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Archive for September, 2008

Steak ‘n’ Cervix

Another works outing last night – ostensibly a steak meal (again) in a nice quiet pub and a calm mid-week get-together. Except all the men who had been invited pulled out at the last minute… snigger… except muggins.

So it was myself and nine ladies, two of whom are heavily pregnant. I don’t mind female company, most of the jobs I’ve had have been in places where the workforce is predominantly female so I’m quite used to relating to, and communicating with female colleagues. They seem to like me – I’m generally the ‘nice bloke’ who’s fun to be around but they wouldn’t sleep with in a million years. Suits me, a little mild flirting from time to time gets one through the day, even more so when you know it’s just that and won’t lead anywhere. But, there are certain facets of the female interest range which are really best avoided if you’re a bloke.

For example, when I’m tucking into a lovely chunk of medium rare sirloin the very last thing I want to hear is the phrase ‘cervical scrape’. I nearly bloody choked to death. It was relentless, I hurriedly shoved ever larger hunks of meat down my neck, lost in a haze of terror, as words like ‘dilated’ and ‘fluid sac’ drifted across the table. Then they moved on to their favourite types of contraception. “I’ve never looked back since I had the implant” actually sent me scurrying outside for a smoke. It was more of a headlong dash, actually.

I texted the other half to see if she could come and pick me up. ‘But I’m in my pyjamas’ came the reply. ‘I DON’T CARE,’ I responded, ‘Come and get me NOW!’ There was some swearing, but she soon arrived and I legged it with apologies. Straight home to find she was watching ‘Priscilla, Queen of the Desert’. Sigh.

And the neighbours are back. Bastards. I live in a semi-detached house, the dividing walls are like cardboard, you can hear the neighbours farting, sneezing, humping, the lot. Obviously, this means they can also hear our own corresponding involuntary noises, and I can’t turn the fucking music up (‘cos I’m too bloody nice, it’ll be the death of me). So when they actually piss off for a while the stereo goes up to 11 and I can dance around the house breaking wind with impunity – surely every man’s dream. But they came back. Inconsiderate gits.

Ah well, 2 weeks to go before I get a nice little holiday myself. I’m not going anywhere, I’m just going to sit around eating beans and then pushing my arse against the wall until it’s covered in brown streaks. Hah. that’ll learn ’em.

And I’m going to play some of this and all.

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Painting on Silence

Music is one of my abiding loves in life. In fact, I’d almost go as far as saying it’s my own personal faith. I’m not great at making it but I seem to need to be listening to it pretty much most of the time.

Years ago, in an earlier life, I worked nights in a supermarket. Before 24 hour shopping arrived we could play music over the tannoy all night and this caused some of the greatest arguments and sulks I’ve ever seen. At first we were encouraged, on a rotational basis, to bring in our own CDs to play. Ever tried getting 40 people of ages 16-65 to agree on a type of music? Hopeless.

So, it was decided we would listen to local commercial radio all night. Christ. It’s bad enough during the day, but the night shows were appalling. Banal, snoozing djs – or pre-recorded nonsense from the lazy ones – and the same songs over and over and over. Just about survivable for one night, but the song rotations would remain the same for months at a time. It was literally like bloody torture. And everyone loved it… except me. I whinged and moaned and stamped my little feet but the radio stayed. Certain songs can still fill me with inexplicable rage – ‘You’re Gorgeous’ for example. Imagine hearing that at 2 hour intervals all day. Then try doing it every day for a week. Then, and this is absolutely true, listen to it at 2 hour intervals every day, five days a week for over a year. Then add a number of other insipid, mor pop ‘tunes’ and sprinkle them in, repeating them all in the same way. Basically, make the worst possible mix tape you can imagine and listen to it over and over again until you kill yourself. That’s what it was like. Working nights is bad enough, what can I say – the money was ok and I was in a situation which, for reasons too difficult to go into now, meant I was better off staying where I was – but some nights I would just go home in the morning and weep with cold fury.

Worst of all I just couldn’t figure out how to ‘tune myself out’. Music demands that I listen to it – but even your favourite tracks start to pall after too much repeated playing (ok, there are a handful of tracks I actually CAN listen to again and again and still love them, but not many) But the thing which really got to me was, I was the only one who had a problem with this. I can only draw the conclusion – as I did at the time – that all my work colleagues were simple twats. Actually, now I think about it I have never worked with people of that ilk since… Perhaps it really is true that supermarket workers are pond life. Certainly most of the managers were.

Well, that was then. And now I have decided to make this blog a bit more musical so I will be linking to music I like as often as I can in future and try and make the music relevant to the day’s rant. I like almost everything, some things more than others, so expect a pretty broad range of stuff.

But don’t expect to ever hear ‘You’re Gorgeous’. Just don’t even go there…

 

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