31 st may.

31/05/2007

10:22
As you can see, yesterday came to a halt with the arrival of the Whisky.
As feared he stayed and shared three or four joints and between us we finished half a bottle of Scotch. But I enjoyed it and that’s what matters.

Got up today just in time to get refuse bins out, so no worries about contents stinking while I’m away.
Weather is better today, sunny with very little breeze, tempting conditions to do some weeding and possibly give the car a wash.
Will see how I feel after first joint of day.
Have paid a visit to the porcelain and probably due to the amount of sliced ham I ate last night I had no troubles chopping a heavy weight log!
Always makes one feel better.

Had a really good sleep, only problem at first was getting neck into a comfortable position, sheets smelt nice and it felt good to be in a clean comfortable bed.

Must have been a good sleep because the neck muscles are hardly making a sound as I move head from side to side.
Cannot see me having a lot of gear left for the week’s break, will have to more frugal today and tomorrow.


31/05/2007

10:22
As you can see, yesterday came to a halt with the arrival of the Whisky.
As feared he stayed and shared three or four joints and between us we finished half a bottle of Scotch. But I enjoyed it and that’s what matters.

Got up today just in time to get refuse bins out, so no worries about contents stinking while I’m away.
Weather is better today, sunny with very little breeze, tempting conditions to do some weeding and possibly give the car a wash.
Will see how I feel after first joint of day.
Have paid a visit to the porcelain and probably due to the amount of sliced ham I ate last night I had no troubles chopping a heavy weight log!
Always makes one feel better.

Had a really good sleep, only problem at first was getting neck into a comfortable position, sheets smelt nice and it felt good to be in a clean comfortable bed.

Must have been a good sleep because the neck muscles are hardly making a sound as I move head from side to side.
Cannot see me having a lot of gear left for the week’s break, will have to more frugal today and tomorrow.

After doing battle to retrieve my pictures after dropping the collection into the wrong file, I decide my holiday began yesterday and therefore today is a continuation.

I turn up the volume of the chill out vibes stream and gaze at the sky wondering if the gathering clouds will put their seal of approval on my plans to remain inactive in my recliner for the best part of the day, by depositing rain upon the outside world, rendering venturing abroad an unfeasible option.

I will see if being in better company today will enrich the effect of the lump.
A pint pot of weak tea and a tumbler of whisky water and orange remaining from last night are beside me on the table.

Before I inevitably end up travelling along the crooked by ways of my mind I will dwell for a while on the quality of the company yesterday, to aid in the above research topic and to provide the obligatory yardstick against which I will decided upon the enjoyment factor of today’s session.

Because session is what its going to be; half way down the second joint, it has in fact gone out on me while typing.

Spark it up!

Stone is creeping on, I keep a watchful eye on the amount of white smoke coming from the joint in my left hand.

One through the fist to help matters along.

One becomes four and I swallow the globules of gunk which have slowly trickled from the back of the inside of my head and waits patiently at the top of my throat till I use several swallowing motions to cut it up into manageable chunks to allow the swallowing.
Must be akin to drinking from a spittoon.
I then take full advantage of the newly found ability to actually breath through my nose, I breath in deeply and a enjoy same.

Always breath better when stoned.
Must be something to do with its proven ability to “open up the tubes”.

Proven by whom? You may ask.

Millions of smokers and sufferers world wide for one and doctor’s studies for two.

They also found that cannabis helps terminally ill cancer patients.
A friend of mine in the last stages took dope off me to control the vomiting, help her breath and regain her appetite all in one.

Also found was a great tool when dealing with anxious people who come to you with a problem and are in an agitated state.
Sit ‘em down with a spliff and strip the outer casings of the problem as one would skinning an onion and keep going till eventually the problem loses its seriousness and become so much smaller, not disregarded just compressed to basics thus giving options for solutions.

Never seen an anorexic smoking a joint!

Which brings me nicely onto the subject of munchies.

I propose the statement that “Pothead’s” fridges are among the cleanest in the land.
Take for instance I opted for the immediately obvious quickest option of consuming the remnants of the packet of sliced ham because it was instantly available, no fuss.
Mustard, pickle; layers of, in between bread was enough to satisfy the taste buds.

I was talking about the company so I will return to it for a while.

I break to skin, as I did several times yesterday in his company so to keep him amused I put on a slide show of the pictures in my collection,
Sounds like some rich guy bragging about an art collection!
I had always planned to use the extra few inches of the monitor to view art.
He insisted on talking about each and every one as soon as the picture appeared he never took time to look before speaking.
Of course I couldn’t control the speed of the show while skinning up and he beagan to complain about the length of viewing time.

I eventually sparked up and we went trough pics again with mouse in control.
He then took the time to look and study and on some of the more surreal he succeded in twice pointing out something to me which had been blatently obvious but I’d missed when viewed.

Some of his comments were interesting, I was surprised.
Whisky on ice and lemonade began to flow, At one point I made the mistake of saying help yourself and a very generous measure was poured, double the doubles I normally pour.
=if>2*2,big,small,
I took note but thought to myself you will suffer, I edged my bets by saying there was no lemonade left, hence the glass of whisky and water/orange next to me.

We then progressed to videos as he told me of his plans to Grow Cannabis in the trees around our estate.
I then had the first hankerings for my own company.

He then went on about the screen picture I have of the skull bike,
(see pics below).
He then went on about his plans to “build a trike form a van”,
I pointed out there wasn’t that much room in an upstairs, one bedroomed flat,
Two bedroomed, maybe, but one, a none starter.
I have now finished the third, shocked at the very thought I check the ashtray and find only two roaches.
Predicament is I have only two single skins left!
Momentarily I panic, but for no reason I twist round in the chair to look at the floor behind and sure enough there is a packet of joint papers and three quarters of a cardboard box for roaches.
No need to move.
Sun streams through, not yet alighting on the righteous, but hell I ain’t going anywhere in a hurry.

Sparked up and away again.

I later tried a few film snips but all he wanted to do was talk over the soundtrack and ask fucking onane TV trivia questions,
What was the name of, who is that who was that etc.
Really pissed me off!

He then asked me what the sounds were, I replied “Chill out vibes”, he nodded then began to go on about the well known and fondly remembered stoner’s favourite tracks/ artists from the 70,s, 80,s and 90,s.
I’ve just spent the last year throwing every connection I had to those same tracks out of my life forever!

That’s why I’m stoned listening to lyric free, pure mix of sounds.

Then he told me some family history, some of his other plans for the future, his wishes, and of course what he will do with the money he says he is getting.
Poor bugger never seems to get it!

By this time I’ve almost lost the will to live, am laid fully reclined, neck as solid steel, surfing the pages with some urgency in a bid to find either something interesting, which may shut him up.
Obviously the page would have to be prodominently picture orientated, any print would have to be huge, Why?
Because he refuses to put his specs on, preferring to lean right forward in the chair!
A practise best avoided in a genuine 60’s vinyl rock and swivel!! Hence my preference for the recliner.

He would crane his neck and read what he could in the same slow, insane voice of a youngster struggling with their first reading assignment.

God that annoyed me,
Listening to a stoned huy trying to read a joke off a monitor in that way of speaking would have been hilarious but it wasn’t.

He then got a glimpse of my home page and noticed the Buddhist quotes,
They were in the biggest lettering so it was obvious he would fix on them first.
He then saw the featured work of art, which happened to have been selected from the Church and Art section.
Trigger fired and Bang, I had to listen to his views on religions, finishing off by telling me the facts about the birth of the partnership, which lead to the production of “Wallace and Grommet.”
He did give me laugh, we had been scanning the news pages briefly and then I switched to my blog and he saw the song titles on the Blogs’ jukebox.

“He never fucking is!”, he proclaimed in a louder than usual voice.
I forget to mention, I think he is going deaf; he talks loud!

“Is what”, I chirped,
“Sixty fucking nine”,
“WHO?”, I asked.
“Bryan Adams is never fucking 69 years old”,
My head wobbled wildly from side to side the motions of a jittery string puppet, like the old favourites; I forget, yes that’s them The Thunder birds.
Head eventually returned form its trip to the left and centred upon the monitor.
Inspiration.
“That’s the fucking song title you Pillock!”
“Bryan Adams, 69 short for summer of, I presume.

Quick slurp of cold tea.
I favour cold tea as the perfect companion when getting stoned and chilled.
A very small amount of tea in the mouth will replace the dry sandpaper feeling almost instantly.

Also another tip, if you ever get any absolutely shit alcohol, i.e. bootleg whisky, add cold tea and you’re away, also if you get a really strong liquor then cold tea is often only thing that’ll mix with it to calm it down.
Failing that boil up some cherry lips, will mix with anything deemed strong.
Took weeks of research to come up with the above solution.
Several of us had bought some polish vodka and couldn’t find anything to make it palatable, until, one day my mate was making tea for his young ‘un who was due from school.
She arrived clutching bag of sweets and dutifully offered her father one.
He grabbed the bag and tipped the contents into a pan then into the vodka.
Imagine the phone conversation when he informed me.
A lot of “Fuck off’s”, “No really?” followed by even more “FUCK off’s”.
So now you know, cold tea for Whisky and Cherry lips for Bootleg vodka”.
Talking of cold tea, one of the easiest wines to brew, costs next to nothing for
Materials and is quite pleasant. Also carrot whisky, surprisingly good, I’ve even substituted on whisky drinkers!

A little quandary. (Possibly correct word).
I drank 40 Wood’s rum and peps and was legless on my birthday.
I drank 40 different whiskies and was the soberest of twelve guys who had stuck to beer. I was sober and was most annoyed to find club house closed when we returned to camp following the session.

People say “Potheads”, lose control of their lives.
Well if having control of one’s life is deemed controlling one’s environment then how much control do you want?

I finish preparing fourth one, typing, very few spelling mistakes, mainly picked up on grammar and structure.

Just realised, the old Bi-focals can be a bit of a nuisance when stoned, the blurry section is to be avoided at all costs.
Frightens the fucking life out of me sometimes when I’m driving, if I look to the left and down at an approaching car it looks to be a tremendously lot nearer, can be a bit of a shock at times.

As a finale he got on his mobile and began discussing the merits of the last consignment of gear, names mentioned and everything.
I took the opportunity to exercise my neck and slowly shook my head from side to side in disbelief.
I toyed with the idea of explaining the danger of such conversations on mobiles but decided not to.

You don’t need CCTV cameras to crack crime just tap and filter the fucking phones, their address and even their location is there of any likely suspect.

As part of the phone conversation a meet was set in 15 minutes.
My heart fair soured with relief.
He stopped himself from gagging and forced the remainder of the whisky down, settled himself for the task of rising from the chair, staggered to his feet and was gone.

I celebrated by skinning up, glanced at the clock, nearing nine, had missed my usual TV programmes so continue with using web for my amusement.

Nothing is pressing to be deemed urgent therefore I shouldn’t feel guilty about doing absolutely nothing for the best part of two days.
Perhaps that dates from the times when most pleasure came at an unacceptable price, i.e. early cannabis use, (70’s) usually meant harassment once you were flagged.

Trying to explain that 16-ounce of home grown was for personal use!
Stands to reason you only have one greenhouse crop per year so that amount is the yield and has to last eight months, (was originally nine months but hell dividing 16 by nine!).
2Ounce per month, perfectly simple.

There’s some voice on the sounds track calling loyal members to church no doubt, not in mood for that, am glad when the synth takes over.

I look at the synth and recall I have two music applications to master and the instruction manual. I may leave that till winter.

Could this be an example of cannabis fuelled mental health problems?

A guy embarks upon a project.
Sign of bi-polar disorder.
Some one who embarks upon projects.

Sit down yer daft twat!

I like to plan projects and as often as not ideas come at all times of the year, the ones which cannot be started, i.e. reason to postpone till winter is firstly I don’t want to miss the summer.
Simply logical to earmark as winter project as early as June.

I feel the need to defend my actions i.e. explain them in simple terms in case any medical staff use it against me as a reason for another sectioning.

Another obvious sign of disorder is..
The inability, to finish projects.

ECDL almost completed.
Home entertainment centre/office established,
Flower garden conversion, of aged unkept lawn.

Had to take time out to wipe the joint dust off the keys, most of which are in danger of being bunged up with tobacco strands and ash.

Word of warning I was asked what I’d been doing cooped up in the same room for four years working with computers, instruments and audio equipment.
A guy talking of using audio equipment which he obviously doesn’t possess materially and uses vitually.
I explained I rarely used the Internet, preferring to wander around the “other” nets, I really dug a hole for myself when I tried to explain that it is possible to simply use the internet connection as a means of replying to an electronic handshake, a place to receive or accept redirection.
I talked of my audio work how I could play notation and imagine the voice.

Another big mistake!
Beepers hear voices.
This fact was held against me.
I laughed in their faces when the panel asked do I hear voices,
“All the fucking time”, I laughed out in jest.
Realising my mistake I explained my keyboard was full of recorded voices, then further explained the term voice refers to an instrument, each having its own number for selection.
“Fucking voices”, I muttered after returning to a relaxed posture on the chair in front of them, a couple were dying to giggle, others seemed to adapt a reddish hue to their cheeks, I knew I had them.

“What about all the writing, I was asked, none of it seems to make sense.
I replied that nothing makes sense when a computer threatens to crash so everything that is done to rectify the matter has to be written down because to be truthful , when desperately running out of time most attempts are trial and error, so a log of all changes allows the usual to rectify some of the uneccessary changes.
They then used abbreviations, for rooms and tests, they late rexplained.
I told them I do not like being spoken in sentences peppered with abbreviations known only to the medical staff.
They took offense at that.
I went on to spout a dozen or so computer abbreviations at them then quick as a flash asked them to tell me what the abbreviations stood for.
They couldn’t.
“Fucking abbreviations”, I mouthed as I leant back, once again, into the comfort of the staff chair.
Differs from patients issue chairs, which offers far less support. I digress.
They asked why I spent so much time in the room why didn’t I go out and find out what was happening in the world outside, meet people.
I replied I could get all the news I required, both national and local, could speak and see anyone I chose to on line in the world.
The fact that I choose now to remain isolated as apposed to being on cam whilst working in room.

Thread; well and truly severed, all memory gone, goldfish.

Was in short quite an entertaining interview.
There was one interview I missed. Bloody important that missing turned out to be.
I was stoned out of my head in the bath in my usual room, the nurses informed me the doctor was and had been waiting some time to see me.
They continue telling me every half hour for the next 5 hours, I remained in the room with digital radio for company, I was sorted.

On one of our previous meetings the trick cyclist was accompanied by one of the staff who I didn’t particularly like, he began asking too many questions so I asked if some very personal questions about his rumoured sexuality, really pissed him over and got him biting.
He turned the hospital upside down looking for my stash and all the while it was safely stashed in….?
Yes, bound to.
You never know when you will be back in.

Spark up.
On the next meeting, you got one every Monday to see yu and gauge progress.
She got me angry and I swore!
She told me in no uncertain terms of her utter distaste for the fuck word.
I began to smile as she told me off then as soon as she was finished I sprung into my “how versatile is the fuck word in the English language?” Trip.
She didn’t like that AT all, at all.
My parting quote was “GO fuck yourself”.

Hence the reason I didn’t really want to see her the following Monday when I was enjoying bathroom total experience.

Cost me an extra week for my indulgence, which in turn, had the knock on effect of having all my benefits stopped, enquires made; disruption followed for over four months to once established payments.
I saved a lot of pennies keeping the extra check as one department caught up with its neighbouring department and back dated cheques were to be expected quite regularly.

So when I was left alone last night I had the afore mentioned sarnies washed down with milk, whisky water and orange juice; no wonder successful evacuation this morning.

Can’t beat a piss when you are stoned and a stiff shit when you are constipated.

Saw a therapist telling a patient to go to their imagined favourite place,
I never have far to go and do not se the sense in imagining it when you can go there regularly.

Once again I remind you to go to Save netradio.org and voice your opinion, at least sign the petition.

learnt a bit of font formatting there, was too idle to go over the lowercase.
oops!

MY BLADDER CALLS OUT FOR RELIEF, fucking caps! not caps!

Not too clever piece of formatting when you forget to take it off.

I turn on the flashlight of logic and turn round.
The light shines on the old decayed brick walls of a corridored space, the light shows only the gloom of the dark in the entrance to each alleyway.
Those are my trains of thought and I am now in the middle of an intense blackness.
I as usual know not where I have been and therefore along which alleyways I’ve already travelled.
Having this lack of information I can no longer plan to move ahead with any likely hood or keeping the glimmer of a link to my previous ramblings.
Just one decision needs making.
Which direction to turn in?
Everything is constant and behind you when you stand in the centre of a presumed circle.
The old stone is moving into reflective mood, and I sink deeper accordingly.
Nice harmony between the stone and the sounds.

I drain the last few dregs of the tea and replace it with a glass of whisky, waiting for the muse.

I often pause what I’m doing when the joint reaches the last third, time to concentrate on the smoking /sounds.

Now there’s a title for a music folder to grace anyone’s play lists.
Anyone already got a good collection to share.
Or are we all too idle to make collections and listen to something over and over and over and over, get the idea? Again?

I remember pea for relief from bladder; an organ I geberally listen so,
OOPS!, can’t say I hear things, no I listen to the old bladder,
Saves pissing myself.
I make mental vow to same organ” as soon as joints finished”.

See I must be in need of the services of the mental health authority,
I not only talk to myself, I choose to talk and listen to specific organs in my own body!

I finish the j and make good my pledge.
Four minutes, not one of my longer ones, but I was glad there was a wall behind the cistern and I could use good old gravity to provide the propulsion.
I’m stood listening to the sounds and it resembled radio interference, I return to chair and sure enough it is somewhat disjointed, too much for my liking, that’ ‘s the first track today to have annoyed me in the least.
What am I listening to?

Told you earlier, chill out vibes on radio 777

Often puzzled me why I turned my back on music, which had kept me trapped in adoration for decades. I can trace the beginning of my attempts to remove all ties with the past musically to the night I experienced the blues while playing an electric guitar in a renumbering position which would no way allow head in a position to view fingers on fret board.
I had thrown aside all the knowledge I had stored about music, forgotten restrictions of etiquette, music theory, and stumbled briefly upon an hour or so of almost enlightenment as to the abject simplicity of what I was actually doing to produce a pleasing sound experience.
It was an experience, which I realised, would probably never be repeated so made mental instruction to myself to let it run for as long as it chose; and true enough I’d forgotten when I awoke later that day.
The feelings felt and the almost autonomous way I had arranged awkward illogical chord shapes. Plucking rather than strumming, laying down on strings, mix of all styles.

Following that I gave away the guitar and amp not wanting to get tied up with myself by chasing after any possibility of a repeat.
I then had turned my attentions to my Yamaha and was with the help of the amp/digital converter was experiencing a purity of sound never before heard.
I played and allowed the natural resonance of the sound to gover its longevity.
Played thousands and thousands of different sounds, listening intently to their beginnings middles and fadings, remembering how long each one had lasted and then fading similar lasting sounds into and out of them.
I taught myself to understand the sound, forget the instrument forget the dots just play with the sounds.

My musical collection went next; I stood outside the house and tried to give them away, later resorted to throwing them under the wheels of passing motorists.
Was arrested for that, I admit to having been in the misty midst of an all out episode.

I had amasses a lot of media, vinyl, tapes. Videos, my thirst for collecting using the p.c. was such that hundreds of hours would be downloaded each week and put onto 24hr+ discs to accompany successive sessions.

It was when I got the idea for a winter project,(feeble attempt to plant a tenuos link to previous text).

I’ll put everything on disc!
Why?

I had taken to listening to the radio for several months previously.
I’d have the finger on the tuner and flick from station to station, snippets of sounds allowed to play for differing lengths of time ranging from a few second to a few minutes.
I used movements of the tuner, ever so slight movements to produce different levels of distortion and could eventually enjoy myself by merging adjacent sounds together with a short piece of distortion.
I could pick several station positions out and use the sounds currently being played as samples and mixed them together in some what staccato method which was often interrupted by the tuning in too early or too late and a different unexpected sound would provide the ideal passage you would have wanted.
Lyrics were generally avoided unless they were foreign or talking i.e. a brief snatch of commentary or news.
Eventually I have steered clear of all but the smallest dose of lyrics.
Preferring the sound to centre stage.

As you can see, sticking to the above genre and forsaking everything else makes it quite easy to choose what is not wanted.
People want their surroundings minimalist and uncluttered well that’s how I like my sounds.

The problem with being a keyboard playering sight-reader there are several things lacking to equip one to play similar.
No two tracks are alike, there is no defining restrictions, no trait, no artist is recognised because I listen blind.

Which brings me nicely onto another topic but along the same lines and inextricably linked this time.

Memory, my mate has a flat full from floor to ceiling with vinyl, tapes. Vids and discs.
As I have documented earlier we would get a half ounce a bottle of whisky and dedicate the night and morning to sounds.
I would take over his sofa, looking up at the ceiling to allow smoking and drinking from the left side.

He lays on some sounds, we skin and drink, he always has some dish or other cold in the fridge, pasta something, he always has stacks in his fridge, lives on it”
He is mostly Spanish after all.
He resembles a matador after a while, he often stands ever so shakily in front of the wall of discs clutching the case of the currently playing disc.
He stands moving form side to side telling me every fucking detail about the disc, the fucking group, the bass player, the bass player’s mother, the studio, production company, year.
You get the idea!

When he’s really wrecked he repeats the same performance but there are a lot more, “fuck I’ve forgotten” usage, which amuses me as I struggle to turn my head, keep my neck happy and head supported at same time to watch his antics.

I off course couldn’t give a fuck about any off it so let the words flow through me as the sounds do.
Sometimes however he would play something “rescued from the floor”, or he would begin by showing the back stage pass and then sit and tell me referring to music at times, all about working with the production of whatever tour this group went on.
He showed me a picture of him in shorts working as a “cable monkey”, a term I coined when he showed me the pic.

Number five sparked, can easily tell how many I’ve smoked because there are no cigarettes currently in the tray because I don’t tend to smoke rollies in between, funny that.

He has several photographs of himself with artists and talks off working with the top groups, I won’t mention them here, books signed affectionately by , the top Beatle himself, mister McCartney.

He talked for a while telling me of the work with him, the way he was accepted into the family, described all sorts of things, houses cars, peoples faults, vices, addiction to cards being one.
He is riveting entertainment for any stoner when he’s in full flow.
He just churns it out and when I pick him up, as I often do in my surreptitious attempts to trip him up, just once and try to catch him out.

I act all jokily and stop him mid sentence and ask him to elorabate and tell me all the details of something he has just mentioned and sure as shot he’s there.

It was like a virtual holiday to me, I’m imagining flying over the Grand canyon in a glass bottomed chopper, not along the usual tourist route, oh no, specially planned route, two choppers together,
He was telling me about it, he talked of the deals, the drug use, and the demise both physically and mentally of some of the older recognised stars.
Anything I wanted to know was there in front of me.
We would then spend an hour or so listening to a selection of recordings ranging from buskers from New York to other artists from different countries he had “under his wing.”
“You’re a fucking agent not a simple cable monkey”, I managed to blurt out one night, and my respect increased for the guy I first suspected to be a Spanish bus bomber on the run!

Irrational suspicions,
Another sign of mental illness.

He had already told me of the massive projects the organising of a tour were and pressure was hot the nearer you worked with the star. Ordering whatever they wanted while they acted like spoilt brats for a fortnight in a hotel prior to a major gig. He told of the huge, forget the term, that’s it,
Convoy,
I would sit open mouthed in awe as he told of the huge tour busses and vehicles , told of organising four concerts within x radius of each other having to be on all the sites to check progress and ensure correct wagons were going to which site ect.
Controlling press, ensuring each only gets their allotted time, nights spent in brothels, hotel parties, and many instances of money being no object.
The more I heard the greater my enthusiasm to hear more.
He told me about his family and his previous 25 years in Spain, he had pictures of his daughter on the walls. How could I doubt him?
He had obviously tasted some of the high life and to be told he has management interests with people even I recognise as still being stars in their own right.

I remember one tale in particular, we were talking recording studios and he told of one built into a cliff, another had a stream flowing above its Perspex roof.

I digress I had decided and told him many a time I’d rather not know any information just listen to the sounds.
I of course return to listening blind as I do t this station, one movement of the mouse would tell me the artist and some more details but I’m seldom tempted to investigate unless a sound track has radically grabbed my attention.
Bluetech---koinonanea. That’s what’s playing, enough info for my liking.

As I take a sip of whisky I wonder to myself how many pages does a normal writer produce each week, disregarding the factual ones of course.

I nearly forgot, after talking all so praisingly about Mac he turned completely opposite and cursed the guy saying he owned him money from a concert based bill.
He the went on to tell me about the financial ruin he and his partner had gone through after being ripped off by their third partner the bookkeeper, accountant or whatever he was known as.
Lost quite a packet because of their attempts at concert promoters.
This guy has gone from cable monkey, to personal p.a. or whatever, to concert promoter, married to a good looking woman has beautiful daughters and finds himself now currently unemployed in an area definitely lacking in opportunities for ex promoters.
I recall asking why the artists were up in hotels prior to gig,
To get them ready and used to what can and may happen to their lives.
He told of the successful ones who milked the machine for all that it was worth and the others who could simply not handle the way of the life, the allowing control over your whole life as long as you were contracted to do so.
I queried the use of control and began to list the people who you could generally expect to come in to contact with on an almost daily basis.
We then expanded the view to include who was involved to keep the person in the publics interest or to stage a concert.
Commitments, duties, arse licking sessions, publicity this and publicity that.
Hey my sympathy was by this time well with the artist.
“I’d tell ‘em to fuck off the lot of ‘em2, I quipped.
“You’d die”, was his reply.

“I’d tell ‘em to fuck off the lot of ‘em2, I quipped.
“You’d die”, was his reply.
We talked about the death of entertainment in the area, under use of venues and generally lack of true musicianship of some of the entertainers.
Following a research trip to the Coatham bowl one night and been rewarded by a fucking awfully set up sound system, I wonder not why.

Apparently a lot of artists speak fondly when remembering their appearance in Redcar, would be nice to see some pay a return visit and stop remembering it.
That would have been our wish.

We then talked about the growing population of Wannabees, he reiterated about what he said earlier, of course, he fucking did.
Not everyone can live the lifestyle.

Success in any field is reliant on wheels within wheels being greased.
Life knew being savaged to pieces by the commitments of the new expected, contrived, planned, organised, overlooked. Guarded, existence, which is living the high life.

“Hell give it away for free and tell everyone to fuck off”, I offered, just put it on the net.
“You’ll get noticed”, he said.

What about a nomme deplume, false identity or whatever, you’d get tracked down.
We considered the writer from home on her p.c. with address hidden writing to the net.
She will be approached by publishers and publicity agents and she will have to appear, sign books, go to x amount of functions and generally smile like a trooper.
“She could always say no.” I offered.
“Why should she refuse money?”, he asked.
“Because she has fulfilled her wish by the action of writing”,
writers/ musicians and creative person and many have creative imaginations, some of the animations being produced are wicked.

In short that night’s discussion decided that to become famous as a way of securing wealth has a lot of drawbacks and entails a helluva lot of changes in responsibilities for actions to so many different agencies, not worth it!

No.6.

I love a good story teller, only met one other person who could hold my interest and that was a guy called Mark, member of local fishing club which I was part of for a while, he would keep us in our seats telling us of his holiday in America.

We all love a good story.
He would describe the empty club after the gig, Smokey and heavy with odour. He told of the opportunity he took one night to record a private jam between three well-known blues players.
He told of the panic he felt when after several drinks the guys decide to jam, all he could muster was a hand held recorder.

We had a laugh the night I told him I no longer considered him to be a Spanish terrorist, I used the excuse that the day you said you arrived was awfully close to the date of the bombings.

I had in fact researched him in the papers, following that with a look through the history of his name, very well heeled in ancestry.
Quite often a session would crumble into a look alike for that prog when two comedians share a sofa.
Just bounce off each other.
All to be completely forgotten in the morning.

The joss sticks would follow each other into the compartment built into the top of a skull.
“When that’s full, I fuck off back”, he would say.

He disappeared for a while and came back claiming someone had bubbled him for working abroad and he had had to cut his work short, he told how one old star had asked him to return to work for him and how he’d accompanied another on a night of Viagra and women in a local hor house.
Coke anyone?
He told me of a number of stars who were perhaps in their later years finding an upsurge in interest and some had expressed a desire to play England, he had a couple “ under his wing”.

I pour myself a whisky orange and consider rewarding any hapless reader who may have advertently stumbled upon this site.
BY turning it into a make your own mind up, tales.

A sort of though the mind of the keyhole, jury verdict required.

He is by now forming his own social circle and no longer has the need to rely on my initial helpful; and I’m sure gratefully received handouts on a weekly basis when we first met.
As a consequence our meetings become less frequent, but every time we do meet I get an update of his recent failure to procure any employment despite going to a funeral of a well known pop singing member of a well known aged group where I’m sure help would have been at hand to anyone deemed valuable.

He talked the part, walked the walk and I for one believed a significant part of what he first told me, I was starting to get a little dubious about the latest reports.

If I believe this guy to be a truthful person then I marvel at the scope of world he has experienced.

He explains his choice to return to Britain and makes do with a one bedroomed council flat because he wants to spend some time with his mother who has Alzheimer’s.

Does that fact colour your judgement?

Did me, the amount of times she would phone up during a session seeking reassurance in his voice, gently calming his mother down, pointing out the fact it’s the fifth time she’s phoned to tell him a certain pointless fact.
It was a laugh some of the conversations, shouldn’t but we did, I think the old lady was probably on the tipple.

That was our previous happy place and it’s only right I should be thinking of time spent in Ash’s happy place as I now realise the level of relaxation I have reached I’m almost liquid.

Perhaps in a way he was my guru, we agreed on most part in all his décor, interesting artefacts of a career in promotion?
Poncho from Mexico, not your local Oxfam, Mexico.
Makes for a good defence against invading hot rocks.
Concert photos, stage passes, Harley history book and somewhat disturbingly quite a good collection of well-known musicians autobiographies.

Must keep off smoke tomorrow until packed ready for off.

Always have been a last minute man me, way waste time worrying beforehand cut the worrying time to the limit by waiting till last minute.

My very act of writing this and describing doubting someone is that the society in which we live.
I doubted the guy because I was unable to imagine what it must have been like to be put in some of the action packed sequences of events he has been involved in. I couldn’t imagine the lifestyle being described to me, money figures bandied around like confetti.

We agreed on the layout of the room, TV, sounds and somewhere to sit.
Yes. I am indeed working off the checklist for the perfect layout.
I almost forgot the well placed convenient to all table.
Check.

“You could never be famous”, he told me.
“Because you’re such an awkward twat, you would want to know everything going on”.
“Too true I wouldn’t”, as long as there was purchasing power when I wanted it to cover my living expenses I wouldn’t mind.”
“You wouldn’t last five minutes with money”, he told me.

You should know having gone bankrupt as a promoter, maybe its true those that raise you also bury you.

Made your mind up yet is this guy genuine or just reads a lot listening to music.
One more clue subscribes regularly to music magazine, top shelf publication not some rag. With almost every edition comes a disc and details, and details and details about everything you didn’t want to know.

He does like reading!

He sees me as a typical tight arsed semi educated Yorkshire yokel, and he behaves in a way he thinks will be acceptable but all the while he isn’t quite hitting it off with his acting out a false persona to fit the circumstances.

We used to swap phrases, he would tell me what something was in Spanish and I would tell him a bit of the Yorkshire dialect, the true one.

He would insist on getting me to try several times to get the pronunciation and accept correct when he told me a phrase and I equally pulled him up for not repeating exactly what I’d said and not reverting back to standard English.

I recall the fiasco with the cheque he received for the work abroad in his recent absence from us. It took a devil of a time to be accepted and if I remember correctly became the interest of a DHS enquiry.

When he told me the figure for the check I thought not bad in anyone’s language, hell I don’t know what he has been doing, haven’t figured out if I’ve decided what he’s been yet.

What else can I tell you about this guy, well the first time I met him he shared some home grown White widow and it put him almost on his back, not functioning 100%, poor chap.

But he came back for more,
Course he did there was only this silly bugger giving it away for nothing in return for a good storytelling session and minimal intellectual interaction.

One more hour to go,
?
Yes I always finish whatever I’m doing on the p.c. by seven.

That’s my usual maximum daily use.
I make an energising drink from orange concentrate and whisky.

How’s the holiday going so far? You ask.
Fine, wish you were here. NOT!

Seven is a lucky number so for no better reason I skin up once again.
Slight pang of angina but not to worry,
Sparked.

Not a lot of lump remains so I am compelled, nay obligated to return briefly to reality and think about conservation of sufficient of the lump to make it a viable option to take on a week’s holiday,
Will it last?
I doubt it.

I therefore conclude that this session will be the best I am going to get until my return on the 9th June. I therefore, as usual vow to make the most of it.

There’s a thing.
Try and tell the owner of a Samsung combination sound system about altering virtual speakers from small to large.
Try explaining virtual concept at all!

Just a thought.
If appliances function in the virtual world why do we clutter our lives with soon to be outdated material equipment.
Or am I just slow?
Probably the latter.

No kidding you silver surfers, download some of the audio freebies and have fun.

I often hear people say yes that’s clever but soon you’ll have everyone and his dog doing it with a computer.
Why should we stop them?
Hell there’s plenty afraid of them,
And there’s noticeably, one man who has buried the hatchet and out of the goodness of his heart got rid of a lot of possible future problems by relaxing his stranglehold on all things computerised.

How satisfying it must be to wake up as Bill gates with a boner.
You have a wank, relax, throw the sock on the floor, and think I enjoyed that,
Then smile and think I’ve just made another million. I enjoyed that wank.

To be eating out a piece of paid for pussy and thinking “I don’t give a shit what you charge!” “I’m earning more”.

I LOVE Bill!.

I’ll remember him fondly for all the hours and days of anguish fighting with an unco-operate computer, from 95 to the present day.
And you can stick Vista up your arse!

String of thread long dissolved in the rancid gutters, which run with the putrefied remains of excrement, which flow freely along side the walkway.
Used to know an alley like that, perfect place for a quick knee trembler; it was open to the public.
And George left it alone!

There’s fucking infuriating piece on now,
The future sound of London------ Central industrial.
I thought the background overlay of voice was saying “I see no point”,
Followed by later the addition of “ no weed”,
In one way I agree wholeheartedly with them,
In another way I must protest to being blind to the powers of the humble green leaf and bud.
Yes I mention leaf, I’ve so many times looked forward to the tasting of the plant as its fan leaves developed and I knew they would be my introduction to the power of this or that particular plant.

I love the leaf, done right, not flash cured or blitz.

Never even noticed the track has changed and yet another track containing sporadic vocals is playing.

Cannot discern what is being said could be “cracking that face”.
I’m too late to find out as anther totally different style of track plays.

Another drink followed by another joint, yes I know it goes against good use guidelines, alcohol or grass but mix is wasting best attributes of both parties involved in the union.

F,… it.

I pause to prepare.

I’ll explain again my trouble with finger mobility when playing keyboards or indeed typing.

Here’s a Blue Peter special.

· On your right hand tape together your little finger and next finger.
· On you left hand tape together the little and adjoining finger and then bed thumb back towards you till first joint it 90 degrees tape into that position.



Now put together a three skin, rolling roach is a bit of a twat sometimes.
Not easy is it?

I apologise for my straying and return to the subject of my writing is the guy afore described genuine or not?

I return to makings.
Thumb is well fucked due to burning whilst crumbling.
When I first met this guy he had a laptop, after a couple of meetings I realised he was computer illiterate.

I at one time got the laptop off him and searched the disk, nothing but the original of some of the pictures and photographs I’d seen upon his wall. Nothing else, no mention of games sites, virtually no history.
The system was in Spanish and took some work, I basically just went for the known function button and hoped it was same function.

You would have thought such a wise boy would have had all his contacts on hard drive and being ou Fay with internet access and correspondence, he did know about e. mail of course but that seemed to be limit.

I would like, and this is not my suspicious side coming out, I assure you!

Anyone who has come into contact with a certain Ashley Sanchos, pronounced Sanchez please get in touch, photos appreciated, he would love a wall collage, I’m sure. He’s same age as me 50-51.

Now can you decide if that was a genuine appeal, you will have to use the evidence of what you have read together with your replay to the one question posed throughout.
Is this guy for real of or does he read a lot.

He also takes medication for depression but hell who doesn’t in some form or other?

We talked about the measures being taken to combat transmissions from live gigs.
A subject which hadn’t caused me sleepless nights,
Yet,

He one day expressed surprise at how easily I manipulated the sound through waves of speaker changing, he told me that signal I was apparently following was used by the sound engineers and wasn’t normally audible or discernable to the average human ear.