I'm not sure this is a good idea....

.....But I think it's important that I do this, so that when I stumble upon it in a few months I'll remember the things that I realised about myself.

It's been an odd winter, that much can be read within the paragraphs of over analytical, seasonally affected ramblings I've been trawling through on this blog. I only really ever post here with the strong knowledge that nobody reads it other than a few close comrades, somehow that makes it easier to voice things that would otherwise stay internal (or certainly off the internet). I've been struggling with some medical issues, as anyone who's seen me in real life and has functioning eyesight will vouch for. A few years ago I started having minor problems with my skin, having got through the delights of adolescence fairly acne free I was pretty annoyed that my hormones decided to come back and bite me at the age of 20. However, with some potions and lotions and a little help from the NHS it's mostly been fine. The attitude I take towards my health is governed by the phrase 'it could be worse!'. In hindsight I should have touched some wood or rubbed a lucky charm upon exclaiming this........because it has got worse. My prescribed potions stopped working at the beginning of the winter, then I think due to being run down and unhappy it became infected, then it seems that I'm unable to respond to antibiotics. Skip to the end.

I've told myself many things; it's not cancer, everybody's too busy worrying about their own crap to care how you look, it won't be forever. But it's amazing how something so trivial can literally affect everything you do. I find it hard to be at work because I know how I must appear to colleagues and customers, I wouldn't want to have to look at me all day that's for sure. It weeps, it bleeds. It wakes me up at night, partly because it hurts, also because I have overly dramatic dreams where I wake up and it's gone. So I wake up, and it's not gone. A lot of the time I don't want to socialise, I certainly don't want to see anybody I've been in any way romantically involved with (or considered the possibility of being). Getting up on a stage, or under a bright light to perform music has been very hard, I feel that little bit more exposed. I've stopped going swimming, which I love, because I got a few audible comments, and a couple of mutters;

"I hope it's not infectious, I wouldn't want to catch that".

Amongst all this there has been some revelations, things that are important that I keep with me, lessons that need to be remembered. Because you know what? It really and truly doesn't matter what you look like to most people, and even when you feel it does you can still keep a smile on your face and look them right in the eyes. It's only when you look your worst that you learn how to lose your vanity. I never thought of myself as beautiful but I was more pre-occupied with my appearance than I should have been, once you lose the option of looking and feeling pretty it stops mattering. I'm going to feel great once it starts clearing up, which I'm confident it will as my hardcore hospital treatments kick in (3-6 months maybe....I'm learning patience too) but ultimately I'm glad it's happened. It's taken feeling right down low about myself to allow me to feel the best about myself.

Had a heated discussion with my sister about getting a tattoo, I've been trying to complete a design for a half sleeve for about 4 years now. I just discovered Thomas Hooper's work, which I adore. If only I had the plane fare to New York....

Anyway; "Well, I think if you're doing it for reasons other than aesthetics, the design has purpose and you've really thought about it then you're always going to be happy with it, no matter how your body changes. If there's one thing I've learnt recently it's that people can find anything to judge you on; look at her skin, aren't her arms flabby, that tattoo looks awful. It genuinely means nothing, it's a fleeting moment, it's you who has to stand in front of a mirror and see yourself for the rest of your life. People mark and scar themselves because they aren't comfortable with who they are, I love the idea that you might mark or scar yourself because you are completely comfortable with who you are. That's the biggest draw for me."

In response to her telling me that she worries a lot about the way she looks, especially as she gets older. This made me sad, she really is beautiful;

"Why worry though? If you really look at yourself you'll see you're totally beautiful, even the bits that make you feel like you're not. Other people can influence it but ultimately it's all about you. It affects the way you see people. Like I don't look at mum and see the negatives of age or think she should lose a few pounds, I see the lovely laughter lines around her eyes and how the way she holds herself shows how open she is with everyone. I'm not saying I'm never going to get down about myself, or wish I looked like someone else. However I am going to make a real effort to see my external self as the result of a life lived, experience had and choices made."

Over and Out

Hogmanay

I would desperately like to be able to say how much better everything feels. How revived I am at the prospect of a new year. Unfortunately I absolutely loathe new years with all it's little reminders of how fast life goes by and how much of that life we spend wishing we were living somebody else's. No, I'm sorry but January can really fuck off. February, however, will bring contemplation and a feeling of impending productivity. By March I will be full of the joys of the coming spring and all it's wondrous hope.

There are exciting things coming up for this year. The EP recording is finally scheduled for the first week in February. In the mean time I'm trying to start writing again, or at least trying to get some ideas, it's like attempting to unblock a particularly stubborn drain. There's some deadlines, I want a new set of songs to start performing once the EP is finished, so I can properly lay to rest the old stuff. I also have a song to write for the Barefeet Records compilation which will be out in April (http://barefeetrecordsmusic.bigcartel.com/). After all this I'm planning on taking a hiatus in the late spring and going to visit my father in southern Spain. He's renovating an old house out there at the moment and I'm offering my (very limited) skills in return for bed and board. We have an odd way of avoiding being with one another for long periods of time due to being overly similar and prone to driving each other insane. I'm not sure that spending a few weeks working together in an old house is the best way of confronting this.

I'm hoping 2011 will be much like 2010 but with more of the good stuff and less of the bad stuff.

So far I seem to be spending much of it alone, I'm never comfortable imposing myself on others when I'm in such a funk. But, as a very wise and gentle man wrote to me, it isn't winter forever.....

Electric heaters and multiple layers.

I haven't written anything for a while, not online, or in a book, or as a lyric. Starting to get that sinking feeling I get around this time of year where I feel like an impostor, some court jester doing a constant impersonation of myself. People tell you they write songs, diaries or journals for themselves, to hold memories, isn't there always an element of seeking approval? Can you ever really write honestly about yourself if there's a constant feeling that you're trying to portray something, that you want the reader or listener to think of you in a certain way. It makes me terrified of ever uttering a word again, for fear that all I am is the perception I want people to have of me. I'd like to convince myself that there is an essence to who we are. That, despite adapting to others and surroundings, we have a core to us that is strong and true. I desperately want to believe that when stripped of my relationships and interactions, I can still be truly myself.

I think I need to hole up somewhere remote for the winter, possibly every year for the rest of my life. Just to stop me spouting crap like this........

Here's to you, you delicious broad.

The view from the first jetty at Whitlingham.

From this spot I have;

considered letting icy waters fill my lungs

swam with the ducks and lovers

drunk from a solid silver hip flask

shed clothing and skin

celebrated birthdays

chain smoked

formed bonds.

Spring forwards, Fall back.

I've been going through piles of old photographs. Me and my school friends are meeting up for a reunion of sorts, a celebration of 15 years of being friends, and I wanted to find some pictures of us to take along. In the process of this I've found some beautiful things. The photo here for instance, I'm obsessed with it, which is odd as it was taken 10 years before I was born and I have no relationship to either of the people in it. The girl is called Kitty, she was at school with my mother. A few years ago my mum spent a summer looking for her old school friends, they all found each other, except for Kitty. Every photo my parents have of her makes me shiver, I don't know if it's her beauty, or the mystery, the made up stories of what might have become of her that pop into my head. She's like some mythical, ethereal creature. The man in the photograph is called Bruce, he lived with my parents for a while in the late 1970's. He died in a motorbike accident not long after this was taken, my dad has vividly recalled to me many times the knocking on the door, the stern police officer, having to phone Bruce's mother. I'm not sure why I'm writing about this, I think that seeing photos like this make me think about being young and uncertain, then looking back and seeing the fragility of it all.

I'm so acutely aware of time passing, and I wonder how it feels to have this huge expanse of life behind you. My mum's birthday was Tuesday, and today I found this photo of her, she would have been about 15. She was so beautiful, she still is........

I was woken up today by somebody talking sharply on the radio, which made me realise I must have left it on all night, which would explain why my dreams felt a bit like a series of Radio 4 dramas, there was one where I was playing support for Lou Reed but I won't get into that now. After switching it over to my iTunes and trying to get back to sleep, I found myself caught out by the shuffle button. This often happens, because I am a nostalgic fool and so much of the music I love reminds me specifically of a time and place. Today it was demos sent to me by somebody I was desperately trying to be involved with, both romantically and musically. Neither of these things worked out, and I was undeniably very upset about it all. So despite being all fine and settled now, I will never be able to hear his voice singing without feeling like someone is emotionally punching me in the stomach all over again. I think that's what being heartbroken feels like, a good, solid smack in the abdomen. I was talking with my good friend about this the other day, as people who hoard things, both relics and memories. It made me wonder if people like us can ever really have a hope of moving on, considering that a letter, photograph or a song will put us straight back into the midst of it all. However, everyone does this to some degree, no? It's the same with writing a song about something hard and painful, which is what so many songs are about, as performing will always make you think of that something. There's no conclusion to all of this, because there's nothing that I or anybody else can really do about their character. If I wasn't like this, I wouldn't write music, or have boxes full of old love letters, or songs sung by past lovers on my iTunes.

In less rambling news I'm gigging a fair bit over the next couple of months, I try to keep the myspace updated with a list of them. There's a particular exciting one involving Rob Young.....

over and out.