A Close Watch

Never win and never lose
There’s nothing much to choose
Between the right and wrong
Nothing lost and nothing gained
Still things aren’t quite the same
Between you and me

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

I still hear your voice at night
When I turn out the light
And try to settle down
But there’s nothing much I can do
Because I can’t live without you
Any way at all

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
JOHN CALE

No Guilt

Needed new posters, so I bought them
I know the cost of stamps now
The thirty-first is when I pay the phone bill
(I told them I didn't even know anybody in Toronto)

Everyday at seven I've been watching Walter
I've been reading more and looking up the hard words
I met people who can get me on the guest list
My parents said that
They would help me pay for grad school

You know I had never washed a sweater
I never knew when my hair was too long
I got the cab calls out of my hi-fi
I learned a lot since you've been gone
I've done a lot since you've been gone

Not bitter - beat a vicious cycle
Typecast as the model couple
I'm sorry but I don't feel awful
It wasn't the end of the world
I'm sorry I can't be helpless
It wasn't the end of the world

I know someone who really met Belushi
I fixed the toilet so it doesn't always run
I moved a chair over by the window
I feel better if my laundry's done

Getting by on less sleep than I used to
I had no trouble in setting up a desk
I learned the reason for a three-pronged outlet
I got 100 on my driver's test

I got a trick to get them to deliver
I called the landlord when the water turned brown
Did you know I own some valuable records?
I've done a lot since you've been gone
I've learned a lot since you've been gone

Thank you for the chance to grow up
I'm sorry but I wasn't defeated
It wasn't the end of the world.
I'm sorry but I don't feel too awful
It wasn't the end of the world.
THE WAITRESSES

All Work and No Play

All work and no play makes Hot Vimto a dull blog. And Gordie a dull playmate. Still, it's for the best. I have clients who need stuff doing, and a backlog of projects to clear. And I'm thinking that one day soon, I should start up a business blog.

I certainly need some marketing collateral to explain what I am to people who don't know me. (You don't know how hard that is. I've been trying it out on my mother.)

Until my eloquence and originality come back to me, here's a video from twenty years ago, when I thought that being a rebel was all about not joining in, and pretending I didn't give a shit.

Apollo 11

The perfect moon
Was huge above the sea
The surf was easy
Even on the reef
We were the lucky three
Who slid in our canoe
Through the flowers on the water
And tried to read the signals in the sky

We travelled with our necklaces of shell
The moon was waning
Through the nights and days
And how we dreamed of home!
But we couldn’t find the island
Where you trade the shells for feathers
We fainted in the sun’s reflected blaze

With cracking lips
I turned to tell my friends
The time had come for all of us to die
“She’s out a whole degree”
I told them as I floated
Checking readouts at my shoulder
“Re-enter at this angle and we’ll fry”

The go for override came up from earth
We took control
And we flew her with our hands
And how we dreamed of home!
We saw the South Pacific
As we fought to get her zeroed
Before the heat shield started hitting air

We came home in a roaring purple flame
And gave the mission
Back to the machines
We were the lucky three
The parachutes deployed
We were rocking like a cradle
As we drifted down in silence to the sea
Lyrics by CLIVE JAMES
Music by PETE ATKIN

Put to the Test

Gordie is 54% HeteroHow heterosexual are you? Try out any Twitter name and get the real picture. Are we really the words we use? (Thanks to Stockholm Pride for this.)

Daddy

Right now I feel like a small boy that wants his daddy. That's been happening a lot lately.

You know what that means...

That means that if I go back far enough into my life, there must have been a time when I wanted him and trusted him, and loved him, and felt loved by him.

Or something.

The clouds overhead are getting darker all of a sudden, and I think it's about to start raining.

Wasteful and Useless

Okay, so this is how these things seem to work.

I decided I needed a bit of lie in this morning, as I was up for work at 5:30 yesterday morning. And I set the alarm for 8:10 and then ignored it. Got up at eleven.

Made a cup of coffee, and for no reason at all (other than it was Saturday, and I wasn't properly awake) started playing old mp3's I'd recorded off radio programmes.

I recorded this song on April 11th, 2006, and I don't remember ever listening to it. Until today.

Don't let me put you off. If you're doing battle with a cruel and vengeful God, keep battling. But today, I like this.


If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be, we're all okay
And not to worry
'Cause worry is wasteful and useless
In times like these

I won't be made useless
Won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

Poverty stole your golden shoes
But it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after

We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters

I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken
We are never broken

We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
JEWEL KIRCHNER

Deacon Blues

Steely Dan was a great band, and a strong influence on my cynical youth. I imagine some people will see the title to this post and think of Deacon Blue, the Scottish pop band. I would have sneered at such people back then.

There were two guys who wrote the songs, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, and a bunch of really good musicians around them, most of seemed to be in the Doobie Brothers as well. They wrote very clever lyrics, and tunes with jazz chords in them: Sixths! Ninths! WTF?!?!

This isn't one of their clever lyrics; it just got stuck in my head the other day, when I free associated from "bright red Georgia clay" to "Alabama the crimson tide". I always assumed the crimson tide was a big muddy river, but it's actually something to do with photosynthetic pigments in algae.

I like the chorus. The narrator is obviously a bit of a loser, and his dream is to be a saxophone player, and a bit of a drunk. High hopes, eh? Even in his dreams, he's going to be a loser! But he wants to be a renownded loser, with a famous name. Good luck to ya, buddy.

This is the day of the expanding man
That shape is my shade
There where I used to stand
It seems like only yesterday
I gazed through the glass
At ramblers, wild gamblers
That's all in the past

You call me a fool
You say it's a crazy scheme
This one's for real
I already bought the dream
So useless to ask me why
Throw a kiss and say goodbye
I'll make it this time
I'm ready to cross that fine line

I'll learn to work the saxophone
And I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
And I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the crimson tide
Call me Deacon Blues

My back to the wall
A victim of laughing chance
This is for me
The essence of true romance
Sharing the things we know and love
With those of my kind
Libations
Sensations
That stagger the mind

I crawl like a viper
Through these suburban streets
Make love to these women
Languid and bittersweet
I'll rise when the sun goes down
Cover every game in town
A world of my own
I'll make it my home sweet home

I'll learn to work the saxophone
And I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
And I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the crimson tide
Call me Deacon Blues

This is the night of the expanding man
I take one last drag
As I approach the stand
I cried when I wrote this song
Sue me if I play too long
This brother is free
I'll be what I want to be
STEELY DAN

The Lilac Paper

I went to my stationery drawer to find some good paper for a letter to the bank.

I found a sheaf of pale lilac paper I once bought to print my wedding invitations on. I didn't realise I still had any of that left.

Every other time I've found that lilac paper, I've felt a deep pain in my chest. This morning, I just smiled, a little bit surprised.

It was a lovely wedding; pity about the marriage that followed.

It's Raining Today

[Rain in the night...
I awake to the sound of it at my window.
The air is cool and clear.
And by ten o'clock, the sun is shining again.
I love the summer when it's like this.]

It's raining today
and I'm just about to forget
The train window girl
That wonderful day we met
She smiles through the smoke
From my cigarette
It's raining today.

But once ...
There was summer and you
And dark little rooms
And sleep in late afternoons
Those moments descend
On my window-pane.

I've hung around here too long

Listenin' to the old landlady's

Hard-luck stories

You out of me

Me out of you

We go like lovers

To replace

The empty space

Repeat our dreams to someone new.

It's raining today
And I watch the cellophane streets
No hang-ups for me
Cause hang-ups need company
The street corner girl's
A cold, trembling leaf
It's raining today
It's raining today
SCOTT WALKER

Summer Rain

"I remember to this day
The bright red Georgia clay
How it stuck to the tires
After the summer rain."

I slept well, and woke to my alarm at 6:20 to find a gentle rain falling over the village. It's nice and cool in my bedroom now, where a week ago it was very humid. I pulled on a polo shirt to keep the breeze off my shoulders. I made a cup of coffee, and went looking for pants. (Priorities, I has 'em.)

Three hours later, the rain has stopped, and so has the noisy woodpecker in my neighbour's garden. The sun is shining, and there are voluptuous clouds over Torbay, like Magritte used to paint. I'd say the wind is coming from the West.

Georgia must have a similar geology to where I live. The earth around here is very red - the Devonian layer, if you're into geology. And now I'm thinking of another song:

"They call Alabama
the Crimson Tide:
call me Deacon Blues"

Hey Mister DJ

I deejayed for a friend's birthday party on Friday night. I had a lot of fun. Fortunately, so did everybody else.

It was one of those big family - and - friends gatherings, where the ages go from seven to seventy, and I managed to keep everyone dancing and happy for six hours, give or take a few glitches. It was a very hot night and my fingers got very slippery; several times I cut to the next next record two minutes early. But it wasn't hard work. And there were good looking women being uninhibited, and that wasn't hard work, either.

At midnight, we went out onto the village green, and launched wish lanterns into the night sky. I hadn't seen wish lanterns before. They're like Barbie doll sized hot air balloons, with a lump of solid paraffin where the basket would be. You have to pat them and pamper then for a bit, until they heat up properly, then they suddently become very buoyant and rise up into the sky. It was a good birthday. We were all very happy.

Endings and Beginnings

A man in a yellow fluorescent waistcoat came knocking at my front door. He wanted me to move my car. It was Tuesday, the hottest day of the year, and they had come to lay fresh tarmac on the road that goes from the lower well up towards Waterford.

Yesterday it was even hotter. I drove my car along that fresh tarmac, with the windows down and a light fresh tarmac smell rising from the carriageway. The hedgerows were full of elderflower and wild garlic, and I was pleased the roadmenders had managed to do their work without tearing up any greenery. My village still feels timeless and medieval, even when the road swishes smoothly under my tyres, instead of thunk a thunk thunking like I was on a horse and cart.

It's almost two months since my birthday, and I've hardly posted on my blog at all. I want you all to know that that I've been all right. I haven't been hiding, I haven't been depressed; I've just had way too much work to do. This is a good thing, except when it makes me tired. I am learning to go to bed early.

I am happy - I think - and I will try to get back into the blogging habit in July. I deserve some work life balance. Since May, everything has been endings and beginnings, and I'm doing many, many things for the first time. Got to earn a living. Would rather earn a living that had some integrity. And live long. My learning curve is long, but I trust that it bends toward happiness.

To the friends out there I've been neglecting: I love you and care for you as much as ever I did. Thank you for being someone who brings out the best in me. Your friendship makes me happy.

It's raining today. I like it.