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Wednesday, 27 June 2012

No Time For Work


Nothing to do with, and yet a nod to, George Ryan

On yet another wet, miserable June morning I awake and consider the agenda for the day.  So many tasks have accumulated that I've made a list which expands daily.  Apart from the necessities of life, I think I may have too many interests to dedicate sufficient time to any one of them.  The phrase 'Jack of all trades' comes to mind.
This week I've been concentrating on music.  It started on Sunday evening while watching the Italy vs England match, which presented an ideal opportunity to dust off the clarinet.  The Italian national anthem is the only tune I can play on it, due to Valentino Rossi's domination in Moto GP (albeit not in more recent years).  Plus, it's catchy and fairly easy to play.  I just can't seem to get to grips with the clarinet though.  Still in soccer mode, after the penos I took out the flute and low whistle and gave a few renditions of Rocky Road to Dublin.

Monday morning and it's off to the gym for a 10 minute swim, followed by half an hour of aqua-aerobics and 20 minutes in the sauna catching up on all the gossip.  I haven't been since March and it's alarming how unfit I've become. I mean, fair enough I've been very ill, but you'd think that staying off cigarettes would increase your lung capacity, not leave you struggling for breath after 5 lengths!

After a quick trip to the shops to stock up on provisions, it's time for lunch, after which I go back to music.  I've recently started playing the cello, so I put in half an hour's practice on that.  I've signed up to play a the Persuit them in the Sherlock fan orchestra, so that required about 40 minutes on the horn (yeah, yeah I've heard all the jokes - it's the French Horn, the brass instrument) and then Debussy started calling to me so that was another hour spent on the piano.  That was practically the whole day gone, and I got nothing done on the computer, the weeds are flourishing, the spare room is still a mess, I've no holiday booked and I don't even know what bills need to be paid!

The garden a couple of weeks ago on a rare sunny day
Me, relaxing while the father does the work :)
I remember four years ago, when I was recovering from my ganz osteotomy (hip operation), that I had a lovely routine going.  I'd wake up, go to the sym, come home, have a little snooze, make dinner, potter about.  Basically I did everything in my own time.  I didn't feel that I had to get things done as I was recovering from major surgery.  Life was good (the past always is, isn't it?).  Then, when I eventually went back to work, it was a major shock to the system.  It really interfered with my life-style and it took me almost another year to get my stamina back to an acceptable level.

I've had a lot of time off this year due to a very different kind of illness.  And still I potter around and still the jobs accumulate and never get done. 

Oh and if you haven't read George Ryan's book, give it a go - it's quite good!

Wednesday, 20 June 2012

I'm not 22 any more :(

or

On Music and Ageing

 

I was in my car the other day, listening to the radio, when Alanis Morissette's Hand in My Pocket came on air. I was immediately transported back to the summer (possibly Autumn, memory can be fickle) of 1995 and the impact her album, Jagged Little Pill, made on me.

At the time, I was very disillusioned with the excuse for music that was making the Irish and UK charts. It seemed to be dominated by manufactured boy bands who could neither sing nor play instruments. I was listening to Bowie, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Bob Marlay, Iron Maiden, Tom Waits, Nick Drake, Aerosmith, Indigo Girls and Lir (they played some great gigs in Whelan back then). With the exception of the last three, they all belonged to a much earlier era. Oh, and Portishead. How could I forget Portishead (Reminded by CT ringing me - I have Strangers as her ring tone). There was very little new music that spoke to me.

Then came Alanis. The same age, roughly, as me, her anger and pathos resonated. I got her straight away. I felt that I could have written the songs myself. She could sing, she played instruments, she wrote her own songs and she was a heterosexual female.  A seemingly rare breed at the time.  Even if the events in her songs hadn't specifically happened to me, I knew the emotion behind it. And listening to the lyrics of "Hand in My Pocket" last week, I realised how much things have changed in those 17 years.


I could have written that song (well, if I'd had enough talent) in my early 20s. Nearly every word of it applied to me. But now everything has flipped over. Take this opening excerpt as an example:
           I'm broke by I'm happy
            I'm poor but I'm kind
            I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah"

Well, now I have money. While I'm not unhappy, I've lost that optimistic, seize every moment, life is full of possibilities feeling that I had at 22. I don't feel kind towards people - I'm grouchy and intolerant and my expectations are too high. And this year, I sure as hell haven't been healthy.

Even the chorus bit is mocking me - 
          'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
           And the other one is flicking a cigarette

I had to give up cigarettes after getting pneumonia in January and ever since then the world has become a so much darker place. Oh, to go back to the I feel drunk but I'm sober days instead of I feel sober but I'm drunk which is a more apt description of me nowadays.

I wonder how Alanis is doing...

Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Car Musings

or

I need help! I'm anthropomorphising cars!

Recently I traded in my 12-year-old Corolla for a brand spanking new Audi A3...

The Corolla was like an old faithful friend, a mongrel dog if you will.  Not the fastest or the most powerful, but did her best and could hold her own.  While others struggled in the mud or snow, she dug the heels in and struggled up those steep hills, leaving some 4-wheel-drives in her wake.
We had a symbiotic relationship.  It was as if I only had to think where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do and she responded.  We were completely in tune and she only let me down the day I traded her in.  She knew her day had come.  Smooth, sleek , responsive, that's what she was and there was many a passenger who commented on it.

Alas, cars do not live as long as people, and after 12 years and over 190,000 miles, it was time to move on.  The new version, the Aurus is fat and ugly and is way too tall.  I had to look elsewhere.
Cars used to be sexy.  Now, overwhelmed by the health and safety, nanny-state brigade, they are unpleasant to behold.  I must confess, I picked my new baby on looks alone and it was the Audi A3 that won the day.  However, a remnant of my sensible outlook on life remained.  I went for the diesel version rather than petrol.  Diesel is far more economical.  I also resisted the urge to succumb to the 2.0L - the 1.6L is sufficient for Irish roads.


Where the Corolla was a soulmate, the A3 is akin to a worthy adversary.  Like all German cars, she's heavy, clunky, awkward.  You don't show her where or how to go, you're forced to assert your will.  No more smoothness, no more absolute trust that she'll do as you ask.  And, lord, does she hate going slowly and braking.  If you don't keep an eye on the speedometer she creeps up to 80, 90, 100 plus miles per hour and there's no gentle squeezing the brakes.  You give a command.

Maybe it's the fact that I had the Corolla from her tender years up to the rip old age of 12 and she has only been gone from me for such a short time.  Maybe in time I will connect with the A3.  I'm not sure that I love her, but she is precious to me.  Maybe it's what I need right now - a worthy adversary as opposed to a faithful friend and soulmate.  Something to challenge me as opposed to reassure me that all is well in the world.