Well, look at this - it's only been a week & I'm writing to you again. One of us is luvky, while the rest are cursed (and I'm going to keep it quiet as to who is who in this scenario). I suppose it seems (to me, at least) as if I have been writing to you in intensely descriptive terms, a sort of "What-I-Did-On-My-Gig-In-A-Theatre" sort of a way, and I'd like very much to hurl seemingly unconnected words at you for half an hour, purely for our own entertainment. I also would like to try and squeeze two blogs into August, just to prove to myself (and, by extension, you) that I still got it.
So, as we speak, there are two chicken & mushroom crispbakes about to go into the oven, alongside three waffles and a saucpanful of baby carrots. Yes, I eat like a prince here at MacLeod Villas, and even as I type these words to you, a handful of different stories come flooding to mind that I could tell you (and flit back out again, such is the flitting quality of my memory). It is also practically night-time, which is a bit upsetting at barely 9 o'clock.
I have been doing something recently that I haven't done properly for quite some time: reading. My friend Matt let me borrow a couple of books by an author called Neal Stephenson ('Snowcrash' and 'Cobweb' - two very different styles of book, but very good), which have lead me inexorably toward looking out for book recommendations - and the first one I saw a couple of weeks ago was for 'One Day' by David Nicholls - now a motion picture, I gather - and I snagged a copy at the start of the week, and finished it soon after. I loved the premise of the book, and something about the way the central characters dance about each other as the years pass made me think of The Time Traveler's Wife (which I have just started re-reading). I don't yet know if I want to go and see the film (I suppose really I should make my mind up sharpish, seeing as it's already out and films currently tend to be in & out of cinemas faster than Usain Bolt, only with less false starts), but I can imagine it being well carried out. For reference, I have not seen the film of The Time Traveler's Wife, and I have no real wish to. I like the way it settles in my imagination.
Everything else has been surprisingly YouTube-oriented these last few weeks. Those of you who watch me like a hawk will have seen that every third tweet has mentioned either an episode of John MacLeod Speaks To The Internet or my acoustic cover of Nerina Pallot's "Turn Me On Again" (which, by the way, has been viewed 109 times - THANK YOU if you've watched it). It had long been a hope that I'd have the wherewithal to start putting things on YouTube, because as online audiences go, it's quite a good one. Taking my cover video as a case in point - that video is parked directly underneath Nerina's own acoustic version of the song, because it is a video response to that song & part of a competition to win a support gig at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. As I say, it's been watched a surprising 109 times, compared to the respectable viewing figures twenty/thirty-odd times of the videos I have uploaded containing my own material. It just goes to show that if you place something where more people are likely to see it, curiosity will lead them to look. People won't always look of their own accord - they need a breadcrumb trail. So in all sorts of ways, it's been rewarding (of course now it's also nervewracking - I want to know who wins!).
The silliest thing was how quickly it went dark. I got in from work, plugged my studio mic into the computer to see if it would work (it did) and then got on with it, making occasional mistakes and refilming. And refilming. And refilming. It wasn't quite nightfall, but if you watch the video, you will notice that there's no daylight either. I was lit by a small lamp and the LED lightstring that decorates my music room and keeps it looking rather neat. This obviously lead to the tracking capabilities of my netbook's webcam being significantly stunted, hence the jerky quality of the video. At least the sound's good & that's the main thing!
In the meantime, I have finished me dinner and am very much of a mind to get a cup of tea going, alongside a choccy bar. I have recently cut down on the crisps (I used to have a bag a day with lunch) in favour of having fruit (in fact, now I think about it, I went food shopping today and completely forgot bananas, and the Vitamin C soluble tablets I was going to get - AND BREAD! - a follow-up trip to Sainsbury's beckons), which means that every couple of weeks, I might buy a tube of Pringles or a bag of Doritos & enjoy them as a rare treat in companion to a DVD or computer game. It's not proved as hard to back away from things crispular as I thought, and I know for a fact that chocolate would have been a far harder proposition. But giving up too much snacking has its roots in a story...
There was a time when I was living in a house, and I wasn't terribly happy (I was almost ecstatic but, to be ecstatic, there's a frustrating period right before it, of utter misery), and the music had faded a bit to the back of my mind after years of open mics, a shattered band & little else. There was not a great deal going on. I was working, and I lived opposite a supermarket. Many an evening would skate by on PS3-shaped wheels, sometimes accompanied by Radio 7, depending on the game I was playing, and often accompanied by snacks. One afternoon was spent gaming, with the toaster plonked on a table in front of me, along with a kettle. Ingenius, you may say, but also perhaps a bit tragic. Of course, trips to the supermarket were almost nightly, and one one jaunt, I noticed that there was a special deal on arctic rolls. Chocolate ones.
I was pretty good to begin with. I'd buy one and cut a slice off after meals. Then into thirds. Then half. Then there'd be the odd night when the only time I cut one was with my fork. For mouthfuls. I am reliably informed that by the time I moved out of the house and in with my folks for a few months, my chin was growing a friend, and my shirts were having trouble incorporating my neck-size. I think I was looked after a bit for a time, and have since got back into better shape, and I am now a lot more cautious of the snacks I hurl into my face of an evening, because I think I do have the tendency to comfort-eat that I didn't realise was there before.
Which isn't to say that living alone doesn't have its plus-points - I have free run of things, I can record a demo at will, and at the drop of a hat - should I so desire - I can leave the milk out and take a bite out of some cheese (I don't do those things EVER), and if I'm having a bad day, I don't have to be unintentionally rude to someone or feel so awkward that I just go out to the pub until I reckon they've gone to bed.
On the other hand, someone being there can make the difference between going to bed cross and going to bed feeling better, and it can bolster you into activity. You can, if you're very lucky, make a friend for life. Ideally it'll be a relationship living arrangement though, which is why books like One Day and The Time Traveler's Wife make me all wistful and emotive - I love representations of people who work so well together, but it does also get the Romantic Ideal Gland pumping into my brains and causing all sorts of mischief.
Speaking of which, that bed's not go to mess itself, so I had better make that cup of tea & get me head down. If you want to start poking around my internets, you can do no worse than to start at:
http://www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod/music
There's links to all my other nonsenses from there. In the meantime, I hope you are well and I will speak to you soon. On YouTube, no doubt!
Goodnight,
John.xx
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