The Trials and Tribulations of a Moron

Shit house

2012-01-28T09:49:00.000-08:00

This evening I am feeling like even more of an idiot than usual.

I am dwelling upon the success of others and that is the worst possible thing I could do. I see people around me doing wonderful and exciting things and I wonder why I am not doing the same.

Perhaps it is because I am lazy. Perhaps it is because I am afraid of my own ideas. Maybe it is because it is more tempting to sit than to stand.

Whatever it is, it makes me feel awful and inadequate and I hate it. I have decided to stop immediately.

Raven Boy

2012-01-27T07:52:00.000-08:00

Raven Boy - 3rd Stage of Research and Development SHowing (Sep 2012)
Infectious Theatre brings its unique brand of physical theatre and story-telling to the tale of Bran, a boy raised by ravens on the roof of the Tower of London.

Produced by
Infectious Theatre Company
Supported by ARTS COUNCIL ENGLAND
in association with
Jacksons Lane Theatre

Director: Jennifer Pearcy-Edwards
Playwright: Kirstin Coulter-Smith
Story Concept: Darren Clark
Lighting/Set design: Arnim Friess
Movement Director: Robin Guiver
Puppet Design: Irena Stratieva
Original Songs and Sound Design: Darren Clark
Original Music: Darren Clark

Musicians:
Rich Stephenson (Resonator)
Kate Findlay (Cello)
Hannah Morgan (Violin)
Darren Clark (Guitar + Mandolin)

Cast:
Jonathan Peck
Tom Giles
Sandy Foster
Alex Kanefsky
Saskia Solomon

Newly Bewly

2010-03-09T00:35:00.000-08:00

There are donkeys, and there are chickens, and there are cats. Animals abound on what is now the family farm. When did we all become farmers? I spent the day moving large pieces of wood from one place on the farm to another and afterwards I felt enormously good about it. I saw the wood, moved the wood and left the wood and it felt utterly satisfying.

Then I played my guitar, then I backed the car down the driveway with a trailer on it, then I emptied the trailer. Then I fed the donkeys a carrot, then I played my guitar again.

There are stars out now and my brother is quietly picking out a tune beside me as I write. I miss London, but a break like this is just what the doctor ordered. Soon, I'm going to have a bath, and then I'm going to have a beer, then I'm going to go to bed and read Joanna Trollope. Then I'm going to think for a little bit about Cute Girl.

2009-12-15T15:58:00.000-08:00

So it turns out I'm actually a fuck-tard. A giant spunk-pump. Let me fill you in:

Was dating Rose quite happily for several months, then started the inevitable worry about whether or not she might be right for me. Inevitable answer when worry sets in equals not right. Answer, should probably end this now. So did. Looking back, I think I'm always going to have the same problem until I can sort my shit out. What is it about one person that terrifies me so much. I could never cheat on someone under any circumstances, it's just not in my capacity to do so. Is that why? If I commit to someone then that is it? I'm committed and there can't be any more mistakes or transgressions?

I know I don't have to be perfect for the rest of my life, but I don't want to leave any wife of mine the way my god damned father left his. I don't want to colour my children's lives in the way that mine have been coloured. When I commit to someone I want to be sure. But the horrible thing is I can't be. It's not possible to be sure. It's possible to do your best, to try, but what happens when your best doesn't cut it? People get fucked and really it's no ones fault. People change their minds, people come and go, some people care and others don't.

I think perhaps you can fall in love later than you think. Maybe after you've been dating someone for a while, maybe even after you've broken up. Someone told me I need a challenge to get me past the tipping point. I think that's what I've given myself... except now I've fucked up.

Animal fucking magnetism. We'll call her Cello shall we? She is in my band, playing the instrument that is her namesake and we have gotten drunk and fucked on two seperate occassions. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself both times but am left with a sensation of guilt. We have not discussed any possibility of a relationship or anything. At the moment it seems to be, if she feels like it and I feel like it then we can have sex with each other... I don't want things to get complicated. I don't have time for a relationship.

Cake and eating too... balls.

Dead Blogger

2008-11-06T15:26:00.001-08:00

So, it appears I have been dead for sometime now. However, as with all dead things, the circle of life turns and we all come back as something we didn't really expect to... like Polystyrene containers.

I read the Bee's blog for the first time in an age today and it was so nice to catch up on all the things she has been doing (even though I see her three or four times a week now at rehearsals which is nice) so I thought I would return the favour.

Good lord, so much has happened since I was last on here that I don't know where to begin... I am currently rehearsing my first proper musical which I have written the music and lyrics for with my director/writer friend Fiver. I have been putting the tremendous cast through its paces with the music and am so pleased with how everything is coming along, after initial worries of "Oh, Lord. What have I got myself in for?" I am really starting to enjoy what people are coming up with and how they are characterising the songs. The Bee is in the show of course, she is playing (strangely) a girl named Bea, and she sings and acts and everything and it's lovely to see, though occassionally we argue about how to sing bits of the songs that I have written... we are over that now though.

It's lovely to see my friends and new people enjoying rehearsals (especially as for many this is their first time singing on stage).

So that's going well.

What happened with Trouble? Well, she moved to the other side of the world, we are still in contact but only very occassionally and I have found myself thinking about her less and less over the past few months especially now that a new, lovely young thing has appeared on the scene... let's call her Rose.

How did we meet? Well, interestingly, about eight months ago, my ex girlfriend, JDFK was down in London town for a visit and we met up with her and the young lady she was staying with called Boom. Boom is very much into theatre, being a talented actor and writer with a particular interest in childrens storytelling theatre. We got on extremely well from the get go... me with my interest in story telling songs and we got talking about a project on which we might collaborate. About 5 months later the Boom got in touch to talk about said project that she was writing with her friend (Rose). They were going to meet the producer and asked if I would like to come to play everyone a song I had written for the show. I said yes.

It turns out that the Boom couldn't make it that evening and so I was to meet Rose instead at the station. And meet her I did. Not until a few minutes before I saw her did I even contemplate that I was about to meet a girl who could perhaps be interesting and attractive. Then I started contemplating it, and then she appeared. And she was interesting. And she was attractive. And very smart with just the sort of sense of humour I love.

So... physical description... she has:

Brown Eyes with lovely eyelashes
And Aquiline nose
Lovely teeth and smile
Red hair
Big boobs
Lovely hips and a nice bum

She dresses immaculately, has a fetish for watching her favourite rugby team, is training for a marathon, was overtaken by a man in a giant badger suit in her last half marathon, has excellent grammar and makes me laugh alot.

But enough about her... how did I ask her out? Well, moving on from my painfully shy days, I decided that I really liked her and asked her if she wanted to go out some time. She said...

"Yes, but I need to check something first"
"Huh?"
"I need to check with the Boom, because she quite likes you too"
"Huh?"

Now that has seriously never happened before. Two beautiful girls clearly out of their minds.

Well, long and short we are now seeing each other as much as we can which is not enough in my opinion as I rehearse for the show five nights a week and she is training alot.

Never the less, I am very happy.

I have discussed Rose endlessly with the Bee, who has been wonderful (apart from ginger jokes) and I went round for Roast potatoes with her on Saturday and had a lovely time shooting the breeze... I feel very lucky to have such a wonderful friend.

So. Life is good at the moment. It has its down moments sure but on the whole, I'd say life is great.

Catch up again soon.

Burger

2008-08-30T17:56:00.000-07:00

I was out. And drunk as usual with my flatmate Maloney. We were in Clapham, while we were standing innocently outside a Kebab shop a woman came and took a bite out of my friends Burger. No asking or anything... what sort of world are we living in...

No sex, fights, writing and pigcheese

2008-08-26T16:09:00.000-07:00

It's been a little while since I had sex. Once upon a time a little meant "it's been a year since I've had sex." Fortunately this is not the case anymore and "a little while" has had a number of months whacked off it (no pun intended though the amount of whacking off in said months has increased exponentially. It's a hyperbolic curve.) So there has been no sex, Trouble has not brewed on the horizon for some time and while I still think about her sometimes it isn't as depressing as it once was. Where as once it was like having a cactus in my trousers (ie hard to ignore and painful) it's now more like a feijoa in your favourite pencil case (you can pretty much ignore it, until it gets squashed in your bag and all your pencils get feijoa on them. You know what I mean.)

The reason I haven't had sex (and it's a valid one I keep telling myself) is that I've been writing lots. Not blogging I know and I must admit I have been remiss on this point. Bad kiwi. But I have been writing a musical with a friend of mine, we'll call her Farley for consistencies sake, which is going to be performed in December. We are writing the story together and I am doing the music and lyrics. We have written successfully before and I must say it is a partnership I really enjoy as it is extremely creative and inspiring. Problem being I'm doing little else at the moment, what with working all the time as well. I'm not saying I don't enjoy it, because I love it, but I do get tired.

So now is how I'm going to justify it in terms of sex. Well, I figure chicks dig creative writery types. But in order to be a credible creative writery type you have to write something first. Once I write the thing then the girls will see and I get to put my sausage away. Oh yes. It's the chinese Year of the Sausage.

Fights. Well. This was a little fight between myself and the Bee. The Bee gave me a call late in the evening on Friday and we got to talking about something she had just been to about the suffragettes. Somehow the conversation got around to Margaret Thatcher. Now the Bee was in a rather full on mood, having just seen something which stirred up her feministic tendencies, perhaps now was not the best time to mention that my 2nd Cousin had worked with Mrs Thatcher as an MP for 20 years and knew her and her husband very well. He had mentioned to me that he thought Denis (husband) was the brains behind the operation and Margaret was the figurehead. Now, I don't know enough about this stuff to say one way or another if this was even a remote possibility, but when mentioned the stance taken by the Bee was that this was an absolute impossibilty, completely implausible and without any grounding in fact whatsoever. Now she maybe absolutely right. The thing that annoyed me and set me off was the fact that the possibililty was not even entertained for a second. The thing that pissed her off, was the fact that I didn't have a strong opinion on the matter. Well, as I have a very limited knowledge of the subject I didn't feel qualified to have an opinion. Sure I have an idea on what is right and wrong and I would like to think that the Bee's description of how the Thatcher government was run was correct, but the fact is I can't argue for or against whether what my uncle said was true because I knew NOTHING about it. Surely I would be an idiot to agree with the Bee just on the facts she was giving me. Facts I don't even know the veracity of. And surely I would be an idiot to agree with my 2nd Cousin, given that I know barely anything from his side of the story.

The argument strayed into various things, with constant misunderstandings (economics and politics!) and eventually ended. I can't remember how exactly it ended but there were raised voices. It was a good argument. I think we both thought it was about something different than it actually was. I think the Bee was trying to convince me that Women are equal to men (of which I need absolutely no convincing at all) and I was trying to argue the virtues of seeing something from the other side. These two arguments kind of melted into one confusing mesh of argue. But it was good to blow the cobwebs out of the other side of my brain. Anyway, I'm glad we had it. I think I learnt much more about the Bee from that argument than I have in a long time. That she has strong opinions and really knows how to argue them and that she has very strong views on equality.

PIgcheese. Speaks for itself really. Anything that sux is pigcheese. I just wrote a song which incorporates a torturer singing about how much he loves dancing. Heaven preserve me.

Erratic

2008-08-08T14:04:00.000-07:00

On the way home from Gay Paris this evening, I once again marvelled at the wonders of the British Transport system. After having enjoyed a faultless travel experience across the ditch with our Frenchy friends, we returned to a suicide on the tracks at Surbiton. Now it would be rude of me to blame the person who did this... but I'm going to anyway. Seriously, could there be a more inconvenient way to top yourself than jumping in front of a high speed train and delaying every train from London to Woking from 6pm till 9pm on a Friday night? My questions to the person who did this are as follows...

Was this a final act of vengeance on the transport system that has failed you (though not in this particular case) so many times before?

Was it an attempt to get people to feel sorry for you? if it was, let me just say I ain't feelin it.

Was it an attempt to piss off every person on platform five at Vauxhall wanting to get home on a Friday Night?

If the last one applies to you, I must say you have succeeded brilliantly in your final act. Well done you. I'm not usually an angry person. But that just pisses me right off.

Well, I'm home now and that's the important thing. My mother and I did not kill each other during our 3 week stint in each others company. In fact we had a blast! I got the lowdown on my mum and dad's divorce and all the particulars (it makes fascinating reading!) and mum learnt that she should never ask me questions about drinking, London, kids, sex, pets or marriage ever again. Apparently the answers have scared her.

I have seen countless gardens, for all you gardening fanatics I'm going to reel them off here. For all you non gardening fanatics I apologise in advance. Just ignore the next bit.

1.The Lost Gardens of Heligan (now have been found... and conveniently signposted)
2.Tregrehan Gardens (walled garden with a tennis court that predates western civilisation)
3.The Eden Project (looks like something out of Total Recall... I almost expected Arnie to start toting his machine gun through the Rainforest Biodome)
4. Jim and Bel's Garden (Friends of the family, absolutely loaded and lovely to boot!)
5. Monet's Gardens at Giverny (You know, the impressionist dude with the beard, really good food here)
6. The Gardens at Versailles (It's no wonder the french wanted to kill Marie Antoinette. If you see where she lived, the utter decadence of it nearly made me sick)

This is an erratic post. My head is all of a muddle at the moment. Trouble still pops in and out occassionally but it seems for more short term visits than the long term invasions of yester year. I can't decide whether that's good or bad... Good I suppose. I'm sure the Bee will approve of my efforts to move along. Ooh. I also had sexual relations with someone at a party and didn't say I would call her. This is the first time for me. She seemed about as pleased about the not-calling thing as I did. How fab is that!?

Relapse

2008-07-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

Shit. Relapse. Total relapse. Turns out I'm still Troublised. This evening was the AGM for the show I was in and we watched the DVD they made of the show (which turned out to be not nearly so awful as I imagined). So there was Trouble on the big screen in front of me for a full two hours. I miss her too much. This is dangerous.

Conference

2008-07-12T16:38:00.000-07:00

Oh, if tired was a place, tis there I would be. Stuffed into a cave made of duvets in the heart of pillow mountain. How does one arrive at a state of such exhaustion? Well. In my case, it usually has to do with one of three things... shows, alcohol and women. Not necessarily in that order. In this particular case it has to do with all three of these things mixed into one wonderful sleep-inducing cocktail. I'll rearrange the order as well... alcohol, women and shows.

So. First alcohol. What generally happens when I am outside of London is that I find the alcohol to be rather more affordable than its London counterpart. And if its Lancaster, and a university bar that I am at the affordability verges on the ridiculous.

I have finally discovered what conferences are for. Whilst the sessions tend to be rather pointless and vague, the accomodation singularly cell-like, the food rationed like a prison camp and the lanyards depressingly red, the great thing about conferences are the people.

"I find myself ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers" Mr Darcy said it in Pride and Prejudice, and I believe it is true if myself. I find it difficult to strike up a conversation with a stranger, though the Bee has been coaching me on this... anyway, I managed to talk to some people who introduced me to more people who eventually introduced me to Conference Babe.

CB is lovely, she is a dude. A babe. She is also moving to Vietnam, which is kind of perfect really. She doesnt expect anything from me and I don't expect anything from her which meant that we could just have a good time. And we did. We had a very good time. We drank and we talked, we shared our love of Billy Joel, and talked about bollocks (my favourite thing to do) and she kicked my ass at Pool and we had a snog... this is how it happened...

Her: "Ok, give you a chance to redeem yourself, you play this game and win"

Me: "Ok, what'll you give me if I do?"

Her: "What do you want?"

Me: "I want to kiss you."

Her: "You know what? I'm so confident you're not gonna win, I'll give you anything you want."

So you can just guess what happened next...

I didnt win.

Balls.

Fortunatley after a further three hours of talking and drinking and dancing our drunken asses off, I was walking her back to her room and said, "so you know how I lost that game earlier?"

Her: "yeah, I-"

Then she didn't get to say anymore because I was kissing her. It was lovely.

We hung out the next day (skived our sessions and caught the train back to London together). She was so lovely after Trouble. A sweet, funny, quirky attractive girl, with sparkly brown eyes and a lovely smile. We have texted a couple of times.

I hope I see her again.

2008-07-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

You know those times when the word "Hangover" just doesn't cut the mustard? Even if you prefix it with "Horrendous," "Hideous" and "Horrific"?

If hangovers were like battles, this would be my Waterloo...

So this week has been a long'un and a tough'un. I am responsible for Graduation at the music college that I work for and Graduation was yesterday. Needless to say I have been looking forward to last night for about three months. No more endless list checking (though I must say that towards the end it was one of the only places that I found comfort), no more students with questions about things they've been told a million times before. Well, it was a great success. A fantastic success by all accounts, everything went very smoothly and my boss was very pleased... so I deserved a drink didn't I? A couple of drinks?

On my journey to Hangover Land (a mythical place where everything sucks), I travelled through the Champagne Forest, visited some friends in the White Wine Wood, swam across the Lager Lake, crossed the Red Wine River by way of the Beer Bridge and ended up in the Vale of Vodka. Looking back it's no surprise that I feel like shit. And that's just what I can remember. That takes us to 11.00pm Friday night...

Given that I didn't arrive home until 8.45am Saturday morning, this leaves a large portion of the night unaccounted for. This is worrying. Fortunately for me (and incredibly unfortunately for her) The Bee was able to give me a run-down on the remainder of the evening due to the fact that between 12.00am and 8.45am this morning I apparently rang her 16 times, and somehow she was able to discern what I was doing despite being completely incoherent and (allegedly) crying most of the time.

These are the facts as I know them to be...

1. I've lost my keys
2. I've lost my debit card
3. My credit card has been locked
4. When I started drinking yesterday I had eaten the sum total of a chocolate covered strawberry all day.
5. I was due for a complete blow out.
6. At one moment of lucidity I awoke in a ditch.
7. I spent a good deal of time walking around a train station looking for a bus.
8. I have thrown up several times.
9. At some point I visited Croydon.
10. I have no idea where Croydon is.
11. I am officially blown out.

The Bee has filled me in on the following...
I called her and cried to her about Trouble, I called her and cried to her that my card wasn't working, I called her and cried to her that I didn't know where I was or how I was going to get home. This cycle repeated itself endlessly throughout the night.

I am unaware of anything awful that I might have done and feel like a complete idiot.

I don't know what came over me as I am usually quite sensible, but I suspect everything with the Graduation, the fact that Trouble is moving away, my application for film school all are happenin this week may have fuelled my blow out.

Eeerrrgghhhhhhhawwwwwww.............

That should be a new word for Hangover.

I love the Bee. She is the best and I would like to thank her publicly for not hating me at the moment!!

Thanks BEE!

The Gentlemen

2008-07-01T15:19:00.000-07:00

Slightly pissed. Spent evening with the boys. Known as The Sergeant, Routemaster and Maloney. I started off the night by going for a drink with my workmates. It's great. College has finished and there are no students around to take up the best tables. The student bar is filled with the administrative elite all taking advantage of the hefty student discount without having to go to the trouble of studying anything. Glorious. One of my workmates remarked that she could see my nipples through my T-shirt. I remarked that I could see hers. We sat gazing at each others nipular area for a few seconds.

So then to a boat on the Thames filled with the Business Elite. I always feel slightly out of place in the city. Given the fact that I don't have to wear a shirt to work (and therefore don't) and my shoes are done up with velcro, I don't quite fit in with the average majito drinking city boys with their seemingly endless collections of impeccably-ironed-pastel-pink shirts. I met up with the afore-mentioned boys at the specified rendezvous and we proceeded to converse about everything and anything that popped into our brains...

This ranged from the respective states of love that we are in (or not in) and going on a average basis I think we are pretty up on the statistics at the moment. Two in relationship, two not. Three smitten, one not. One having sex on a regular basis, three not.

All in all, not an awful set of stats. I was questioned this evening unexpectedly about the Bee. Whether there was something still going on there (given that she stays over sometimes and that we have been very close since we broke up). To which the answer was a very firm no. The Bee and I had lots of great fun in the sack and out of it but it just wasn't meant to work like that in the long run. My answer was taken in the gentlemanly way I have come to expect from these three precious friends. Once they have your definitive answer they believe it and no more is said on the matter.

These fellows are that rare breed of absolute gentleman that seem beyond reproach. They are courteous and polite whilst still being engaging, hilarious and endlessly interesting individuals. I feel enormously priveleged to be friends with them.

Thumbs

2008-06-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

This is what my primordial brain would like to say to Trouble. In an ideal world she would not interrupt me at any point. I'm even feeling slightly ill while I write this and she is thousands of miles away on a hilltop in Spain doing Yoga... have I mentioned my thumbs before? When I am extremely attracted to someone my thumbs start to ache. At the base of the thumb where it joins the palm there is a dull, palpable ache. When I told some female friends about this they said "Really?! That's a bit wierd..."

Maybe it is a little strange but I think it's my equivalent of butterflies in the stomach... just that they're in my thumbs.

Anyway, this is what I would say...

"You make my thumbs hurt. You make them thump, I mean really ache. When I was growing up I had this fantasy woman in my head. I have carried this picture of her with me in my mind since I first began to link girls with desire. I even attempted to write a novel about a love story when I was unemployed after finishing university, and this picture was the one I conjured up as THE woman. If I recall her correctly I described her as having a "hot-tempered body"... Anyway, I was beginning to think this fantasy woman could not exist. For a start I had bigged her up so much in mind that surely it was impossible to find someone to live up to it... and I don't mean perfection on a pedestal. I have never wanted that. I don't want to be the hot-blooded mortal worshiping a cold, stone goddess. I want someone with faults and imperfections, who has a laugh like a mortar going off, who isn't afraid to tell me to shut up, who is insecure but has the courage to put their insecurities aside for the sake of life. Someone who understands me without having to ask me questions."

"I guess I just want to say that I'm glad you exist. That you are everything and yet so much more than I could ever have imagined. I'm glad you exist because, while I know I can't have you, it gives me hope that maybe there is someone else like you who I can have. Somewhere."

Enormous Bucket

2008-06-28T15:55:00.000-07:00

So here's the thing... last night I sent a text message to Trouble... but wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. In order to understand the text we must first investigate the history behind the text.

While we were rehearsing for our show we had a very interesting night with the director and one of the other actors... it had just been the four of us rehearsing and had got a little intense. Needless to say by the end of it we were all in need of something wet and alcholic (and I'm not talking about a dog who has just been for a swim in a vat of vodka). We trooped to the pub, I remember Trouble was walking so close to me it was impossible not to touch or bump into her... though this also may be due slightly to the fact that when I walk I tend to veer to the right. In fact, left to my own devices, without any walls or anything to stop me, I have a strong suspicion that I would just walk round in enormous circles...

So we get to the pub, the requisite bottle of red wine is ordered, with the requisite four glasses and we plonk ourselves down in a corner with the declared intention of going home after one glass and the secret intention of getting completely shit-faced. Needless to say, the following three bottles went exactly where the first one went. After one the conversation turned to sex. Numbers were discussed, partners were discussed, size and technique were discussed. It should also be observed that on this night we had the following sexually diverse group members...

1. A promiscuous gay man who has slept with literally hundred of people (women too)
2. A 37 year old woman, who has been married and has slept with a middling number of theatre types
3. A 27 year old woman, who has recently split with her husband and has been experimenting
4. A 20 something straight man who has not slept with many people at all

I'll let you ponder over which one I am.

Given the range and diversity of said group, said discussion was vastly educational. I learnt the following two important facts...

1. Everyone at the table had slept with more people than I had
2. Trouble has an enormous vagina. Which she calls a bucket.

When faced with such facts what does one do? One goes to the bar to get another bottle.

We all ended up completely plastered and I now knew the most important thing about Trouble. She needed a big cock to keep her satisfied. Now, I'm not saying anything bad about the size of my instrument (in case it turns on me), but I can certainly say it ain't no monster. This has worried me.

So that is the history behind this text I shall now tell you...

I sent this to her last night... at the prompting of the Bee, who I am thanking at the moment because she is making me do the things I should and not worry about the consequences. This is what I sent...

"I just saw an enormous bucket and thought of you. How is yours? x"

This was yesterday, I have as yet received no reply...

Did I do something wrong?

I Wish I May...

2008-06-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

I have been dallying in flippy-floppy-fantasy land for so long now, it almost feels like home. One of those gingerbread ones with the whipped cream on top and a flapjack for a door. Where if you get hungry you can just eat the custard flavored cat (just the tail cos it always grows back).

I was talking with a friend today, her name is BSF. about fairytale dalliances... she sometimes imagines herself in love with a dark, brooding poet (we had just been to see "The Edge of Love"), living in a bohemian bungelow, perched precariously on the tip of a rocky outcrop whilst waves crash against the cliffs far below. She imagines it dark and cold but lit by the passion of the soul... then she imagines how difficult it would be to get to Primark, Starbucks and how unreliable the internet connection would be. She likes her life and she loves her husband... she just wonders sometimes and dreams...

My dreams are similar to hers... a crusty cabin filled with bottles of booze, not a television within fifty miles, the nearest neighbour is a blind old coot who sings like an angel and regrets never sleeping with the one woman he should have, there is food, there is a guitar and there is a woman.

Anyway, these dreams are drfiting in and out of my reality at the moment. Trouble.

I was round at Troubles house last night (a minor miracle in itself... we were originally meant to meet up tonight, but then she had to work, then we were gonna meet tomorrow but she has to see her parents before she leaves the country forever). So she shifts her drinks with friends last night to an earlier time slot and I agree to meet her at her house later on. I am in the pub by her house waiting for her to get in, I have just bought a pint of San Miguel when she texts me "I'm home". I leave the pint standing where it is and leave. I am a FOOL for love.

Trouble is on detox, strictly no drinking allowed, she has been out with her mate and had soda water and Virgin Mary's all night. On my way to her house I pick up a bottle of one of her favourite wines. Am I a slightly evil bastard? Yes. Yes I am.

When I arrive at her house she is cooking something that she calls "Tofu Delight Noodle Surprise". Basically whenever she makes me food, the title of her concoction always ends in "Surprise". I am a guinea pig for her bizarre creations. Oddly, they are always delicious. She says she has nothing in the house to drink, would I like some water? No. No I most definitely would not.

Me: "So, hows the detox going? I brought some wine"

Her: "You bastard. You know I can't leave you to drink that on your own."

And that was that, the wine was opened, the conversation and wry banter was flowing. The pine nuts were slightly burnt... but she wasn't paying attention and I could forgive her anything. It's a conversation which drifts so easily between the serious and the non-sensical that sometimes we just don't know where we are. Wherever it is I like it.

She is moving to South Africa to follow her dream of making documentaries. It is the opportunity of a life time for her and she has to go. We talk about where she is going to live and what she's going to do. She invites me to stay with her at some point. I say I'd love to. I probably never will. It seems now that there was never any question of the two of us being in a relationship, it is simply impossible at the moment. She has to leave and I don't want a relationship. I just don't have the time and don't want to do anything half-arsed.

We watch True Romance, she falls asleep under the duvet with her on my lap, ocassionally she snores lightly and wakes herself up. I stroke her hair (with techniques newly learned from the Bee). We are so tired we both fall asleep, eventually she drifts off to bed and I pass out on the couch under the duvet.

I wake up early and toy with the idea of climbing into bed with her (we have slept in close proximity many times) but can't bring myself to do it. Neither can I bring myself to tell her that I am in love with her. What possible good could come of that?

The Watermill - Part two

2008-06-21T01:51:00.000-07:00

The sun is beating down. There is wine, two of Troubles friends (lovely to a fault, I have known them for five minutes and already we have agreed to start a band together - one that only plays in bubbles underwater), I am wearing a pair of borrowed swimming shorts. Trouble looks stunning in her bikini. The tub is small and legs can't help themselves touching. We jump off the jetty into the river, the first and only time I have ever swum in an English river and swim through the lazy summer waters. Trouble jumps out to get her camera. I swim with her two friends to a bend in the river, climbing up the bank we see a deserted meadow.

As I leave the two friends (they are lovers) for some private time and swim back to the mill, Trouble snaps with her camera. Good, I think. Somewhere there is photographic evidence that this day really happened.

Trouble and I should really do some rehearsal... we slumber out onto the beautiful lawns and start going through the play from start to finish, playing the other characters as and when required. We work late into the summer evening, though it is the kind of light that seems neverending.

The friends have to go back to London for a gig. This was originally the plan for us all. Trouble says she wants to stay and asks me. We stay. Her friends leave and we are left alone in this glorious watermill which exists on the very edge of a dreamworld.

"I'm tired of rehearsing for the moment," says she.

"Me too," says I.

"Want to watch a film?"

We watch Reality Bites after figuring out how the home cinema works. It is appropriate.

You see, a week earlier Trouble and I kissed for the first time (after nearly three months of wanting to). Two months earlier she had been married, but then her husband left. I shan't say how she feels about this. That is her business, not mine. We are leading man and leading lady in a musical which is going on stage in four weeks. I, playing a chivalrous nutcase, her playing a misunderstood whore. We do not kiss in the course of the play though the changes wrought in eah characters life by the other are palpable. So, that evening as we watched the movie in the watermill, lying together on a very small couch I could think of nothing else but kissing her.

The movie finishes and I ask her if she would like to go for a walk.

"Yes."

We walk outside on this perfect star-cast evening, onto the dew soaked lawn. I attempt to do a cartwheel, though I am not by any means a talented gymnast. She teaches me, we spend the next few endless moments rolling across the lawns. I watch her as her perfect cartwheels, fly across the lawn, completely silent. Her summer dress flying up and revealing her stomach at each flip of the wheel. Later I would write a song about this called "Moonlit Cartwheels".

Then we walk reciting the lines for one of the scenes from our show where I am trying to convince her that there is beauty in the world and she is trying to convince me that the world is a dungheap. It is not hard to say these lines in this place. It is a world I had not been aware of for 20 years. I am back in my childhood in New Zealand where summers are endlessly outside on the lawns.

I have not kissed her yet this evening...

The Watermill

2008-06-20T14:53:00.000-07:00

There is an old watermill somewhere in the south of England, where recently I spent the most memorable day of my life. Not memorable in that there was one giant event which will sit in my memory forever, but in the way that not a second of that day is unaccounted for. A continuous string of humble moments that drift seemlessly and inevitably into the next. This is my memory working on a grand scale...

I am indulging in a spot of healthy english breakfast (two egg, two bacon, two sausage) with Maloney and the Bee when I receive a text message from Trouble. "I'm in the countryside. Call me. x". We are supposed to be rehearsing together this afternoon for our show and I feel my heart sinking into my shoes as I read it. I call her up.

"So you're in the countryside..."

"Yeah, I so don't want to come back to London, it's beautiful here... I know we were going to rehearse this evening... do you want to come down here?"

And so it is (I love that song The Blowers Daughter) that one Bright Sunday afternoon I find myself in an old watermill estate in the south of England. A river runs through it, there is an outdoor shower, beautiful lawns, a hot tub... it's something out of a dream. The first time I see her that day as I am pulling my guitar out of the cab, walking round the corner of the main house wearing her Hollywood sunglasses. The light falling behind her softening the air around.

I have recorded a song that I wrote for her which I promised to give to her, I have brought it with me on a CD for her. One week earlier, the night after we kissed for the first (and nearly only) time, I said to her as she lay in my arms...

"People must have written so many songs for you..."

"No, no one's written any songs for me."

"That's just ridiculous."

"Are you going to write a song for me then?"

And I did. I wrote her a song as I sat in the park the next day (one of those glorious london park days that just linger and linger) and played it for her when she came to sit and read with me on the green. It was one of those songs that are just there. They are my favourite, because you barely have to do anything, they nearly write themselves.

Back at the watermill now... she asks if she can hear the recording. Not now, one of her friends who is staying with her is a recording artist and incredibly talented singer / songwriter and I don't want her to hear...

Her suggestion instead? Why not the Hot Tub by the river?

Why not indeed...

Trouble

2008-06-19T14:49:00.000-07:00

Trouble may be what I am in for.

About five months ago I auditioned for a musical and got a part in it. Some of my best friends also got parts in said musical, one of whom subsequently pulled out because it was cutting in on his dating time. The man, we shall call him Maloney, is one of my best friends in the world and has been enjoying the world of internet dating, to varying degrees of success for a short while now.

Maloney worries about me. In fact it seems that most of my friends worry about me... I am unsure as to why I am the object of such concern. I suspect it is partly because of my hair. Which I am afraid has become quite wild of late and is currently in shoulder length ringlets. I also suspect they worry about my way with women. Or lack thereof.

Women scare me. And intrigue me to a degree that is disturbing. This is why I am in Trouble.

Locked Out

2008-06-19T12:58:00.000-07:00

You know that feeling you get when you've just stepped outside your front door and heard the faithful click of the lock behind you? And you pat your pocket reassuringly to make sure your steadfast house keys are safely tucked inside?

And then you swear like FUCK when you realise they are in your other trousers? And then you realise the reason your flatmate didn't wake you up today was because he's left town for a few days and no one else has keys? You know that feeling?

That's how I felt this very morn.

But like so many bad things that happen, it didn't take long to see the good that comes of it...

Since I'm locked out, I'm staying at the Bee's house this evening. Which is lovely because I don't get to see her anywhere near enough. In fact I'm writing this on her laptop, while "The Cider House Rules" plays on the distant television. A dusky grey light is floating round the room.

I've decided to make the decision that makes your life more exciting...

I'm easing myself into it. Last night instead of going home I was the only staff member (I work at a music college) to attend the student singer/songwriter evening. I talked, I listened, I drank. Today I was approached in the park by two Elders of the Mormon Faith who wanted to talk to me about God. So I talked with them about what I thought of God.

Trouble does this. She does this with her entire life and it is one of the things I most admire about her.

The Best Friend

2008-06-18T15:27:00.000-07:00

Is it wrong to blog when pissed?

Today I woke up in bed with my best friend. This happens on a regular basis. Usually after considerable complaint on her behalf about...

a) How messy my room is...
b) The fact that I have not yet put the newly washed duvet cover on my bed...
c) How she hates the way I breathe and wishes I was dead...

Still, this does not undermine the fact that sometimes I wake up with a girl in my bed. I must say that this is nice. In fact, it's more than nice. I'd go so far as to say it's lovely. Before we go and get all excited, I must mention that this is a completely platonic sharing of sleeping space. No fiddling with bits. This wonderful woman with whom I sometimes share my pallet with is my ex-girlfriend. Known simply as The Bee.

So how do two people who used to go out with each other, spend nights together in non-coital repose without any sense of uncomfortableness? Perhaps it's because that immediately following the most amicable break-up in history (consisting of... "Dude, you know what?"... "Yeah, I know.") we both immediately became besotted with other people. She, with some shaggy haired goat herder, and I with Trouble.

And the best thing about it? That we didn't make our other friends sick by talking about these prospective shag partners all the time. We just talked to each other about it. I talked about Trouble and her marriage, and she talked about the Goat Herders flatmate who is trying to get off with a Brazilian.

Perhaps if either of us start properly dating anyone we will be forced to stop this pleasant habit, but for now I'm very happy with the whole situation.

"The ONE"

2008-06-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

This evening after a splendorous day at work I came home and made myself sausages (one of the great joys of life I think most people will agree) and, as I watched the finale of Dawsons Creek, I felt the urge to grab Bad Timing by it's little neck and beat it into oblivion. Let me be honest for one second, I usually coat the truth in all kinds of sugary treats, so much so in fact that I guess you could call "the truth" lies, but it just won't do anymore... so... Bad Timing. Why do I want to kick it into a fence?

I'm in love.

Though I believe I've reached the age where I'm not sure what that means.

When I was but a lad I (like many other foolish young men who have watched the Princess Bride before me) believed in a mystical being called "The ONE". Now this "ONE" was meant to be all of my dreams rolled into "ONE".

By now of course I have found the one. Several of them in fact...

1. The girl named after a Shakespeare Character: Her parents walked in on her performing oral sex on me. Being wonderfully polite, they just looked away until she had got up off her knees and I'd pulled my pants up. At breakfast the next day they fed me croissants. I have never known how I was supposed to feel about this... so she was the one.

2. The girl who sat in the same Greek Myth lecture: The biggest eyes I have ever seen on a girl. We sat in the same class all year, did not say a single word to each other. At the final lecture I was sitting in the middle row, she came in late, and although there were about 150 spare seats in the theatre she sat next to me. I smiled at her. She smiled back. We went our seperate ways. I never saw her again. That was 9 years ago and I still remember her face perfectly. She was the one too.

3. The girl I crossed an ocean for: So this has been the big one so far... we met in a play, I was the villain, she was the heroine. We fell in love, she was all set for leaving to go to the other side of the world. Six months later, after eating practically nothing but chicken soup and bread for five months I followed her. We lived together for 2 years. Not all of it was great. But some of it was amazing. Some of it was disastrous. In the end it didn't work out... but for a while she was the one.

This has led me to the conclusion that either there is no "ONE" or that the "ONE" is whoever I feel it to be at the time. I love the sentiment of the idea that there is one person out there to make you complete... but I'm not sure I want someone else to make me feel complete. I rather think I like the idea of being complete all by myself.

Having said all that... like I said at the beginning... I'm in love. This means that the paragraph above and anything sensible I might have said earlier no longer holds any water with me. Simply by virtue of being in love I am once more reduced to a state of barely disguised idiocy. What shall I call her this object of my affections? I think I'll call her Trouble...