Revolutionary Rants

It is funny how music, certain songs, can encapsulate a time, a feeling, an afternoon.

This morning I heard Handbags and Gladrags by the Stereophonics on the radio whilst I put away the clean clothes and tidied our bedroom generally. Once, back at Christmas 2001 – my first Christmas home from University – it was this song that made me pang for my first relationship-type-thing at Uni; now the only pang it makes me feel is a slight irritation that I have to hear it again mixed with a bit of sadness that the Stereophonics turned out to be such a shite band after their impressive first album, Word Gets Around.

Some songs transport like a mini airwave bound tardis: 74/75 by an obscure German band zooms me back to 1995, when I was just getting in to music and would shortly fall in love with Blur. Mozart’s 40th takes me to Sunday mornings in Mansfield, papers rustling and the Spectrum ZX bleeping away.

Other songs bring back emotionjs tied in with my life with those I have liked or loved. Road Rage by Catatonia makes me think of my first boyfriend, Run by Snow Patrol of the first person I loved, a song called Rhianna makes me think of Chicken. Little bits of love tied in to the notes and verses.

Any song by my beloved Manics now feels like it will forever be a part of my teenage self; the grumpy misrabilist in their bedroom writing poetry which at the time seemed as powerful as I thought Plath’s OTT contrivings were, too. Give me Larkin or Dickinson any day – they talk about life, not posturing!

Driftwood by Travis reminds me of the death (in a car crash) of a young Irish DJ we all loved on 2FM – I lay in the dark as they played it thinking how easy it is to suddenly die; it still has a sense of the snuffing out of life to me. I realise now that great changes, for me the death of my first dog, don’t have music involved in them. No song reminds me of when Beano died becasue I was too depressed to listen to music at the time. He died in the July, and can clearly say that I began to thaw out of the overwealming mourning around December of the same year, then I listened to the album Lifeblood over and over and over.

People say smells bring back the most nostalgia, but for me it is music. You dion’t need to team up with Doctor Who to go back,just crack out Generation Terrorists…

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Despite the Bank Holiday Monday this week has seemed to be a longer than average one. Dunno why, it just has, for me. On Tuesday I had Addaction training – featuring a presentation from me about where I work. Wednesday I had TPAG, Thursday I worked and yesterday I went to training at Caddestown. The new evil capitalist supermarket owned by the evil American capitalist supermarket was being built just next to the Business Centre we were in and it lashed rain and wind all day.

Today looks similar, too, weather wise and Ferris was not keen on walking far when I took him out recently.  He is growing fast, incidentally, and now seems to have developed high anxieties. He will no longer go up the stairs, barks at the dishwasher and the wind and stares out of the window to see who is there… Dog teenage times approach…

Also, for those in a nostalgic vein there are some photos of my yoof over here. The tractor was my first ever driving experience, and typically I started off so fast I nearly killed one of our hosts on Inishfree! Who would have thunk it would take me four attempts to pass my real driving test? Damn those nerves! Also, can I point out my hair is even worse than usual because the island had no leccy and I couldn’t dry it!!! Good times, tho’ – and we could actually swim, in Ireland.

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I will post again sometime shortly, but, for now, this article has amused me. I particularly enjoyed the bit about de Beauvoir. When will the world wake up to the fact that being a size 8 is not an acheivement, but being in the Cabinet might just be? More later in the week, saw a prog about BNP wives, sure a rant will brew soon…

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Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to all those Irish people and people of Irish desent (not to those who use St Paddy’s day as an excuse to drink that yearly Guinness)!

I have just returned from walking Ferris for an hour, which was lovely. I worked this morning instead of this afternoon today. It was busy and the time flew passed and then it was home (thanks to a lift from my most lovely one, Mr C), snap and dog walking. So far so good. And all done in a nice green top, in honour of the Republic.

Yesterday was good. It remained grey but did stop the constant pouring (which began, of course, just as we went to help Dad move a dead washing machine out and bring a live one in). We woke up quite early and Mr C bathed and I walked the pooch before we decided to take the kids (neice and neph) avec pup to Instow beach. We also had a spot of lunch in a nearby capitalist shop with attached capitalist cafe. In the evening we had tickets to see a Chicken favourite, Mr Scruff at a place called the Factory in Barnstaple. We had hoped it would be the artists usual brand of chilled, jolly tracks but it proved a big disappointment with mostly thumping dance beats being the order of the day. A shame, and it has left Mr C a little sad. Damn you, Mr Scruff and your little pies, too…

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Ferris had decided that he doesn’t like the rain. Some mornings, if it is wet, he comes outside at 7:00am whines plantively and stands on two feet (diagonal opposites, in case you’re thinking the logistics are impossible). When it is wet or raining he does not wish to pursue a long preablulation round the village, down Hannaford Lane of passed the Nursing Home. Nope, home is the place to be.

Beano was the same, very anti-rain. Not that we would all rather have no rain during the day, it is always a disappointment when – like today – it is grey and drizzling, but, hey, it is the British weather… I have told Ferris that as we live in Devon, not the Costa del Sol or Cote d’Azur he will have to get used to the rain. I think the compensations of our homne make up for the weather, personally – and that is just what Chicken and I said as we drve through the damp weather yesterday to West Buckland.

We were there for Mr C to finish the repirs he had begun on the annex to my eldest brother’s house. We have quite a few other DIY missios on at present, so that and pottling will be the order of the weekend, methinks. Oh, and walking in the rain, of course.

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Things are quiet here, life goes on. The wind has calmed down today, but it is grizzly now instead. Oh well. No damage was suffered here in Swimbridge, so that’s good.

Work is busy, and volunteering was very hectic on Tuesday, but the whole week seems to be slow for me. I am ready for the long Easter weekend, I think. Don’t reckon it will eb as sunny as last year, but it might also mean less visitors to the region, so that’s no bad thing generally!

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So far the weather has not proven to be quite as bad as we feared. I went to bed post-Lewis (yes, even that will stoop so low as to have a transgender killer – aren’t they statistically the least likely group to murder?!?) highly anxious. We were forecast 80mph wind gusts and 30mm of rain between 23:00 and 06:00. In Ireland such weather would mean very bad things like the power and telephone being out for days, gneral danger on the farm and on one occasion a collapsing barn (minutes after Dad left it) which killed a young nanny goat, Kuwait.

So, there was I, curled up next to Mr C and rather worrisome… Yet, when we woke up this morning it was fairly still outisde, if wet. It has continued in much the same vein so far, with it pouring during our morning walk, but not all that windy.  The south coast seems to have taken the worst of it, and Wales, but we seems strangely quiet thus far.

The weekend was likewise. On Friday Alex felt suffiently well that we headed out to Woolacombe beach, we let Ferris off and he ran around liek a mad thing after a bit of bamboo we found. Then we had a lovely warm coffee in the Red Barn looking out over the bay.

On Saturday we, and Ferris, awoke grumpy. We went in to town to get flea stuff, wormer and dog chews as well as a drill bit for Chicken. In the evening we watched our new Miyazaki purchase, The Castle of Cagliostro. It is one of his early films, having been realsed in 1979. It was a flop in Japan, and it does not have the magic of later Ghibli Miyazaki films, but it was still fin and had a lot of work that would shortly be seen again, to greater effect, in Laputa: Castle in the Sky. We also saw Inspector Wexford before bed called us.

We had a proper lie-in on Sunday and this did the trick, we both felt much happier! Chicken did alot of DIY, drilling from the extention/attached shed type thing in to the sitting room and putting wires through, before putting up a shelf on the other side to house his computers. I helped a little, blitzed the kitchen and cooked a roast dinner for Mr C. We also walked Ferris in between the showers that were on and off all day. Yesterday evening we saw Crufts and off course, Lewis, which Mr C even watches with me, which is rather nice.

Today, the working week is back…

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I am now feeling much better, although not 100%, but I am back at work and taking the poor old pooch for proper walks rather than just quick trots down the hill to see how the other ill family members are.

We both feel very tired after the bought of illness, although thankfully Mr C seems free of it still (touch wood) and as the weekend promises to be wet, wet and more wet we will probably find plenty of time to sleep, be lazy and watch the DVD of La Vie en Rose which I ordered this week.

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I have been struck down with a virus since Thursday evening. We think it is a Bristolian one, brought down by my brother. He, my father and I have all been pretty bad with it. It is a horrible combo of cought/cold/chest infection/fever/shivers/sickness and I have even been off work and volunteering since yesterday, which I really hate (the letting people down element really gets to me…). Still not good, but I am hoping a good nights sleep will see me break the back of it.

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