Time to die!"

… so says Leon to Deckard in Ridley Scott’s “Bladerunner” - just before he is about to kill him.

Unpublished Bladerunner poster

Sent round Which.Online’s website of the week to some friends in the office today. Boy I wish I hadn’t. Should’ve known that the The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement might not go down well with some folk who don’t share my sense of humour. I took the negative feedback quite badly. I will never send round URLs by email again. I got that “wish I could just die” feeling. And worse still - I am forbidden to say why. Banished. It’s just too sensiitve. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

Blog today, solicitor tomorrow. Perhaps they have something in common? They both say things you don’t like for a start. The amount of money you pay for the privelidge (did I spell that right?) sets them quite apart though. Easyspace are the primary benefactors of my purchases of real-estate in the virtual world - but it seems the solicitor is the primary benefactor of my purchases of real-estate in the real world - and everything else besides. For the amount I have to pay in the name of “Stamp Duty” and “Solicitors Fees” I could host blogs for every day, of every year, in the life of every living person or animal on the Isle of White. Including dogs, cats and hamsters.

The timber-frame is worrying me though. As is the tree with a preservation-order just outside the front. What will happen in the summer when the leaves sprout and the flowers bloom? What would happen if there was a fire? My mind is running action-replays of movies with itself; fire spreading wildly - tearing down every wall on the inside. The bough of a tree smashing its knarled ends into the kids playroom as they both blissfully play with paints and lego. Depressingly The Smiths-esque - (I can be miserable bastard sometimes - and The Smiths depresses me something rotten.) But I’m sure my solicitor will put me at ease. Her name is Karin. That’s a nice name for a solicitor. With a name like that I will probably forget the grotesque amount of money I’m paying her - for shuffling a few bits of paper around. To be fair - she does reply to my emails. Which is a giant leap forward for such an ancient and backward profession.

The Smiths - utterly depressing

An utterly depressing band

later …

There is art in noise. I am convinced of it! I write this with firm conviction as the tube train slows down on the dark, dismal overground underground - somewhere between Hammersmith and Acton Town. The tempo of the rattle of wheel on track - reduced in much the same way as James Brown’s “funky drummer” beat - slowed by the producer’s imagination on one of the album tracks of George Michael’s “Listen Without Prejudice”. Can’t remember which song. But the music is vivid. Because the art of noise is in its association …

The sign at the top of the crane shouts loudly: “enjoy-work.com!” as the train crawls slowly past Chiswick Park. “Yeah right!” is what everyone on the train is saying - without actually saying it of course. Because this is the tube you see: on the tube you can say whatever you like - and whatever you think - so long as you don’t actually say it! It’s an unwritten rule that everyone observes. This is why they say that “silence is deafening”.

I am now urged to re-read London Fields by Martin Amis. Last read in 1990. Martin Amis and George’s “Listen Without Prejudice” - a fatal combination of music, lyrics and words that had a profound effect on me at the time.
Nicola Six: why?

Anyway - I felt real sorry for the response I gave to Rubi today. She appealed to our ever-present sense of charity - and I led a “no thanks” reaction that snowballed into more “no thanks - I’m busy” from everyone else. Not that this will bother her in the least - because this is Rubi: the zany red-head from East Anglia - born into a Sikh family in Brum - a true princess! Married to an Irishman - and living life to the full. Developing web-pages and dabbling with Flash - jumping out of aeroplanes and keeping fit by climbing mountains in the north of England! I like Rubi. Lots. She tells it like it is. Like a spade would call a spade. That’s very West Brom. A true Brummie lass. An export of fine Brummi-ness to East Anglia and London. Such is Rubi.

“Yoh can tek the kid out a Brum, but yoh’ll never tek Brum out a the kid.” says Dr.Carl Chinn

Posted by jag at January 28, 2002 07:11 PM

Don’t re-read London Fields. It’s shite.

Posted by: Alan on September 8, 2003 11:41 AM

Why, thanks for the tip! What’s shite about it anyway? (I thought it was OK first time around. But perhaps I was easily pleased then …)

Posted by: Jag on September 8, 2003 11:46 AM

I hadn’t realised I was commenting on a post from January 2002. How terribly rude of me. By now you have probably already re-read the aforementioned, and reached your own conclusions.

Posted by: Alan on September 8, 2003 12:50 PM
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