Bored?

If you're reading this rubbish it's possible you have enough time on your hands to waste reading even more rubbish I've written, so you might as well go and see what I think of various musical recordings here. Although, it's easier if I just link you directly to the ones I've written like this and this and...err...this.

Platform One, 9.20am

I am joined on the platform by three girls, three pushchairs, each containing a baby, two children, two blokes and an inordinate amount of gold jewellery. One of the blokes is swigging from a can of lager and smoking a spliff.

As the train approaches the can is thrust onto the track. "Davo!" one of the girls chastises. "Wot?" Davo replies, "I'm keeping someone in a job," he states proudly, apparently without even a trace of irony.

As we stand together amongst the bikes and pushchairs, swaying with the gentle side to side movement of the train, Davo's mate says, "Bit like being drunk, innit?" Davo looks wistfully out of the window and muses, "I don't know what it feels like to be sober."

Sex, Drugs and Floral Inspiration

In my pre-bike ride days, as life seems to be categorised now, I was in 'The Greatest Covers Band in Southampton'. That's not what we called ourselves, that's an actual quote. From my Mum.

Anyway, we used to have a lot of fun, drink a lot of beer, dance like fools and occasionally, but only very rarely, play stuff that you could describe as music.

A few weeks ago, whilst procrastinating yet again, I decided I was bored and needed to up my friend count around here from zero, so I posted a message on a certain 'community website' to see if I could find some like-minded individuals who would like to pretend to play punk rock music whilst getting drunk together.

Next Wednesday, I take my guitar and amp to a rehearsal room down the road to meet Martin, Tom, Andy and Martin's mate. I've met Martin, in a pub one night, but none of us have met any of the others before. We're just going to see what happens.

The rehearsal rooms needed a band name to make the booking. We don't have one, obviously, so I had to make it up on the spot. Next Wednesday night Dandelion Project will be born. Yeah, yeah, I know it's shit.

Jon or Jonathan?

So, I start work on Monday. Not proper work, you understand. Part-time work. I still have a book to write.

I went for a rather excrutiating 'meet the team' morning this week, where I was introduced variously to a number of people who's names and jobs I've forgotten. Most seemed very pleased to see me which I have taken as a bad thing - they've probably got lots of work for me to do. I was also called 'luvvie' quite a lot, mainly, but not exclusively, by rotund women who gave the air of being at least 20 years settled in their current employment. I'm not being horrible - it's just a fact. They do it in shops up here too and I'm sure I never hear them saying it to anyone else. 'Are you alright there luvvie?' Maybe I give the air of a little boy lost. I've yet to be asked if I know where my mummy is, so I guess that's a bonus.

At least it temporarily bypasses the other situation I am always faced with when I start any new employment. The name on my passport, birth certificate and bank account, and therefore all job applications, is Jonathan. Most people I met on my 'meet the team' day asked, as everyone does, 'Do you prefer Jon or Jonathan?' I don't mind, I tell them. 'Well, what do your friends and family call you?' Percy.

That always gets them.