Posts Tagged ‘ nostalgia ’

Five.

Neurotron is Paisley.
Lucky Strikes are 50 inch televisions.
Monolake is hating my boss.
Prince of Persia is the West End.
Serge Gainsbourg is growing my hair long.
Blue shirts are an attempt at business dress.
Manitoba is summer & handwriting.
Earl Grey tea is a very dark memory.
Lusine is the RT60 equation.
Black Vans slip-ons are car insurance.
DJ Krush is the smell of the the subway.
Cider is a wooden table & many, many cigarettes.
Burial is the affair.
A barbecue is a summer spent outdoors & birdsong.
Flying Lotus is living alone.
The MMO is a means of continued confessions.
Wisp is the soundtrack to discovery.
Ice cream is holding out ’til the next visit.
Boards of Canada is the soundtrack to realisation.
Gallo white grenache is despairing.
Burial is the end of the affair.
Facial hair is waiting for an answer.
Beyonce is working things out.
Films at six in the morning are remembering why.
Richie Hawtin is a new flat.
Coffee is writing music.
Tycho is remembering.
A letter brings good news.
Autechre is now.

Success

I found myself looking through the profiles and friends lists of some people I used to go to school with on Facebook. At first it was curiosity that lead me to scroll through hundreds of people in various friends lists, hunting for people I recognised or used to be friends with before I left school. I found out a couple of things. First, that I didn’t really know any girls in my school. I remember lots of names and a few faces, but I don’t really remember knowing any of them. I didn’t really talk to any of them, mingle with them or really make friends with any of them. I don’t know precisely why this is, but I think it was because I was aware at even a very young age of how very little I had in common with any of them. I liked rugby, cricket, hockey and shooting. As far as I was concerned, girls liked netball and that was it (ignorance as opposed to sexism).

Second, I realised that I was quite reserved throughout school, especially in the early years of secondary school. I don’t think I started to fit in until much later on, maybe fourth or fifth form and even then I only had a few close friends. I often found myself confused or scared of other people in school; I was never very tough or imposing, cool or exciting and as such I never really had many friends. I was clever, though. I often scored highly in tests, participated in class with knowledgeable answers and explained things to other people sat about me in class. However, I did disrupt classes quite often. I’d been diagnosed as having ADHD the year before starting secondary school and my parents and teachers put my disruptive, erratic and (as Mr. Phipps, my IT master put it) eccentric behaviour down to my disability and recommended my dose of Ritalin be increased. Thankfully my school masters weren’t my doctors.

But as I looked at more and more profiles I started to realise something else. I kept seeing the words ‘Oxford’, ‘Cambridge’, ‘Kings’ and ‘Goldsmiths’ over and over again. I also started seeing ‘Postgraduate’ every so often and on two occasions I saw the acronym ‘PhD’. I saw people with wives and children and photographs of people I haven’t seen since age 13 in places I can only dream of visiting.

I started to feel quite rubbish. The more I looked the more I realised how little I’ve accomplished. I started to go through all the choices I’ve made in the past seven or so years, trying to find out which decision was the one where everything changed, that pivotal moment in my life. I started thinking about what I could have done and how it could have been different. I started thinking about the things I could be doing and all the things I would have done by now. The more I looked the worse it got. Name after name after name popped up on my screen and each one seemed to bury its way into my skull, pulling and tugging on the part of my brain that makes me think I’m quite shit.

So I closed the browser window and stared at the screen of my laptop for a bit, thinking about what I’d just put myself through when my smallest cat jumped up onto the sofa next to me and started nuzzling into the side of my right leg. It was at that point that I instantly dismissed what just happened as one of those ridiculous episodes we all go through every once in a while. I don’t have time to waste thinking about what could have been; about universities I could have gone to or places I could have seen. I started thinking about all the great times I’ve actually had, and while they may not be particularly exotic or prestigious, they have still been great. I started thinking about all the wonderful people I’ve met and the things I have done as opposed to the things I haven’t. I realised that I don’t regret the majority of choices I’ve made over the last seven years. Sure there are some things I’d do differently if I could go back, but those are the things I’ve learned from and we all have those at some point. I’m certain of that.

Maybe she knew I was having an episode and she wanted to make me feel better. She put this whole scenario into perspective. She made me feel good about myself.

I don’t know how she did it, but Miko sure is clever.

If I don’t survive, tell my wife “Hello”.

I have been suffering from Lazy Weekend Boredom for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of Lazy Weekend Boredom was when I lived in a town called Ripon in North Yorkshire. I can’t have been very old as my parents got married and made their first home together while my father was posted in Ripon. We lived next to a fire station. I only have about five memories of living there and they are;

  • The hernia. I was riding along on a tiny toy tractor when, for whatever reason, some of the tissue in my lower abdomen decided to breach the muscle wall. I think it was a Femoral hernia, but that’s besides the point. I remember falling from the tractor, the fireman who rescued me and nothing more. I was then rushed to hospital where I was fixed by a surgeon. My only recollection of the hospital is lying in the ward with my grandma looking over me with a stuffed panda in her hands. I called my new panda “Panda”. He has a hole in the bottom so you can use him like a puppet. I have him to this very day.
  • Black Jacks and Fruit Salads. I remember having a friend who lived across the road from me and for some reason this friend of mine had access to boxes upon boxes of Fruit Salad and Black Jack sweets. I don’t remember the name of this friend, but I do remember stealing a box of each and running back home to eat them all. I can’t have cared for this friend of mine too much, but then again there’s nothing more important than a million sweets when you are a child. I don’t remember whether or not I was caught stealing the sweets, but if I did my Mother would have made me take them back, apologise and then smacked me when I got home.
  • Making a war frieze and being bollocked for it. I raided my Father’s study and stole a five pack of Staedtler pens, a pack of Blu Tac, scissors and a ream of expensive, watermarked paper. I took my spoils to my room and closed the door. For several hours I sat on my bed and drew soldiers. Soldiers with guns, bazookas, grenades, pistols, knives and swords. I drew fighter jets and bombers and aeroplanes resembling the A400M with paratroopers jumping out of a hatch toward the rear of the plane. I pretty much drew anything I could think of that an army might employ in a war. I then cut them all out using the scissors, taking extra care to remove as much paper as possible and just leave the drawing.  I then stuck my drawings to the wall with the Blu Tac. My Father came into the room, saw the frieze, shouted, called my Mother, she shouted. I had to take my masterpiece down as the Blu Tac stained my mother’s immaculately clean magnolia walls. I was quite upset.
  • Playing various games on the Amiga. My dad was quite into his computers when I was growing up. I remember playing the Amiga for hours on end, We had an Atari ST, then we moved onto an Olivetti x86 machine which ran Windows 3.1 and the Sierra point and click games like the King’s Quest series. From then on he started buying computers and handing his old ones down to me. When I lived in Ripon there were only two games I really remember; Postman Pat which played like a terrible Paper Boy, and Sooty & Sweep in which you had to find something or other. I don’t think I ever got anywhere with them and I never spent a lot of time with them but I do remember them which is a bit odd.
  • My first recollection of Lazy Weekend Boredom. Sitting on my bed cross legged, staring out of the window, being bored and generally doing the square root of nothing.

This is something that doesn’t ever leave you. These are the days at the end of the week where you’re sitting indoors, looking for something to do and finding nothing. I’m having one of those days today. It’s nothing to do with depression, lack of imagination or lack of things to do but a sense of “There’s all this stuff i could do, but I don’t want to do ANY of it”. I could read a book, play some Playstation, go for a walk, take out the rubbish or take some photographs, but I just don’t want to do any of that nonsense.

It’s when you sit on the couch and listen to cars going by outside the window. You hear the car coming, going and then you wonder where the driver’s off to for about five seconds. Then you stop thinking about that and carry on doing nothing. It’s when you put on the radio or an album and it just happens. You don’t listen to it or enjoy it particularly, you just listen to it passively; you’re not really paying attention to it, you know it’s there but it just washes over you. The album starts and ends and before you know it an hour’s gone by.

When I was working I usually countered this with “let’s go and get drunk”, but in my near-insolvency this is a luxury I cannot afford. From recollection, this is the first time in a number of years that I’ve felt like this. It’s the first time I’ve been in an indescribable funk that’s not driven by feeling a bit down or whatever. It’s just a nothingness; an emptiness that I’m finding very difficult to describe. I remember feeling this way a lot as a child. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, rather that I just had so much to do that I didn’t know what to do. My parents were great in that I had a lot of the things I wanted, but I still found myself in this limbo once every couple of weekends.

I don’t know if this is something other adults still suffer from. I think a lot of people will find themselves at the beginnings of Lazy Weekend Boredom and counter it immediately by going out and doing adult things like reading a book in an expensive coffee shop. I find, however, that it creeps up on me and I don’t really realise that I’m suffering from Lazy Weekend Boredom until I’m right in the middle of it and there’s no escape.

Maybe this is the middle ground of emotion. Maybe this is what it feels like to come from The Neutral Planet; a stopping ground between emotions. Maybe it’s my brain deciding to take a rest from worrying about everything, being angry at idiots on the Internet, crying at “Up” or laughing hysterically at burping videos on YouTube. I’m never worried by Lazy Weekend Boredom. In fact, I’m never really anything about it. It comes and goes and I just forget about it the next day.