Frankie says...Relax

Compare and contrast…

…the noises three guys can make.

I’m listening to Lau. There’s three of them and they’re doing something with some traditional or modern instruments. Banging, blowing, picking, I don’t know or care what they’re up to. They’re coaxing huge great earfuls of joy out of whatever it is they’re equipped with.

Then take Cam-moron, the Elephant Man and the other one. There’s absolutely nothing any of them could say that would make me want to listen for an instant. Well, unless it was “goodbye cruel world…”, or “anyone else up for Russian roulette?”, or [from the top of a high building] “look at me, I can fly…”, or “trans can’t hurt you, watch me lay down on these tracks in front of the five nineteen to Paddington…”, or “look, I can eat [insert name of highly poisonous substance] by the spoonful / drink [insert name of highly poisonous liquid] by the gallon.” You get the picture.

Or, maybe, addressing Tyson Fury, “come on, you mincing gayboy, have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Relaxation? That’s not relaxing

During an Arsenal game, the casual observer would think my blood pressure was soaring. It isn’t. I’m blissfully happy heading every ball, committing to every tackle, giving the referee, the opposing players, fans and manger some. What makes my blood boil, is being stuck on a slow-running unreliable train that can’t organise wifi so I can watch the game or a radio signal so I can at least listen to it, sitting still on a platform somewhere and missing the Arsenal game.

This is the theory:

Relaxation, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder (or the make up of the relaxee).

Or:

One man’s relaxation is another man’s agitation.

Many say that after a long day at work, they don’t want anything challenging and like to settle down with some bland telly. “After a days work” they say, “I like to veg out in front of some crap TV.” Parked in front of crap telly, a big, thick throbbing vein starts banging away and I get that voice saying “hear that, mate? That’s your available lifespan ticking away while you watch Come Dine with Me”. Also, whatever part of the brain that isn’t fully engaged in the film / book / sport / whatever, starts worrying away, about work, about undone stuff that needs doing, more work…so anything less than 100% absorption is unsatisfactory.

I’d rather be incandescent with rage, yet engaged and enraged, than bored by the bland.