On being...a case
study
I found out by
accident. I went into the ensuite and there it was, by the
wicker-basket loo-roll dump and my copies of Sh*t My Dad Says
and the Hoggy autobiography, not even hidden:
Grumpy Old Men –
A User's Guide (or something like that)
She reading up on
me.
Superficially, I
can't object. I'm a bloke...I'm old...and I have been known to have
the odd, very occasional, moan.
I tend to see myself
as enthusiastic rather then grumpy, in general, so...another illusion
shattered and ground into the dust, I guess.
I flicked through
some of the quotes. Rik Wakeman (how does a bloke with extra-long
blond hair, fond of dressing like Merlin, who plays seven keyboards
at the same time, grow into a grumpy old git, exactly?) said: “The
band call me Victor Mildrew, the kids call me Victor Mildrew, and
when my hair finally falls out, no doubt I'll even look like Victor
Mildrew”. Albeit Victor Mildrew dressed a Merlin playing numerous
simultaneous keyboards.
Michael Grade said,
in a very sweary way I quite admired, that there's no such thing as
plug and play electronic devices. I think he's wrong on the
percentages, because, generally, I'm pleasantly surprised when, on
sticking a new USB connector up the netbook's arse, whatever flavour
of Linux it's running goes: “yeah, no probs, seeing that
fine...wait just one moment...yeah...driver ...interface...okay, bub,
we're nearly there...cool, up and running, kiddo”. But he's right
on the level and length of the frustration when that doesn't happen:
From the kitchen:
“are you okay, dear?”
“Yeah, just
sorting out the [INSERT NAME OF NEW TECHNO-KIT HERE].”
“But it's been two
days now...”
“...[gritted
teeth] I know, I know...”
Arthur Smith was a
bit defeatist: “it starts the minute you go out of the door...”
Jeremy Hardy was
spot on about the anticipation of comfort food being better than the
(boring, stodgy) reality...unless it involves bacon, sausages, eggs
and beans (I think he omitted the sausages).
Best of all was Bill
Nighy, on celebrity, which is something guaranteed to set me off on
one (what, exactly, is it that Ant and Dec do? Let alone do
(apparently) so well? Let alone get awards for doing so well?).
This is where the
enthusiasm comes in, though. I'm typing this with the
earth-shatteringly amazing first Clash album thundering away in the
headphones ('Protex Blue's just finished... “JOHNNY,
JOHNNY!!!”, which means next up is 'Police and Thieves' with
those left-ear / right-ear chopping guitars, that ahead-of-the-times
sparse production, that thumping, thrumping, thrumming bassline, that
wonderful long workout cover version of that wonderful song) with
shit this good out there, why're so many wasting so much time on
rubbish that's just so, so, so very, very bad?
Nighy said that with
so much 24/7 multi-channel media, there's a need for manufactured
celebrity, coming off a conveyor belt that lacks decent raw
materials. He's spot on. There's too many breakfast time sofas to
fill. There's too many Cowels, Ants, Decs and Semi-celebs doing
dancing. Too little force-feeding of the first Clash album.
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