Either my blood pressure is worse than I thought it was or I’ve caught the sun today. In March. The only way you’re supposed to be able to catch the sun in March is if you are on holiday in Tenerife, drinking the finest lager money can buy in a series of traditional unspoilt British pubs. It’s supposed to be pissing with rain over here, yet magically it isn’t.
I had a few indoor duties to perform which included preparing a Chilli Con Carne and cleaning the lavatory. All being well, the two will not be directly linked this time tomorrow, but you never know, do you?
Since the weather turned all summer-like, I can’t stop reading. It’s almost as if I’m on holiday. Actually, as I haven’t worked for anyone since May, you could, with some justification, suggest I’m always on holiday. I couldn’t possibly comment. But reading I have been to, devastating effect.
I finished Billy Connolly’s autobiography Windswept And Interesting in a matter of a few days, primarily because it was a great story brilliantly told, but also because Connolly dictated the book rather than physically writing it, so you can hear him in every word. Then, John Crace’s Farewell To Calm, a very funny collection of his parliamentary sketches in the Guardian from 2020. Now, it’s Jeremy Clarkson’s Diddy Squat.
To an extent, I have conflicted feelings about Clarkson. The boy can write, for sure, but all too often, in the style of the right of centre polemicist, he punched down, rather like inferior columnists like Richard Littlejohn, Dan Wootton and Piers Morgan (I actually typed Piers Corbyn at first, another Grade A wanker). In Diddly Squat, the story of Clarkson’s first year as a farmer, he’s very funny but he’s also more grounded because he is not an expert in the field, whereas everyone around him is. And again, the book reads like Clarkson speaks. I’m a couple of days in and I’ve nearly finished it.
Having unfortunately missed out on a round of golf last Sunday for reasons beyond everyone’s control, I decided yesterday to venture to our local course, Woodlands, for a quiet round in my guise as Billy No Mates. After nine holes on the Masters course, having lost over a dozen balls, eight of which went in one lake, I did the unthinkable: I gave up. I was heading for a score in the low – and I am not making this up – 170s and the way I was playing could have seen me card something close to 200. Everything I had learned about golf in the last decade turned to mush. In any event, had I carried on, I might not had enough balls to finish the round. I vowed to never play again as I staggered off the course, something I will definitely stick to, at least until next time. I washed all my clubs this afternoon. I’m certain this will help.
Then, there is music. What would life – at least mine – be without music? In the last few weeks, I have purchased music by David Holmes, Midlake, Leon Bridges and Khruangbin, Mitski, Tears For Fears, Spoon, Porij and Common (a very old song) and it’s been lovely. I could have happily spent the rest of my days listening merrily to Radio 2, listening to the safe and familiar music of my younger day but instead some years ago I found BBC 6 Music and the world has changed. I may even have been one of those who said, “Modern music is shit. My grandad was right – and he was talking about the Beatles and Stones.”
I was talking with some people not long ago and the question was asked, which era was the best for music? The simple answer to that question is not an era, it’s a year, 1971. The more complicated answer is now. Not only are we blessed with all the music that’s ever been made – except I Number 7 only wants to get to heaven by John Kongos which I can’t find anywhere, except on vinyl – and all that brilliant new stuff that’s being made today. And it is brilliant. All you need to do is look for it and it’s there.
6 Music has done something else to me. I used to usually only buy records made by men. It never occurred to me but nearly all the bands and artists I bought records from or went to see live were men. Not any more. Christine and the Queens, Mitski, Courtney Barnett, Laura Marling, Aroof Aftab, Self Esteem, St Vincent are but some of my recently purchased artists. And my life will be all but complete once I see the brilliant, absolute genius Ms Barnett in Cardiff in late June.
And all this seems better because of the sun. It seems to be doing more for my mental health than the efforts of what remains of the NHS. And I’m getting pleasure out of things again.
I’ll probably be feeling crap again next week when the weather reverts to deep midwinter but for today I’ll follow the sun.
