I never could get the hang of Thursdays


Lost in the squalor
23/03/2010, 1:23 am
Filed under: Writings

lost in the squalor
stand on my foot
thrown about
beer in the air

lost in the squalor
eyes closed
falling over
screaming and jumping

lost in the squalor
right out of breath
music plays
smile on my face

lost in the squalor
the working class sing along
Albion abound
the musician slurs

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Commuterville
12/03/2010, 3:49 pm
Filed under: Writings

At first I thought it was de ja vu, but it wasn’t. I saw him yesterday morning in the same place, wearing the same scarf, at the same time. I am a commuter, for the moment. At 7.30 every morning I get the same bus down the same road with more or less the same people. We sit there not saying a word, the only noises are the squeaking brakes and iPod overspill. Everyone facing forwards, half asleep and not concentrating, facing forward like an army of drones. No-one wants to know anyone else.

The etiquette is to sit on your own if there is space, if not sit in the space with the people who haven’t put their bag down next to them. If not, stand and face forwards, if you look backwards you will get stared at.

We pass cyclists, Audis, shops in the following order; Tesco, Subway, Wetherspoons and countless takeaways with the shutters down. The road is busiest at this time of day, and again at about 5.30pm, the rush hours. I have no option but to join everyone else and creep along at a snails pace. Better than being stuck in a car and watching traffic lights I suppose.

I change busses, pick up The Metro, see hundreds of white-collar workers, sales executives, receptionists, Mac operators, quality controllers, customer service representatives, account managers, policy managers, web designers, recruitment consultants, network co-ordinator support officers, strategic engagement workers, business intelligence systems assistants,  iPhones, satchel bags and deli-sandwiches.

I step off the bus and walk for five minutes through “the bowels of the Manchester sub-terrain”, past disused mills, flats, corner shops, broken fences and boarded up pubs, roads that no-one use any more.

I sit at my desk, make a cup of tea and listen to the phones ringing. No-one has anything for me to do, so I write.



Untitled
18/02/2010, 8:39 pm
Filed under: Writings

Do you know me?

I don’t think so.

I had to go,

Money with nothing to spend it on.

I need some cigarettes,

They fill a gluttenous gap that beer doesn’t.

The house is full of guitars,

I’m still getting to know people.

This is the next part of my life,

Uni is over.

People change,

And I’m drinking to forget myself.



I know a website you might like
23/11/2009, 5:28 pm
Filed under: Websites, Writings

I’ve discovered this website recently. It’s full of short stories and bits of writing, they’re not long, you can read a few in ten minutes and there’s tonnes to look through.

“The thing is…” is “A magazine of cultural commentary and creative writing”, so the website says.

They have reviews, and music stuff, 5 songs you should have heard, etc. My favourite are the articles about life as a twenty-something, relationships, parties.. well, it’s stuff I like anyway.

These ones are good:

You Need A Relationship

You Don’t Need A Relationship

Music Without Culture

Have a look.



Non-Road-User
30/08/2009, 4:35 am
Filed under: Writings

I’m a pedestrian. I am not a car owner or driver and I have no intention of being one. I loathe walking down a road, restricted to the pavement which is a tenth of the width of the street, and then having to pick a side so I don’t have to cross. The traffic becomes a barrier to the other side like a torrent that you have to gauge carefully, paying attention to the ebbs and flow. Movement is restricted to crossings and traffic islands and you wait for the green man for permission to cross. Get clipped by buses as they roar past and working around the movement of vehicles, always having to be concious whenever you step off the kerb. Continue reading



My return to the city
03/08/2009, 1:04 am
Filed under: Writings

The city drew me back in.

I trudged around drizzley alleys and caught the same busses, revisited my favourite haunts and met people.

I woke up on someone’s sofa still dressed and covered in a sheet, with only a bit of money, my phone and a hat. My shoes are black bright and my jacket close to tearing apart at the seems. Life in the crush is ten times as interesting as it is here.

Lots of time waiting with the same song stuck in my head, random drinks, crisps for breakfast and not washing. A book to read on the train and walking around town looking like a scruff with a hangover.

Then I returned to the country. Silence and the smell of cut grass with time to kill.

I had to go, even for the most fleeting of visits. There was too much to do and not enough time, but at least it was time well spent.



A Guide To Debauchery And Hedonism
28/07/2009, 3:17 am
Filed under: Writings

You’ve seen those drink-aware adverts on TV, in between episodes of skins. The ones where a bloke makes a complete mess of himself just before he goes out, and the strapline says “You wouldn’t start a night like this, so why end one like it?” or something like that. When I first saw that, I wanted to go on a night out and come back completely pissed with torn clothes and covered in beer.

There are hundreds of reasons why that would be a bad idea, but for some reason it’s strangely appealing. Is it the feeling of being so completely out of control of yourself that you have to rely on your friends, who are equally incapacitated? For fellowship, being part of a group? Continue reading