Night Train

I hate the last train home. I much prefer the penultimate train, not because it's earlier but because it tends to be full of fairly normal people who, like me have probably had a couple of drinks but are nonetheless normal and probably a bit tired. The penultimate train is smaller and crappier than the last train: The last train is an inter city which means decent seats and a smoother ride, whereas the penultimate train is cramped, noisy and always on the verge of breaking down (the operator, First Great Western, are notorious for spending fuck all money on maintaining their trains). But the last train is always full of the shit-faced dregs of humanity. The drunk middle aged men trying to flirt with the drunk middle aged scrubbers, the pissed up kids, the gobby twats, the arsehole lads who shout and jostle everyone. I hate each and every one of them with a fervour and would be happy to see them all fall under the damn train.

So why am I on the last train tonight? Not through choice I can assure you, but because the penultimate train of the night has been cancelled without any real explanation. This is fairly normal: As paying passengers and tax payers (in many cases, though by no means all) who therefore not only pay for ovetpriced tickets for the dubious 'privilege' traveling by train but also fund huge subsidies for private rail operators through taxation, we are treated little better than an inconvenient form of cargo that train companies grudgingly put up with in order to generate huge profits.

All of which is why I am desperately trying to ignore the drunken screeching and general fuckwittery of this late night vomit comet by writing this blog entry and listening to an especially good Charlie May mix.

For the non existent person who has been holding their breath for a new blog entry, I am not only sorry that it's such a weak and shitty rant but also that you are probably dead as a result of holding your breath for the best part of a couple of years. Sorry about that.

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Did You Miss Me?

It's been a while (2 years in fact) but I'm back. It's not that I haven't had ideas for posts its just that I've not had the inclination to bother to write them up, but I promise I will make more of an effort now. As if anyone actually gives that much of a stuff about this drivel. Anyway, first up: A rather controversial post I suspect, but fuck it, it's my blog so what I say goes.


There are times when I really wonder about humans. Why the hell are so many of us incapable of understanding that actually, life isn't all that bad and we should juts fucking well get on with it? Case in point: Someone I follow on Twitter (no names). This person has a pretty good career by the looks of it. They live in London, work in journalism and get to indulge their sporting passions in their job. They have a young child (primary school age). They are divorced (and yes, it's a she so the Dad isn't on the scene although I get the impression he is still in the kids life) and like any working single mum life is occasionally a bit tough trying to juggle a job which occasionally demands unsocial hours with bringing up a youngster. But still, she has a job, a job she loves, her child is healthy and does well at school from what I can tell and she has a nice house. But fuck me does she moan. Sometimes it's about sports, and fair enough that's part of the job and lets face it half the world moans about sports on Twitter, but often its about how tough life is for her and all that. Well, yes but its tough for everyone love, it doesn't mean you should go cadging sympathy on an quasi-anonymous social network.

Best example of this is that she moaned the Christmas is rubbish and she misses her mother. From this I surmise that her mum passed away around this time of year, no idea how long ago. Now this genuinely is tough - it's a horrible thing to go through no question. But we all have to go through it eventually. For me, it happened when I was 8 years old. My mum died of aggressive cancer which started as breast cancer and then spread. But you know what? Life moves on and there is no point moping about it because it won't change anything. I'm not saying don't mourn, far from it, but this maudlin self pity that lasts years is just stupid. Christmas is rubbish? She has a kid she loves very much so if she takes the attitude that Christmas is rubbish then the kid will pick up on it and that'll affect their enjoyment which is downright selfish. Why not enjoy Christmas vicariously through the innocent eyes of your child and stop bloody moaning? why the fuck does everyone have to act like a victim the whole time? Grow some fucking spine and stop with the 'woe is me' bollocks. All in all you're very lucky and have a hell of a lot going for you, way more than many people.

This self-pitying whining is actually pretty common nowadays, especially with the rise of social networks and it's all to garner attention and sympathy, which just screams "NEEDY". Now there is a chance I could be accused of hypocrisy here, but I will say in my defence that the idea of some of the drivel on this blog was more about me working out thoughts in my head and wasn't written with the knowledge that I had thousands of followers to garner sympathy from. It was genuine, heartfelt stuff even if it was trite bollocks a lot of the time.

Anyway, the long and short of it is that it was one whinge too many and I've now unfollowed said person. You may think I'm being harsh here, but beyond, say, the first anniversary of such an event as I've discussed you really should be stopping with the moping and trying to remember the positives. If you're not doing that then you need professional help.

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Get busy living...

...or get busy dying. So said the character Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption and as Ellis 'Red' Redding said, that's goddamn right. I watched it on Monday night for the umpteenth time and the line really struck a chord. You can't change what's gone before but you can do something about the future and if you don't live the future then you're already dead. So I decided to stop moping. Sure, I'm still sad, of course I am, but you can't live your life in self-pity and regret. You have to get over it and move on and do whatever it takes to be happy again. So that's what I'm doing, and right now I'm busy doing a masup/remix for my new DJ set which will see me once again featuring as this month's guest DJ on Bear Golightly's Alchemy Sessions on DI.fm on the 28th of September. Don't forget to tune in!!

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And so it ends

It would seem that from the language involved there is absolutely no hope of getting back together. The first time I say "I love you" to a girl and it is wasted and I end up spending all my energy in despair and a black, black depression. It all seems so pointless now. I feel as though I will never meet anyone else like this again. Life just looks like a dull procession of routine and drudgery marked only by the growing nights and smudged by the grey, wet days. If this is love, why do we strive for it so hard? It seems, from this viewpoint, a cruel and mocking emotion that builds you up just for the pleasure of pushing you back down like a playground bully. Nothing seems good and pleasurable any more.

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Notes of the afflicted

It's funny. I never knew it was possible to feel at once so utterly and excruciatingly frightened and sad yet be so filled with a love that brings warmth to the coldest of places. Right now I'm sitting on a busy inter-city train under harsh, unforgiving strip lights making my way home and therefore by extension closer to the reason for that love. And I both dread and long for the experience. This very train, were I to stay on it, would take me to the place where the girl I am so hopelessly and totally in love with lives. A part of me says "Stay on. Go and see her. Make everything OK" but the rational part of me knows that turning up on her doorstep at 11 pm on a Sunday night would not be a good move, and would leave me stranded a long way from home and very much not in favour. There are other reasons too, whic I won't go into partly because they are private but mostly because thinking about them makes me unhappy beyond belief.

I went away this weekend because I knew I needed some time away. I went to Oxford to see my sister and her family, including my newest nephew for the first time (and what a diamond he is - I don't normally get mushy about babies but this kid just completely captivated me).
Problem was, everything I saw and did, I thought "Oh Em would love this - I must bring her here" and then I'd remember and I'd be back at square one. I even bought a couple of books on popular philosophy hoping to take my mind off things but they just make me question my
previous foolish actions all the more. Can't win.

So what am I to do, stuck on this train and in this melancholy? I don't know, is the short answer. If I were a character in a book or a film, I'm sure there would be some amazing speech i could make to her or I'd appear at her door, sweep her off her feet and we'd live happily ever after. But this is real life, not a trashy airport novel or a big budget Hollywood rom com. Real life doesn't, and never has,
worked like that. I am not used to my future happiness and emotions being in the hands of another and maybe that's the problem. I am, I freely admit, quite emotionally naive. But then this is exactly what the girl I love was talking about. She said that to open oneself up to another, to love them and place your feelings and emotions in their hold is the ultimate expression of love and now I understand exactly what she meant. I just hope it's not too late and that she can still find it in her heart to allow herself love as I mow know she surely does.

Listening to: So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star

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