So Many People

Cambodian ScrapBook

Pink Teddies

I went to stand by my friends grave today. Im never quite sure what the protocol for "grave-visiting" is. Do you... chat?! I tend to just hang out for a decent amount of time and just let my mind wander.
Anyway, I committed to the trip within fifteen minutes made it up the hill to the churchyard. Tied the dog to the church gate, and strolled over to the grave. I usually pick up a dead flower or leaf from the actual grave, just to hold. Its amazing how it helps. I stood, head bowed for perhaps 5 minutes, my mind playing over crazy times had just above the church involving a ginger and a 6 foot wooden ramp. My meanderings were suddenly pierced however, when I glanced down and noticed a, slightly faded, pink teddy bear wreath. A little unusual in memory of a 21 year old adrenaline junkie. I shrugged off this small nonsense however, figuring that Rodge would have probably loved the flowery ted.
After what felt like a very suitable amount of time had been spent 'hanging out' with Rodge, I gave the grave the little "see you later" smile, as if somehow the past few moments have been filled with 'seeing each other'. Turned and started to walk away. I look down and realise, causing a burst of laughter which was by no means suitable for a graveyard, that I had just spent quality time, with the wrong grave.
I'm pretty sure Rodge would have been pissing his pants at me. I know I had a good chuckle.
I guess the pink teddy bear makes more sense now!
I tell you what is amazing though, for my initial five minutes of blissful ignorance, I was quite sure I could "feel" the presence of my buddy.Incredible what a Placebo raw belief in a situation can cause.

Stallion

I took a journey on the national express the other day. On a bus, between Cardiff and Leeds. After listening to an old lady tell her daughter she was a "lying cunt" my awareness of how weird bus takers actually are, was fairly high.We are most definitely a breed of our own, I certainly strole with that pride of lions.
So I was on the bus, sorted, ipod on, arm rest down, level 5 Tetris. I look up to see a slightly stubbly transvestite with a guitar bouncing from seat to seat. This made me smile in the way that in some situations, smiling is all you can do. A situation is somehow diffused with a smile. So when I clumsily let our eyes meet, I was a grinning beard. Great. Now the tranny thinks I'm eyeing her up.
About five minutes into the journey. Still stopy starty city driving, one of the many national express joys. I get a shock that only a bearded lady could induce. Spine shaker. "Didi you catcha zee Dylan gigg?" croaks our friend,I hadn't, but knew a bloke who had and said it was great. My first fatal error. I could have just said no. Now Im chatty with the tranny. Fabby. After a few more fumblingly English murmurings from boyo, she stumbles to the back seat and proceeds to 'tune' her slightly ukulele esque guitar. Already a fairly bold move in the world of national express conduct. A guitar being played is big points on the journey not being shit scoreboard. Little did we know the joys that awaited us. So the character profile springs a new growth. Not ownly is our lady unshaven, sweaty, and smelling of beer, shes Italian. A joy. In hindsight, but at the time I was thoroughly shaken. Sadly. I was stuck on a bus for the next two hours at least with a flirty wig wearing soprano. Not the most enticing situation, but the current one.
After about 10 minutes the laymans lady gaga has bounced her way back up my end of the bus, and sprayed her clumsy "I cleary did" Dylan gig conversation starter. The difference is, the two people she asked, /had/ been to the gig. What another joyous situation. Through the boredom laden waters of the bus journey comes drifting the iceberg of entertainment, a bus-based Bob Dylan fan club.
After minutes of burping Bob Dylan flavoured mumbles at each other Ms Man decides to retrieve her oddly shaped guitar from its back seat perch and strum a few chords of Dylan goodness. Having not heard much of Bob Dylan but having him resting on my "I know I should know it" list for a while I was more than happy to lend an ear. After thirty seconds of tune from our friend I felt quite sure that, although not knowing any of Dylans work, he was butchering it. She had the kind of "Im saving for the snip" rasp that perhaps the inhabitants of Royston Vasey are accustomed to.
His sausage fingers collided with the guitar strings in rhtym esque patterns. It wasnt long before he started throwing Brittany Spears verses in there, just for giggles. After all, Brittany was her, very clearly declared "third favourite" recording artist, after 1)Bob Dylan 2) Whitney Houston.
They then indulged in another geek session that people that travel on their own to Dylan giggs around the country have with one another. The young blonde lad with the ray bans, shyly murmurs across the isle, "where you there when he did the Watchtower medley?" "Yes mate, I even caught the one with the organ". returns the ageing fan with new, and not-so-keen girlfriend.
Our friend, who's name I sadly didn't get a hold of, had started strumming out a few genius Brittany Dylan love children. Whilst doing some slightly crusty looking poses for my camera. An opportunity I thought too good to miss. After a few alarmingly incomprehensible sentences, she would release another tune. During one of her more English monologues I picked up the fact that she couldn't afford another beer, and that was about really all she wanted. Im not really sure if any part have me would have guessed Id be buying an Italian transvestite a beer by lunchtime on a Wednesday. But as the words rolled of my tongue, they certainly surprised me. They sent a wave of "fuck what have I said" soaring through my veins, readying me for battle. My discomfort was hightend only by her misunderstanding what I said, warranting me to loudly, clearly and more importantly, five times over, declare my want to buy a beer for the "bus celebrity" tranny at the back. Great.
Spoiler alert. It gets down to it, we all get off the bus, I go look for beer, come back and realise I've been stood up. Adds to the humiliation somewhat.
So during my second, and thoroughly boring leg of my journey it got me thinking about journeys. Blimey what a journey The guitar lady must have had. What has life thrown at you, to come to bounce along the national express as an Italian transvestite, wearing a very obviously stuffed bra. Strumming away bad covers to strangers on buses. Peoples lifes follow such varieties of courses. Its amazing how many of the really colourful ones end up on buses around the world.
Im actually a little upset I didnt get to have that beer. Creepy as that may be, but Im pretty sure it would have been a fairly interesting beer, one way or another. What a cool afternoon hanging out with strangers on the move!

The knocking next door holds so much promise. Its true what they say about the grass on the other side. I presume the neighbours live a wildly exciting life, full of strange practices and productive habits, whose only residue on the outside world is the not-so-faint knocking on my kitchen wall.
Sadly I doubt my visions are truthful. My neighbours aren't cult leaders, or inventors, building flying cars and self cooking eggs. But wouldn't that be super, truely scrumptious Id say. Somebody has to have those guys as neighbours. One day, Id love to live next door to somebody really great. I don't really crave greatness myself, I just really enjoy its presence. People that aren't wired the same as the rest of us are so refreshing to watch, so uplifting to be with. They bring a new lease of life to a barely employed, unqualified and thoroughly bearded bum such as me. It is the minds full of colour and bizarreness of these people, and not my own, which lead me to conjure up strange and wonderful explanations for the unexplained noises in my life. In this case, my neighbours hanging another fucking Ikea print, with a sledge hammer by the sounds of it.
On another path, recently I have been attempting to write a kids story. Why? I'm not entirely sure. I guess its an easy audience to please, one similar to my own mind-set and perhaps the most honest of all critics. Plus I think it would be a pretty "awww" producing gift for my little sister. What I do know however, is that it is proving rather difficult. I can whack out page upon page of this stream of consciousness bullshit all day, but ask me to rhyme the word 'cow' with something that vaguely relates to the story I'm trying to tell, and I'm in dire straights. I am however, greatly looking forward to introducing you all to Dixie The Daredevil Dairy Cow. Shes a cheeky one.

Doodles

An Ovation to Oratory

I watched a show today, about young speakers. It was, what should have been a very shitty program if you had of believed its genre slot. A talent/freak based show weighing the difference between the serious talent and the painfully humorous. We all know the type, X-Factor, Britains Got Talent, Celebrity dancing on polar bears.
Thats how I approached this one anyway. But on this show, a fifteen year old performed a speech about how we should appreciate others in our lifes. Pretty dumb really, quite the cliché. But I then found myself hovering over that thought quite alot longer. What a true message, and one that we are all warned of so often, but that we so easily seem to ignore. With that in mind, I hereby declare my appreciation of the 'others' in my life. I can recommend this move. Cos it doesn't half feel horrible when you don't have the choice to anymore.
So.. the chances are that if you are reading this you are one of four people in the world that know about my blog thang. If this is the case.. your amazing. It makes me smile on a daily basis that I know you.
Glad we got that slushy shit out the way. Ill sleep well tonight! She really was a great speaker though the girl on that TV program. Really sold the idea y'know? Heres to good speeches! They really can tilt your head a little. "When the oratory's rockin' dont come a'knockin'"