I am testing out some new shorts. By 'new' I mean that I have borrowed them from a friend. And by 'testing out' I mean that I am wearing them whilst sitting at the computer because they were the closest things to me when I decided to clothe myself this morning. They seem to be in good working order.
I am in Ben's house. (This is normal.) The cat is stretched out on the bed, luxuriating in the hot tile of sunshine that is dappling the duvet. Ben went to Devon early this morning, for a meeting. Some terribly nice people want to give him a residency and support him, so he has gone to meet them. He is excited, and has taken his bike for cycling around the countryside when he is not having his meeting. He has also taken lots of books and things to do on the seven hour train journey. He's coming back tomorrow, by which time the cat and the sun may have moved but I may well have not.
The other day Ben brought Last Chance To See back from his Dad's house, at the sight of which my eyes leaped out of my head and did excited dances, what with it being the only Douglas Adams book I've never read. He had already started to read it, so I expected him to have taken it for his train journey, but when I got up I found that he had left it out for me. It seems that have found a man who knows that I cannot wait to read a Douglas Adams book. I am a lucky girl indeed. (Either that or he forgot to pack the book. I do not really care which way round it is. I have the book.)
The cat is shifting, pushing his head back, green eyes fluttering.
I am making preparations to go to Australia! I am trying to think about things in an organized fashion, trying to write lists and plans. Realistically I know that all this means is that for months to come I will be finding small scraps of paper with the word 'Passport' written in them. I have, however, acquired shorts, and found some flip flops. I spoke to a woman I know who works at the airport, about upgrade tactics. I have been giving my skin pep talks, in a bid to explain to it that, though I will try to protect it from Evil Rays, it really must toughen up. Getting all pink and het up after exposure to half an hour of watery Manchester sunshine last week was not, I have informed it, an excellent start. Anyway, I have suncream. Every so often I contemplate getting a haircut for the trip, but then remember that I still have zero money, and have to just hope nobody takes any pictures, or if they do that I can pass myself off as a messy-haired local koala bear.
I am super-excited. Having the trip to look forward to has caused an eruption of enthusiasm in me, which is has been quite fun. It also means, though, that I have things to do before I go. Music to listen to. I am listening to a CD with music to write to and it is very cool, I love it. I am already scribbling down ideas. I also have a website to create. I promised to turn my hand to the site even in spite of the fact that I'm not great at technology. I've had this blog going for nigh on four years and have made no attempt to fancy it up, or indeed even change the "is" in the title so that it begins with a capital letter, as would be proper. (This annoys me every time I see it.)
The other afternoon I went out to meet one of the guys that I did a gig with, who, confusingly, is also called Ben. We exchanged CDs with samples of our music on them (this is the CD I am currently listening to), and I got myself a pint to join him and his friend in the sunshine. Another guy I know turned up for a bit, and my friend Aisling came along as well. We hung around in the sunshine for as long as it took for us all to realize that it was actually no longer warm, then went inside. I had a brilliant evening, not least because I kept looking around and thinking, wait a minute, I made all these friends myself! They're like, people I am friends with! In Manchester! I spent the evening exchanging little coy smiles with myself. In retrospect this may not the best way to maintain friendships.
Ben was down in London, and I was up in Manchester hanging around with my friends. It was a bizarre but excellent feeling. I chatted to lots of people, was inappropriately honest to a woman I'd just met about a man she was interested in ("If he doesn't take your number when you offer it to him, I would say he isn't interested. It's not worth it. Move on."), met a guy who plays with Single Cell Collective and have been in contact since about getting involved with a guerrilla busking thing they're doing, and generally had a wonderful time.
Ben returned from London on Friday, after having spent his time at the G20 protests. We went out in the evening, to Saki Bar for a night called Not4Prophet, which was great, except for the fact that during most of the performances people kept standing in the wrong places so they couldn't hear what was going on. During Ben's set there was a rather rambunctious gentleman in the crowd who decided that the very best thing he could do with himself was to gyrate up against Ben in the manner of every single British man who has ever gone on a Lads' Holiday to Faliraki. There was a moment of uncertainty, when he turned around and handed his beers to his mate, as to whether he was going to dance or smack Ben in the face, but thankfully he chose the former. I'm not sure quite why he took it upon himself to dance quite so provocatively, but Ben threw himself into it as well, and soon we were all watching that most ancient of northern English traditions: two grown, heterosexual* men miming sexual acts to an audience, whilst one of them recites poetry. It was difficult to tell quite how much either of them was enjoying it because both of them, in keeping with real northern protocol, still had their coats on.
*I can only be certain about one of the parties involved.
In two weeks time (on the 24th) I will turn twenty-seven years old! My goodness. I started this blog only a few weeks before my twenty-third birthday, when I was sad. When I didn't know this little cat, his owner, or what it might be like to live in Manchester. I had no idea what the years that have trundled by would contain. I knew I wanted to sing, but no idea what that would involve. I still don't, really. I think that I was less resilient, that receiving an email like the following would have hurt me:
"Whilst you think that I was agressive when we had previous relations
in music.. it was more out of frustration that I ever attacked you..
My reason for this email is this.. I think your writing on Half Full
was great.. And something which people respond to very well.. But you
didnt nail this track.. Your chorus is very sloppy... Did I force this
chorus on you? I dont think so.. you had plenty of time to think about
this track... Music should come from the heart and you certainly have
the talent.. If you can correct the time frame issues I would love to
work with you again."
Now it does not. I understand the meaning behind it, and can merrily post it on the Internet without giving it a second thought. (It is quite funny.) ("Time frame issues?" Excellent. What a cock.)
I didn't know what my life now would be like, how I would recover from some things and find others to mourn. I am so thrilled that this blog is still going, though.
Nothing like a birthday and an insulting email to make one go all reflective. Time to go and listen to some excellent music, I think.