A New Belfry

Bright sides outshine grumpiness and malcontent. Slowly but surely, boxes are emptied and broken down, placed aside for collection by the movers. Soon the remote controls will be found and the television will show the dreadful news from around the world. Somehow we'll find space for all of the kitchen stuff. I'm not sure how. A six foot ten camp family friend claims it's a tardis; far larger on the inside than it seems on the outside. He calls it a blank canvas.

There is a new Belfry, complete with an ensuite roof terrace. There are, as far as I can tell, no armies of spiders and bugs waiting in the shadows to fight their war in the nooks and crannies. There are no low-lying beams waiting to cause irreversible brain damage. The floor doesn't splinter when I roll my desk chair over it. No trees claw their branches along the roof tiles. What it lacks in rustic charm and idiosyncrasies it makes up for in storage space and creature comforts. But, as nice and comfortable as it is, it's not it's not my Belfry. My time here is limited. Borrowed, even. So I best take advantage of it while I can.

No more food poisoning either, which is nice.

And The Blind Boys of Alabama cover of Spirit in the Sky is tremendous. I may have mentioned that before, but I've rediscovered it and am loving it.

Some views from the new Belfry


bright sides

The hotel where I'm staying has a bar called 'The Polo Lounge' - it has saddles for bar stools. So I sat on a saddle at a marble bar and drank beer. When no one was looking, I squeezed my thighs a bit and pretended to ride. Dork? Certainly. Obscenely tacky? Absolutely. Was the barman named Ralph? Sadly, no. But it was a bright part of the day, and I'm not going to take those for granted.


to whom it may concern,

Welcome to the Belfry. Well, I call it the Belfry. Some call it the shed, others the wendy house and I know one person who calls it the studio. But for me it's the Belfry. I thought I'd leave a few tips to help introduce you to the place.

First of all: mind your head. The beams are low. I have several bumps and at least one bout of unconsciousness to prove it. There are only two beams, but even if there were only one in the corner, I probably would have smacked my head against it anyway. They take awhile to get used to. Or at least I think they do. I never did. Up to the very end I continue to crack my cranium against them. I don't mind it as much now. At first I was livid, reading up on engineering and architecture, working out means of replacing them. But they have outlasted me and had the last laugh. It was me knocking my head against them after all - they didn't reach down and batter me. So, after much time, I've forgiven them. Perhaps you will too. Maybe you're short, and don't give a shit. I don't know. But sometimes you need a knock on the head, and they're more than willing to give it to you.

Secondly: don't be arachnophobic. They outnumber you. By a bunch. This is a good thing because there are a lot of bugs. I don't know why, but maybe being at the bottom of the garden has something to do with it. You could spend every day you spend here dusting away spider webs but when you wake up in the morning, there will be more of them. They won't hurt you. I've never had a spider bite, and considering how many of their homes I've destroyed, I figure I've got some karma backlash coming to me. So relax. And maybe try to see how many different ones there are. Because there are a lot. And you probably will only swallow three a year in your sleep tops. Maybe four.

Thirdly: be careful of the staircase. I know that sounds odd, but it's pretty hard and very easy to stub your toe against. The spiral can mess with your spacial awareness. That was my excuse anyway. Better than admitting to just being clumsy.

Fourthly: buy a fan. It gets hot in the summer. Pulling the shades down on the skylight is also advised.

Fifthly: get used to the noise. The trees and those that live in the trees are in constant contact with the roof, leading to an orchestra of odd and unsettling noises that will drag you from the deepest and most peaceful of sleeps. It can be quite disconcerting. In the twilight of half-sleep, where you can't tell the difference between dreams and reality, it can be terrifying. That stops with time. You'll learn to appreciate the shade in the bedroom, and the whisper of the leaves against the roof tiles. It will take awhile though, and there may be nightmares.

Sixthly: use the beer fridge. And remember to shut it.

Seventhly: enjoy it. It's quite a special little building. It was built as an artist's studio. It's been used as a gallery. I've written a big chunk of a novel here. It's a creative place. It's bit hidden. It's not all yours; the bugs, spiders and trees claim some of it, but that's a good thing. In the summer, if you leave the skylights open to get a bit of breeze, the place will be covered in seeds from the tree above. Sometimes it hits you on the head. Sometimes it stubs your toe. You'll swear at it, and then probably hit your head again.

It's all one. And so I leave it to you. Though I must take a small piece with me; just enough to continue my chronicles.

fade

I haven't fiddled with this - just a bit of a long exposure and unsteady hand, but I like the effect. It feels appropriate with the move and, well, everything really. It's a bit blurry.

pertinent question (updated)

Exactly how many pieces of the Berlin Wall does one man need? Because I have a lot, and I'm not sure what, if anything, I will ever do with them.

I've decided that I can't throw them out. So I hereby subject several small chunks of spraypainted concrete to sit in a box, in storage, indefinitely, in the name of posterity.

11th & 8th

Somewhere along the line a new commandment was added, along with another mortal sin; both intertwined with each other like the snakes on a medical symbol (which I've never understood - snakes are poisonous, why do two heal?*).

The 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not throw away back issues of National Geographic

The 8th Mortal Sin: Throwing away back issues of National Geographic

I just threw 15 years of back issues of National Geographic away.

I am so going to hell.

*It turns out two do not heal, and that the use of intertwined snakes was due to a purposeful mistake made on aesthetic grounds, apparently by the US Army Medical Corps. But the use of a snake for health was based on the Ancient Greek belief that the shedding of the snake's skin was a symbol of youth, hence its inclusion - singular - on the staff of Asclepius, the god of medicine. Hermes's staff has 2 snakes, though what 2 snakes intertwined has to do with delivering messages is a mystery. Maybe they're playing Chinese whispers.

5 days

Is not much of a hiatus, but I'm not very good at long-term depression and posting is better than packing.

Ran by Woody Allen shooting a scene on the river today. Couldn't tell who the actors were. Made my morning. I thought stuff like that only happened in Manhattan. Or LA.

hiatus

I'm taking a break from The Belfry Chronicles. My other blogs, Wine Rant and the much neglected St Andrews Noir, will get more attention. In fact, they'll all have new new posts within the next day or so.

The Chronicles are about my life, and I don't want to write about that at the moment. The writing's been forced of late and the topics are flat out depressing. I don't really see much change to that in the next month.

A few of you have emailed, phoned, texted and commented - that's been appreciated. I don't want people to worry or read this as some sort of need for help. I'm ok. Everything is going to be ok. Some things, for me, are better than they've been in ages. But too much is excruciating at the moment to keep a public diary. And I don't want to turn this into some bollocks humorous link page.

So seek other joy on the net. The squid's writing's been good - with great tunes to boot. And Irony has started posting again, which is cool.

I'll be back late August or early September. But I won't be in the Belfry.

Any news, or chat, will be much appreciated over the next few weeks.

What he said

This appeared in the Independent the other day:
"So long as we are loved by others I should say that we are almost indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend."
- Robert Louis Stevenson
His family built most of the lighthouses that dot Britain's coast. Not a lot of people know that.

equilibrium

Me: Go away.

Inner Nagging Voice: I didn't say anything.

Me: You were going to.

INV: How do you know?

Me: Because. You're me.

INV: Oh, yeah.

Me: You remind me that you're me everytime you nag me, so don't go all innocent on me now.

INV: Ok, ok.

Me: So what is it? Are you going to tell me to cheer up?

INV: No.

Me: Good. Because sometimes I think cheering up is bullshit. And I'm a pretty cheery guy by nature.

INV: You used to be.

Me: Is this really the time?

INV: You used to be the life and soul of every party. Hell, you used to have parties at the drop of a hat. Remember stair surfing?

Me: This is inappropriate.

INV: Why?

Me: Well, news - in general - is bad. Both at home and abroad. And I just think that you giving me grief because I'm not the party animal I used to be is in poor taste. So fuck off.

INV: It's not the party animal thing.

Me: Well then what is it? Because at the moment there's a bombardament of awful things happening to those nearest and dearest, lives in turmoil and all that shit and I cannot do anything about and that is just fucking rubbish and I had a party last weekend thank you very much.

INV: Breathe. So you're feeling sorry for yourself because of dreadful things happening to other people?

Me: I'm not going to apologise for being upset at what's happening.

INV: Being upset is fine. You're allowed to be upset. You need to be upset. If you weren't upset, that would be frightening. But feeling sorry for yourself - no. That's not right.

Me: Why? Why can't I have a break and feel sorry for myself? Why can't I have a mope?

INV: Because it's not happening to you. Because you are living and breathing and are still getting news that is good, because you're writing and writing with belief and conviction, because you're trying to chase a dream and be true to yourself, and that's what's best for you and that's what all those people, the friends and family who may be hurting now, who may be happy now, want - the best for you, not because it would make you happy, but because it's you. And sitting around moping over uncertainties is easier than pushing ahead in spite of them. Get over yourself.

Me: That was pretty cheesy.

INV: Fuck you.

Me: I'm going to post that picture of the thistles.

INV: Whatever floats your boat.

Me: You were right, of course.

INV: I know.

Me: Well, you are part of me after all.

Thistles on the Thames - how apt
Someone's dying. The hospital sent them home with painkillers and 6-8 weeks of life. Family and friends cry but try to smile. He's had an amazing life, they say.

But that doesn't mean it should be over yet.

crescendos


I am a Proms convert - I'd never been but always liked the idea of them. A summer-long music festival - what's not to like? Something to admire from afar. So I was chuffed to go last night, to stop paying lip service to it and actually see what it was like. The tickets we got were only a tenner, and some are only a fiver. That's the best deal in the world. Most cocktails cost more.

It was hot. But even in the stifling heat - so hot there was a mist in the rafters of the Royal Albert Hall - it was brilliant. More pervasive than the heat was the enthusiasm, both from the audience and the stage. Not just for the music but for the ceremony, the event, everything, like the orchestra is greater than the sum of its parts, so too is the Proms, the crowd, the Hall, the musicians and even Mozart and Dvorák, long past but still present. Our seats were way up, just below the arches. It wasn't the best view, but we could hear and feel the music and the sense of scale was incredible.

And the Queen was there. Bit of a surprise, that. She gave someone a prize. Then, unprompted, the audience, including me, sang 'Happy Birthday' and gave her three cheers. I sang 'Happy Birthday' to the Queen. I'm such a dork.

When I got home the BBC coverage was on - hi res and impressive, but slightly clinical. It didn't seem to be the same event. The energy, the heat, the thrill of feeling the strings as though they were your own sinews, the rumble of the percussion and haunting horns replaced with clean editing and digitally filtered sound. They didn't even show us singing 'Happy Birthday'.

80 years young

A computer test last week claimed my brain was 80 years old, but with training could return to a nimble and youthful 50.

I only just turned 30.

I figured the test must be flawed. I checked. The test was not flawed, but the way I took it was. I couldn't even do it right.

I tried to look on the bright side, thinking that an 80 year-old has a wealth of wisdom earned by years of playing the game called life.

But this didn't test wisdom. It tested response times to simple brain teasers and arithmetic.

So I started doing the training - it's kind of addictive. It's the stuff you secretly liked in primary school - fast sums and that sort of thing. There's memory stuff as well. There are drawbacks - a 3d floating head of the Japanese scientist that invented the game mocks you if your scores slip and laughs at its own dreadful jokes. That's creepy.

But I've dropped 53 years in just over a week. Which makes my brain 3 years younger than the rest of me. I think learning how to take the test helped.

Oh, and just because your idea's rubbish doesn't mean it won't make you millions. I like the LaserMonks. They sound kind of like Jedis, but for printers.

In other news, London's an oven. In fact, scratch that, Britain's an oven at the moment. Except for North West Scotland, which is more like a weak heat lamp. With every news service chiming in on the thermal meltdown of Wales and everywhere else, I thought I'd throw my two cents in as well.
  • People, it is summer. Summer is, by its very nature, a hot time of year - much like winter is a cold time of the year.
  • When you say it's the hottest summer in history, you are guilty of sensationalist, dreadful, irresponsible journalism and should be ashamed of yourselves.
  • Global warming is probably responsible. This is like standing in the rain and muttering that it's the drops making you wet. Climate is not a constant. Nothing on the planet is a constant. It is dynamic, in constant flux and whether the cause is human or natural, the effect is the same. The last 25 million years or so is the only period in the earth's 4 billion years that it's been temperate enough for ice to cover both poles. So for 160th of the planet's history, there's been weather systems that we would consider 'normal'. Just suppose we did manage to curb global warming, and the planet decides to fuck us with her own climate change, one that we can't blame on emissions? Do we adapt, or try to fix it?
That was my weather rant. Sorry, it's hot up here.

tomes & tunes

I've broken a cardinal rule - I'm reading three books at once. Well, not actually at the same time - that would be like Mad Libs on crack - but they're all next to my bed, bookmarks embedded, marking where I was when I grabbed the next book.

Don Quixote
Love in the Time of Cholera
Almost Like a Whale - an updated Origin of the Species

Blues and classical music fill the Belfry at the moment. Again, not at the same time.

Stevie Ray Vaughn and Albert King's In Session (Live)
BB King's King of the Blues
Orff, Carmena Burana
Vivaldi & Bach, Gloria in D - Magnificat in D
KT Tunstall's Acoustic Extravaganza and back to the beginning again.

On an unrelated note, today I shut the blinds on the skylights in the Belfry. Seven years of higher education and it occurs to me only after weeks of slow-roasting that shutting the blinds just might help cool things down.