I Thank You, I'm here all week...
A God-believing, conductor who likes to think he is full of deep things but flatters himself. A Mozart-obsessed, opera lover who tries to avoid the subculture by playing blues guitar. A Bible-reading, would-be poet, failed composer. More introspective than is healthy. Pretentious, self-pitying, very occasionally amusing, more-than-occasionaly selfish. Insecure, arrogant, self-protecting. A husband. A malcontent when he really should know better. Loved by Alison. Loved by Jesus.
And at other times, you let people speak for themselves. In Tesco last night, I espied on the cover of 'More' magazine (a quality publication if ever there was one) Cheryl Cole -
"X-Factor saved my marriage. Simon Cowell saved my life."
No further questions, your honour. I rest my case.
So it seems to me that there are many harbingers of the onset of middle-age. An increasing obsession with the weather, an increasing desire for functionality over style when it comes to fashion, a rose tinted retrospective view of the music of one's youth, reading the The Daily Mail...
Now I don't subscribe to all of them (I've never been tempted to read The Daily Mail) but I do observe their ubiquity in my life with a rising sense of alarm. And none is more noticeable than my observations whilst driving.
Alas, I have reached the age where driving is far from a means of getting from A to B, much less an activity to be entered into with such death-defying enthusiasm/idiocy as to attract members of the opposite sex. No, no - I am at that age when driving becomes anthropology. Ali, - or any other less-suspecting passenger for that matter - is never spared my sociological observations whilst I sit behind the steering wheel. Let me share some of my conclusions with you:-
There are simply loads more idiots driving on the roads these days than there used to be. Most - if not all - of them are compensating for something. Driving fast, driving 6 inches from someone's bumper, tooting your horn, flashing your lights, swerving dramatically may make you feel more of a man, but unfortunately for you, such behaviour simply confirms to the rest of us what we already suspected.
Pulling out of a junction with such urgency as to cut another driver up and force them to brake dangerously and then proceeding to drive down the road at sub-30mph is simply stupid. Why not wait until the road is clear and drive that slow at your own leisure? Let's face it, you're going to take ages at that speed anyway...
Pedestrians - when crossing a road which was not clear to cross (ie you made a driver brake), swinging your arms faster at your side does not create the illusion that you are walking faster. Neither does it communicate any sort of apology or desire to get out of the way as quickly as possible. It just makes you look like a side-stepping aunt at a wedding disco.
Rich people and/or people with expensive cars - there is no elite road tax covered in the price of your vehicle. You have not paid for the right to dominate the fast lane on the motorway. Neither have you paid for exemption from parking laws, the usual obligation to observe traffic lights, or the need to use indicators. I hate to break this to you, but there really is one rule for you and exactly the same rule for everyone else.
So there you have it. And if you don't have it already, it's just around the corner.
Backstage is a bustle. Empty cello cases stand to attention and guard the corridor. Black covers from large percussion instruments loiter mysteriously and ominously. I try to match cover to instrument but it's not easy. Clothes are hung on any available catching place for a coat hanger, ready for a quick change and a swift exit. Musicians chatter and gossip, buoyed by a successful first half and a full house. The soloist greets his guests after a job well very well done. But for me, I am more than aware that the real challenge of the evening is ahead.
Out there, the stage is deserted but remains a picture of organisation and order. Here, things are different. I sit while everyone else stands. I try to rest body and mind while others take the opportunity to move. I look for some form of quiet, where others seek company. I try to be anonymous, while others impose. This is the anti-stage, where all the syntax of music-making is inverted.
And now they are called back the other life. The stage manager brings them to attention and sends them out again. And for a few brief, most precious moments I am truly alone. The sound of the tuning orchestra reaches my ears, the sound of audience settling in their seats and finishing their conversations. It is time. This is it. This is silence. I walk, I bow, I turn to four horns and I raise my right hand in defiance.
Of course they have a very good point - Cristiano Ronaldo is appropriately termed a slave. Playing football regularly for one of the world's most famous and richest clubs, adored by millions, endorsement deals and image rights coming out of his ears, all for a mere £122,400 a week. Poor, poor guy. Slavery indeed. Those long hours. The horrendous living conditions. The pitiful wages which are barely enough to scrabble together a small island in the South Pacific. And no hope of escape from this living hell (hey it is Manchester) until oooh... at least 2012. It must be so difficult. Well nigh impossible.
"...is my next million in there?"
We live in a time when slavery is probably more prevalent than at any other time in history, with at least 12.3 million people victims of forced labour worldwide, sex-trafficking at an all-time high and the memory of black slavery in the United States of America hardly a distant one. Heck yes, I think a lot of people have a right to feel very, Very, VERY offended by the words of Blatter and Ronaldo. A plague on both your houses.
And while I think about it, if Manchester United and Real Madrid and so many other football clubs have nothing better to do than throw millions of pounds at each other and other idiots like this, then a plague on all your houses too.
1. Can you remember without looking what your first post was about?Nope, but I guess it was a bit of a 'hello, here's a bit about me' kind of thing...
2. Where did you write it? Where as in 'what platform'? Or where as in 'physically where'? Platform was right here on 20six. I have no idea where I was when I typed it...
3. Which was the first blog you read? Jonny B... who I am trying to persuade to return to the world of blogdom.
4. Who did/do you tell about your blog if anyone?Anyone who's interested. I don't think I have anything to hide... (although I'm sure there's some secret service minion recording all I say as evidence against me for when individual thought gets outlawed...)
5. Has your blog ever caused a scandal?Alas, if only it could be that interesting...
6. Tell us something random which happened as a reslt of blogging? Hmmm... an old college friend tracked me down as a result of my blog. We've kept in touch since.
7. Snog, Marry or Avoid - pick another blogger for each. 'Scuse me - I'm a married man!! And since Ali doesn't blog, I'm going to pass on the first two. Avoid... hmmm I assume this means 'romantically avoid'...? I guess I'd recommend avoiding me, since I'm married... 8. What's your most amusing blog memory? Well there was the Million Pieces "attention whore-gate" debacle, Jonny B's libellous allegations of the colour of my new guitar, and so many others. These are the first two to spring to mind...
