Avant-garde Experimentalism

In the car today as its pub day and my turn to drive. My pub companion is back from his holidays today, on a pub day, talk about perfect timing. The drive in was very good. It took 20 minutes. School holidays do have benefits.

I'm paying for all this sporting lark though; I can barely lift my arms this morning. These dangerous sports are not good for me, might need to cut back on the swimming. L says I'll soon have arm muscles to match my thigh muscles. She doesn't say whether she sees that as a good thing or not. It doesn’t sound like a pretty sight to me.

The Leeds fan who's retired from being a football supporter proposes that we go watch Leeds play at Forest next season. Unfortunately he can’t as he's given up football, he’ll have to rely on me telling him what it was like. Unless he's coming out of retirement already.

The pub was good. Our usual cottage pie and some practically AF Ale 3.7% from the Durham Brewery. The only problem was it took us twenty minutes to get through the legendary Derby road works and ten minutes to get back. We need a longer lunch hour.

In the evening me make our apologies to Doggo, who is dumped, as we go out with L's parents for a film and a meal. Both Son and Daughter were due to come but as expected Son dropped out at the last minute, good job he's predictable. Then Daughter drops out after being invited round to a friend's house, which funnily enough always seems to happen when she is due to go anywhere exciting without her friend in tow.

We have an excellent meal. I have a lamb curry that was one of the best I've had for some time, with two stonking pickles :- lime and chilli (undeniably out of a Patak's jar, I know them well but no complaints). Washed down with one and a half Everards Tiger,

The film we see is 'Scott Walker: 30 Century Man', as L's folks are big Scott Walker fans. The film tells the story of his transformation from teen idol Scott Engel, through his time with The Walker Brothers and then into his solo career. His records gradually got weirder and weirder and sales declined. Save for a brief Walkers reunion he disappeared until a record label finally let him do things his way. Even then his output was less than prolific, averaging about one record every ten years. His way turned out to be very avant-garde. It is described as exploring the boundaries between chord and dis-chord. I have to say that, although the programme probably overdid his later stuff, I found myself rather taken with the pretentious experimentalism of his material. Particularly with a song about the hanging of Mussolini, which for the recording required a percussionist to punch a slab of meat with his fists.



There are many gushing contributions from celebrity fans who you feel are courtesy of David Bowie's address book, he is credited as being as executive producer - Damon Albarn, Johnny Marr (yes him again), Julian Cope (no idea my favourite poet was a fan and even compiled an album of Scott's stuff), Marc Almond, Radiohead, Simon Raymonde, Jarvis Cocker and many more. Quite a cult following.

His songs are dark, depressing, daunting, discomforting and even disturbing, all the d's. My kind of stuff. I'm intrigued. I can feel a CD purchase or two coming on.

Get home and I'm tempted to ask L if she fancies some avant-garde experimentalism in the bedroom but in the end I settle for a large port (L measured it) and a quickie instead.

Six Days To Armageddon And Counting...

L's bit concerned that I wasn't able to tick my box last night and offers a quickie. It's very welcome, although we are a bit pushed for time and she bemoans the fact that we have to skip the Violetta (ask Ian McEwan). There’s always tonight. I'll tick her box if she ticks mine. She can provide the Violetta; I’ll supply the Horlicks.

Take the car today and I risk the A52. The journey was a breeze. Don’t you just love road works.

We have been invited to a wedding in a few weeks and we've been asked to nominate two songs for the DJ to play. This has caused some major debate. I've been tempted to put some old punk favourites but also think we should be more modern than that. We'd already thought about Bloc Party's Banquet and I suggest Sunshine Underground's Commercial Breakdown.

L asks rather than something to bop to, how about a track for us to have a smooch to?

Ah now there are so many romantic moments from our past that have records associated with them. There's Radiohead's High and Dry, the DJ played it at the first gig I took L to, it was Catatonia at Loughborough University, and we slow danced to it before the band came on.

Talking of Catatonia, there's their debut album Way Beyond Blue, which was the soundtrack to the most romantic blowjob I've ever had in my kitchen, possibly the finest every administered. Track 8, This Boy Can’t Swim, was the pivotal moment.

Or there's anything from REM's Monster, which serenaded a particularly affectionate encounter in the shower.

L's old injury is playing up again. Fantastic timing. It's only six days to Armageddon and counting. So she's having a day off training today. She worried she'll look a bit of a berk with an ice pack or a hot water bottle strapped to her leg when she's on her bike. Must admit I’ve never seen anyone do that before but who’s to say it won’t catch on.

When I get home I have to do a double take as I say hello to Daughter, who's sitting in front of the TV, because it isn't Daughter who's sat there. Far too much hair. It's Son. Oh no, the internet must be down. Daughter must be in her room, sulking, apparently her muffins were a disaster, all L's fault of course.

Turns out that the internet isn't down, it's worse than that, his computer is totally dead. Go upstairs with Son and it appears that the power supply unit on his PC has died. We try and fit an old unit from another PC but it doesn't fit. Cyberspace free night for him, how will he cope?

Go off to dog class. Not good. Every time I say left doggo goes right and every time I say right doggo goes left. I'm sure he's doing it on purpose.

Get home and L has an early night. I come to bed at midnight with my Horlicks. Seems that even at this post-watershed hour L is up for some box ticking. Luckily the Horlicks doesn't seem to make me sleepy, in fact it seems to give me a much needed energy boost.