Vaughan Williams Christmas Fantasia

Love should be abolished it ruins everything. Okay maybe not the true embodiment thereof. But the word itself. The reason? It's like the Sinatra song: "..then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid.." Never utter the L word; for cursed ye shall be. And certainly not to someone you have feelings about. It sounds stupid but trust me I learnt the hard way. In reality love between two human beings is the ability to accidentally switch credit cards and not notice until one of you has to pay for something. Realising your mistake you make a rushed call to the afflicted person to explain the dilemma mid train journey whilst being confronted by the ticket inspector. Whereupon you divulge pin numbers so that you're both equipped for future purchases. And most importantly the exchange is painless. You both laugh it off and carry on with your day merry and joyful. Yup, that's something special. Alternatively if you listen to Radio 4 panel shows, then the definition of love is: "Seven consecutive texts with no reply, but not eight -- that would be weird" This being a suggestion sent in by a listener after being asked for their opinion as to what indeed love is. I am inclined to agree with this although it's not a method I would choose but hey, I'm defeatist. I've definitely never been guilty of obsessive texting -- ahem --*must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes* *must learn from my mistakes*

Grails - Smokey Room

Irony: Those on the dole will inevitably be labelled as hypocrites for boycotting big business while still needing them to obtain food and essentials. Meanwhile the rich shall be deemed green and virtuous; they are the only ones who can afford solar panels and yurts.

Scala and Kolacny Brothers - When Doves Cry

Time for another mopy post. Happiness levels: 53%; approx 20% better than Sat. On Saturday my face was attacked by strange leak from the eyes for most of the day. Situation only slightly improved by the fabrication of punk Christmas cards using acrylic paint and a sponge. Depression levels: Up from last week at about 40%. The only thing that stops me staring into the abyss and falling into it is pizza and chocolate. Up and down up and down up and down. It's only taken me a year to finally get off my arse and get those business cards in the windows. I'm a lazy bugger. I have no one to blame but myself. Violin teaching. Okay I can do this. I don't know why it's taken me so long. Making the business cards was pretty easy, but for some reason I put it off and off, thinking it was beyond me. It isn't. What a wasted year. I've achieved nothing. I can't get angry with myself. It won't help the situation. Okay hello world. Here I come.

Scott Walker Bish Bosch

Why I (most likely) won't have kids Obviously never say never, and no, I am not a baby hater. I think they are cute and respect must go out to parents who somehow manage not to make a hash of growing their dribbling lumps of puke and poop into well rounded and decent people. It doesn't appeal though. For one thing, I prefer cats. Cats stay cute forever and are less likely to wail if you don't buy them an Iphone. And for another: http://sturdyblog.wordpress.com/2012/12/03/baby-fever/#comments I'm no scientist but I'm pretty sure that the planet Earth already has a sufficient number of human beings. Out of that number I'd deduce that only a tiny percentage of those people are well-fed/happy/satisfied and only a marginally larger number are above the breadline/housed/not manically depressed. The thought of getting pregnant terrifies me. Luckily the way things are going the only way that'll ever be danger is if I somehow run into a guy called Joseph with a donkey and the midwife declares it as immaculate conception. It is terrifying though. Even the most 'in it for the kids', prepared to tie the knot of couples don't tend to last the Winter, and rarely have I witnessed a marriage that didn't involve the most hateful point scoring and competitiveness between two people. Not what I would use to define a loving relationship. One of my pet hates is couples who use their child to 'fix' their relationship. The way I see it, if your relationship is neither emotionally nor financially stable then don't even bother. The child will be a wreck from having to do United Nations-scale peace treaties between the feuding parties. Not to mention scathing relatives who will look for someone to blame when it all goes tits up. Children need stability. End of story. And no amount sticking plaster trips to the toy store and wool-over-the-eyes rounds at the penny arcade will change that.

Alban Berg - Wozzeck

When faced with the choice between hearing an opera from the late romantic period that you have never heard before, or watching football with a pizza bread in one hand and a beer in the other, which do you go for? No really. It's not that easy. By no means is this a 'no brainer'. It is a full-blown, whole cerebrum dilemma of a conundrum. Both have their merits. Both entail dangers and sacrifices. For those who have no interest in opera of which I know there are many, the decision is an obvious one. You settle into the sofa, you direct your peepers towards the funny flashing screen in front of you and you follow the movements of the little men running around on a muddy field like your life depends on it. But for those unfortunates wishing to broaden their knowledge of the finer intricacies that emerged in classical music sometime after the American civil war but before the Third Reich, then my friend, you have yourself a big tit of a problem. I have listened to opera before (on occasion) and I have seen a whole four-hour-long performance of Aida by Verdi. Despite the fact that it may have been necessary for me to close my eyes and half go to sleep during the third act, I remember that it was very exciting. I didn't really know what it was about though ----- it was in Italian. Sub-titles flew across the top of the stage, at break neck speed, on a big sign, but that did not help much. The costumes were made of silk, lace and sequins. The gestures were large and dramatic, and the themes were woeful and tragic; but then of course they were - it was an opera. Back to the subject in hand, the opera that I just listened to was called Wozzeck. It’s by Alban Berg. Wiki's general consensus is that it is about being impoverished, although closer sources inform me that it is about a man who hates a women so much that he kills her. As such this opera is ever the barrel of laughs that I expected it to be. I wonder if she was killed because she didn’t sing soprano?

The Unthanks - Gan to the Kye

Why am I talking to a singing bowl? There's something humbling about monks. The way they go through life contended; serving others without remorse for themselves, never asking for more. Why am I talking to a singing bowl? Maybe because this singing bowl has more intelligence than the entire human population combined. Why am I talking to a singing bowl? Maybe because this singing bowl told me to slow down and think of what I was doing and the reason I was doing it. This singing bowl reminds me of others who live in the world. People who feel. People who think. Already I'm plotting how to post this post; what to write, how to put it in a good light. Am I only writing to 'prove something'? And to whom? Why don't I just shut up and keep a diary like everyone else? No wait...That would be like being a prisoner of war. I'm not a prisoner of war. The singing bowl knows.

The Dead Rat Orchestra

There are shadows chasing me. Or that's what it feels like. A worldly guilt that I can't put my finger on. I cook food, and look at it and think, "I didn't sow, farm, or harvest this food. The money that I used to buy it isn't even mine, so how can I eat it?" Well actually not "Can I eat it?" Clearly I can, and have. But the crunch is: When do I have to give back what I have taken? I've taken too much, and not given back. That's why I feel this way. The other day my Dad sent me an email. It was long and wordy. He was concerned that I wasn't fulfilling my potential. He told me that my cv had too many gaps in it (he has never seen my cv) and that employers would "look elsewhere" if I did not appear to be giving them what they wanted. I replied telling him that I was thinking of going freelance, and that I was interested in alternative forms of therapy for treating mental illness like depression and anxiety. Not something I can really tell the jobcentre, but my dad did psychology for his degree way back when he was in my shoes, so I thought he'd understand. I gave him no indication that I'd found a career - how could I? - but I suppose it proved to him that I haven't gone off my rocker yet. Although the scary thing is if I had gone nutso, he probably wouldn't find out about it until it was too late. The only difference between the 'drifters' and the 'freelancers' is that the freelancers have a plan. They know where they are going. I am not business minded, never have been, but I am not stupid enough to believe that I can get better by myself. I neither want to join the rat race, nor do I want to be beaten by it, but I'll have to pick my self up and move if I don't want to be trodden on by it.