Keep Going On (keeping with the theme).

I am having a bit of a retro phase recently. I have been tracking down a lot of songs I used to like but haven’t heard for years. By and large, I am quite impressed by my tastes of old. I think I had to make a few mistakes along the way, but that’s the best way to learn, as I tell my students.

My wife bought tickets for us to go and see A-Ha. Not cool, you may think. Maybe not. But the evening was, and I was treated to a great nostalgia night. I don’t like the well known A-Ha songs really. I am more of a fan of their lesson known and infinitely better (albeit less poppy) music from their less successful days. I’d have to add that there were some quality tunes in the set from (presumably) more recent albums about which we know nothing.

I briefly found myself feeling sorry for them, thinking they had been a victim of being too attractive and that they maybe deserved to have been more successful and recognised as more credible artists. Then I took in my surroundings – a jam-packed Bournemouth International Centre singing the roof off to songs many of us had on cassette and vinyl 25 years ago. And then I remembered how “doing the Bond theme tune” used to be the pinnacle of “massive”.

My attitude to music and musicians has changed so much recently. As the band spoke between songs, I really did get a feel of sadness coming across, as if they knew this really was the last time they were going to do this. I could be wrong, of course. They might do another critically acclaimed album and tour in six years time.

I have mocked bands like The Rolling Stones for years. In fact, I once wrote a song called “Has-Been” about musos who still played the same circuits we did in their forties. I am thirty-nine now.

I guess the only difference between the kinds of people I was mocking in that song and myself is that I am absolutely under no delusion that I might become famous now. In fact, I can honestly say it isn’t even my intention anymore. But the thing that really hit me last night – and it’s really shaken me actually – is the notion of what it must feel like to know you are about to play your self-penned songs to an audience for the last ever time. The damned things only take three and a half minutes each as it is! I don’t think I’d ever want to stop.

We’ve just finished our 6th album and it’s “due for release” in early 2011 and, of course, I know my feelings will change, but right now I feel it is our most accomplished album ever. We have been going for 18 years. I was impressed with A-Ha’s 27 years, but it dawned on me that our 7th album (which, make no mistake, has now started formulating in my head – I am sooooo happy to be able to move on!) will punctuate our 20th, if not 21st year as [a] Naked Season.

Gigs, rehearsals or just jam sessions...I know we don’t do any of these thing that often these days. We don’t want to do it that often. We should do it more often that we do, but we all have other commitments. But, right now, I think I’d be pretty devastated if we ever had one of those “this will be our last gig” discussions. John and Ed are two of my best friends and...well...when we get together we can be pretty awesome – whether it’s behind our instruments or at a table with three plates of curry on it. I was asked the other day if there was any other band I wish I had been in and I realised there is only one band for me and I’m in it already.

Here’s to still playing and singing and writing some class tunes when I’m fifty. And then we’ll see about sixty.

That Sinking Feeling

I hate shaving. I absolutely abhore it. I also HATE arty bathroom sinks like the one in the picture. This is the sink in the Crown Towers hotel in Melbourne. It is a 5 star hotel. I am honestly not saying this to let everyone know I stayed in a 5 star hotel, I am saying it to make a point that even at the allegedly highest level, bathroom sinks can be utterly stupid.

I do not use an electric razor – I “like” to have a wet shave. The process starts with me filling the sink, then I wet my face by cupping water with my hands and bringing it up to my face. My bog standard sink at home looks like exhibit A – the genius “two taps” classic. Note how there is a cold tap on one side and a hot tap on the other, and notice the gap between the taps that makes it extremely easy for me to bow my head down towards the sink to allow me to splash water onto my face without any drips ending up on the floor around the sink. So let’s consider the practicality of exhibit B, a beautiful and modern five star sink. Notice the beautiful mixer tap that is fixed in its central position making it impossible for me to get my head anywhere near the sink for any splashing-on-face purposes.

Let’s continue. I don’t know if you can tell from the picture, but my bog standard budget two tap sink is concave. This helps enormously because the majority of my removed facial hair will go down the plug hole without any encouragement. My budget sink also has a rubber plug on a chain so I can pull the chain to empty the sink and I can pop the chain around the tap on the right to keep it out of the way and to avoid having to reach into the sink to empty it. The beautiful modern five star sink is totally flat and is requires emptying by reaching in and pressing the ceramic “plug” down. This results in removed facial hair getting all over the dipped hand and then, to add insult to injury, the flat bottom collects a lot more facial hair, increasing the time it takes to clean the sink exponentially.

Oh – and can you see a shaving mirror anywhere in the five star sink picture? You have to lean across the sink to use the mirror in the far wall behind the sink – and – oh – there’s that gorgeous immovable mixer tap to make that job impossible too. I hate shaving. Even when it’s made easy it is tedious and annoying. When it is made impractical by moronic modern “beauty”, it becomes aggravating and very bad for your back and shoulders as well.

I cannae' shake 'em cap'ain!

“You’re not really a huggy type of person are you?”

I get this a lot. No, I’m not. I didn’t used to have to be – this is my point. I don’t know how all this has crept in and I am NOT happy with it. There are a very select few people I would (and do) hug. My wife can have a hug whenever she requests it and the poor thing has to put up with quite a few she doesn’t want from me as well. I would hug my mum and my Dad also but I know he would decline. I would hug my bromance and song-writing partner John and I would hug my university chums but only if I hadn’t seen them for ages (which is usually the case actually). I am also pleased to say that if I asked any of these people would hug me if I asked for it – but these days I only ask my wife.

But what is this thing now where it is necessary to shake hands with male friends and hug and kiss female friends you only saw a few weeks ago? About ten years ago I guess this kind of idiocy was reserved for night club lads peacocking, but alas, it seems to have permeated my social circles now.

I am NOT a”huggy person” because I never used to have to be, so why should I start? To make my friends happy? Nah, I think they are happy enough mocking me for not being “huggy” and smooching me anyway, for their own gratification and amusement. Don’t go thinking because I don’t really want to hug you that it means I don’t like you. Trust me, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be choosing to meet with you, would I?

Ironically, yes, I would shake hands with people I haven’t met before, because that, as far as I can tell, is the done thing. So long as our meeting is planned, that is. I wouldn’t go proffering handshakes and hugs to random strangers.

Time for Change

Several of my friends have made derogatory comments about how I handle money on a day to day basis. I don’t mean as in banks and bills etc, I mean in terms of how I literally handle cash i.e. how I carry money. You see, I wear jeans at weekends. Jeans have pockets and they are not that big and not that deep. When I sit down, if it weren’t for my genius idea of carrying all my small change around in one of those transparent money bags you put 2p coins in, any coins I had would spill out everywhere. By carrying them all in a tatty see-through money bag, I can instantly pull all the change I have out of my pocket in one movement and I can instantly see which coins I have and therefore which amounts I can make.

Friends of mine recently bought me what they called a “man purse”. I am grateful for the thought, but they have missed the point – a “man purse” takes up too much space.

Now John (my esteemed yet goonsome song-writing partner from [a] Naked Season) is just the kind of person who would take (and probably has taken) the mickey out of my money habits. The photograph labelled Exhibit A is his wallet. I asked him how he fit it in his pocket and he admitted it did dig into his backside when he drove places. Look at it! Look at that section on the top. John was carrying £18+ in change in that stupid zip section – and a considerable amount of the weight was made up of coppers and 5p coins – see Exhibit B. Who carries change like that? Who doesn’t just put it in a pot?! John, that’s who.

Exhibit C shows my wallet and transparent money bag alongside John’s gargantuan monstrosity. On the left we have a thin wallet you barely feel in your pocket accompanied by a compact, cheap and efficient way of transporting coins. You can’t see in the picture, but I can assure you there are no coppers or 5p coins in that money bag. On the right you see what might as well be a handbag for a man’s back jeans pocket. The piles of change are what I found in the zipped section whilst we were mixing in the studio today.

Which of us has the better financial solution? My money is on me.

Aren’t village clocks that go “bong” charming? On a lovely summer afternoon, if you lived in a village like Botley you’d feel all quaint and middle class when your town hall clock chimed, wouldn’t you? I came out of a Botley pub the other evening to be greeted by the 11pm chimes. 11pm?! That would surely be annoying, right? Anyway, I got to thinking...wouldn’t it be awesome if instead of a quaint “bong”, Botley’s village clock went “bip bip bip bip” repeatedly like a cheap £3.99 alarm clock? And wouldn’t it be joyous if it just carried on like said bed-side alarm clock until some poor sap climbed up and smacked the button to make it stop? And how cool would it be if that poor sap forgot to actually switch the alarm off and found out he’d only hit the snooze button? I’d love to watch that poor bleary-eyed guy have to shimmy all the way up the tower again to hit the right button 4 minutes later. And every time the clocks went back...the same guy could keep on pressing the hour button (or hold it down continuously) until – oops – he went an hour too far and had to cycle all the way around again. These, I believe, would be good times.

I can’t fit in to small talk (but don't feel you have to make room)

I want to know what comes first. Am I awkward before I make small talk, or do I get awkward because of small talk? I make no secret of what I perceive to be the fact that I am on “an acquired wavelength”. I have an awareness that I am weird compared to the norm and I often wonder if this is the problem, or that the real problem might be that actually I am not weird at all, but people think I am weird because (gasp) I think I am weird. Does this make any sense? Have I lost you already? I’ve probably alienated you already, but if I haven’t, please stick around and help me out. Do I think I am weird because of experiences I have had where I think other people have found me weird, or was I weird from the outset? Is that the same question twice?

It’s funny...When I occasionally speak to the whole staff body at my school, I get a few laughs – awesome – you know I’m an attention seeker, right?! When I perform on stage (although it takes a while) I usually find my confidence. But...have a conversation with me after I’ve been performing to an audience and I’m right back in awkward mode.

I think I may throw my social testers in earlier than some. I don’t think this is a conscious act but I can’t be certain. I think I like to know right from the offset whether a new person is on my wavelength. I will throw in spurious nonsense right from the get-go, just to see if the person is going to get me or not. In fact, Johnny [a] Naked Season will testify that his “audition” was largely just a series of tester questions such as whether Galaxy or Cadburys is best, whether chocolate should be eaten from the fridge (separate blog back on MySpace, I wouldn’t doubt) and who is the most annoying cast member in the original Star Wars Trilogy. For your minimal interest, John and I did a count-down from three and we both simultaneously (correctly) said it was Nien Num, Lando Calrisian’s co-pilot in Return of the Jedi – and this may well have been the day I enlisted him.

When I was younger they put me a year above my age in my junior school. I think there were about twelve of us and I was the only boy. I can vaguely recall one girl, Sian, who “bullied” me, I think – or at least that is how I remember it. Does all my social awkwardness (perceived or not) go back to this torrid time, or did I have a bad time based on who I already was? Was I a target from the start? Was I, in fact, bullied at all? I really don’t know. Chances are Sian was merely making conversation – or was trying to make conversation – and I was awkward even then. I’ve seen pictures of me when I was ten years old – I was a pretty boy – I suspect Sian just had a crush on me!

But don’t go thinking that just because of Sian my inability to speak with people applies only to women. I can think of few men who give me the time of day. I’m the first to admit I am not “a lads’ lad”, but it seems strange that I am apparently so ill-fitting in Testosterone World when I actually do follow football, I do watch Top Gear and I do drink lager. In my heart of hearts I can tell you I don’t do these things to try and fit in – I do them because I want to.

I guess my issue (if there is one at all) is that I just don’t invest enough emotion in things like football, lager and small-talk to fit in. I could name you the starting eleven in England’s 4:1 defeat the other day, but I am not sure I could name every player’s club team. I don’t follow the premiership now Southampton and Portsmouth are not in it, other than to keep half an eye on the title race. I don’t go out drinking much, but I’ll pretty much always have the odd bottle of beer when the footy’s on. I watch Top Gear, but I’m usually on line whilst it is on and I only really pay full attention if there is a star in a reasonably priced car or some amusing footage of the presenters driving into each others’ cars.

I have worked hard on my small talk and I think I have become much better at it. These days I even remember to reciprocate when someone asks me how I am – and – here’s the kicker – I even listen! Also...sometimes, when people ask me how I am, I remember to just say that I am fine rather than to go off on a selfish rant my innocent victim neither deserves or desires to listen to.

I witnessed the following man-talk between two male friends (I have changed the names) at the weekend. This is the kind of man talk that makes me chuckle:

Paul (pointing at baby Megan)- “What is that?”
Lewis (shrugging) – “Dunno.”
Paul – “Somethin’ to do with you I s’pose. Tele broke was it?”
Lewis - “Commercial break, ‘wonnit.”

And perhaps this very “conversation” itself, when compared with the unnecessarily polysyllabic drivel (oh look how clever I am! Praise me! Praise me!) I spout both in written and verbal formats, is the purest and clearest explanation as to why I feel I don’t fit in – because I just don’t – and that’s that.

Curse that cursor

Does anyone else out there suffer from cursors randomly relocating when you are typing on a laptop? I’m talking about the thing where you’re typing a sentence and then you realise you’re crow-barring it in the middle of your previous paragraph.

Imagine if your actual hand did that when you were hand-writing something like an essay. Imagine you’ve written four sides in your neatest and most fluent prose and then you find a) yourself with an unfinished sentence and b) you have written over stuff you’ve already written. I assume it would be in “over-write” mode, seeing as I’m not sure the work you had already written would shuffle agreeably along to accommodate your misplaced drivel like it would if you were in “insert” mode on a laptop. I would like to see that though.

I’d going to try to not sure it will work.end on an example for comic effect, but I am

The Art of Being Subjective

These half-baked thoughts have been prompted by a recent episode of Junior Apprentice, where the candidates had to choose artists and sell their work to art lovers. The candidates went out and met some artists. Some artists had (say) metre square canvasses that they were asking £80 for (say) and some other artists were charging £2500 (say) for something the same size. I have done a very lazy internet search and have found out that most of the factors (the medium used, size of canvass, where the work is being sold etc) that govern the prices an artist can charge are “subjective”. I guess I have to simply accept this – but my question is not really about “art”.

If I am not mistaken, “art” is a sub-set of “The Arts”, right? Well, music is another sub-set. In music, the “artist” gets paid based on how many copies of a song get sold and how many times it gets played on the radio. There seems to be a whole lot less about recording music that seems to be subjective.

As a result of my confusion about the value of art, I have decided I am going to attribute each of my songs a subjective street value.

My 1997 composition “Substitute Real Life” has a pleasing set of chords in its verse but lacks a chorus. Its lyrics are good, but dated, since they refer specifically to the nineties, so I therefore value it at, say, £10. “Rebecca” is a catchy pop gem that was played on Radio 1 “back in the day” so I think I’ll pluck...ooh, let’s think...um...£500 for that one. “Fish Boy”, originally composed in 1992, has had almost 1000 hits on YouTube so this must be worth £8000. Oh – wait – hang on...but...too many people have heard it now, so it has lost its exclusivity and therefore it is surely only worth £0.03 now, right?

Since only three people in the world have heard them, surely the entire twelve songs on our 2011 album “Keep Going On” are currently valued (at least) in the tens of thousands each, right?! Even better, the songs I am going to write in 2012 are currently “priceless”. So, if anyone out there wants to buy the stuff I haven’t written yet, they are welcome, but I only need to hear from an Oil Sheik or Bill Gates. Actually I’d quite like to hear my 2012 songs. I think I’ll start saving.

On a more serious note, I should add that you can buy any of our “released” songs. So far they come in collections that we call “albums” that we sell for a massive loss at about £2-5 per unit. And when I say we sell them, I should point out we sell hardly any because we are not massively popular. And yet that hugely popular picture of the fit tennis player scratching her backside that used to be in those Athena shops probably has a street value of £1.99. Oh, wait, maybe that doesn’t qualify as art.

Is blogging an art? I hope so. Wouldn’t it be cool if I lived in a world where you would owe me money if you had read this? Taking that to its extreme, don’t all of my students owe me money? I have (subjectively) been entertaining my students in my classes for eleven years now with ill-considered rants such as this, and I have gotten a few laughs...so...seeing as I am infinitely more exclusive than Michael Macintyre or Peter Kay, does this not mean that literally anything I say or write must be...um...invaluable?

Maybe this is why the word “invaluable”, a word apparently used to suggest that an object is so valuable it is not possible to apply a value to it, has always confused and bemused me so. Like “inflammable” actually means “it is possible that you can set this alight” but it reads as “it is not possible to set this alight”, I think the word “invaluable” might actually mean “this item has no value” after all, in which case I think I’ve just explained everything to myself – and that, ladies and gentlemen (and here comes the call-back) – is invaluable.

Not everybody needs good Neighbours...

We only watch one soap opera: Neighbours. We have an Australian friend (as well as many English ones) who mock(s) us for this. Indeed, fairly recently, she told us she was having to explain to some friends of hers about us watching it – and justified it by saying that we were English. Her friends, for the record, accepted this as a full and complete explanation.

On behalf of all those 63.5 million people who are English and do not watch Neighbours because it is rubbish, I should like to go on record and state that a) we know only about 1.5 million people watch it even in the UK and b) we know exactly how poor it is.

What people are failing to understand is that we watch Neighbours not because we are British but because we know it is apalling. It is mind-sapping nonsense. I don’t think a day goes by when we don’t either shout at the television, slap ourselves in our foreheads or rewind to see some of the incredibly poor acting by the extras who aren't allowed to speak (and of course the main cast members also). It is perfect television for when we are cooking and/or marking stuff. It is the first thing we watch at about 7pm every week night.

To well and truly rest my case, here is the information that our Sky Plus box had tagged today’s episode with:

“Libby is furious when someone takes her parking space.”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is just the right level of drama I want to see in the “lives” of my fictional soapy friends.

Sweet Trooth

Person on till: “That’s a lot of sweets! Kids party?”

Sensible response (aka a simple lie): “Haha! Yes!”

Approximate actual response: “Sorry? Um...well...um...we’ve got friends coming...the M&Ms are for me but...they’re on offer...so...and...they’ll last a couple of weeks ha ha!”

Honest response: “No, I’ve had a tough day, I don’t appear to be having any success when I do try to diet so I’m indulging myself in a large amount of sugary food products which I will go home and eat until I am physically sick and also sick of myself, because cakes and biscuits and sweets are my drugs of choice. And yes I am thirty-eight and yes those are three packets of Eric the Elephant sweets I am purchasing for £1 sat next to the £1.75 bag of M&Ms, the cheap biscuits and the bag of fresh cookies. This will be my evening meal and will ease the pain of the marking I will manage to get done before my Codydramol sets in and puts me to sleep in front of Come Dine With Me. Do not judge me. And you sir, the person behind me, with your conveyer belt full of fruit and cauliflower...might I suggest you live a little? You could be dead tomorrow. Have a CAKE! And, yes, I do see the irony, in that I will most likely die way before you when my organs finally keel over due to the lack of respect I have shown them throughout my thirties.”

You Shouldn't Be Watching...

Do you know who Charlie Brooker is yet? He is a genius but also a nasty, insidious man who slags everything off and gets paid for it. I find him despicable, but only because he is getting paid for what I should be doing. Almost everything the man says is (admittedly scripted) genius and he and I seem to have exactly the same vehement opinions on television so far (with Glee being the one exception).


If you don’t know – and you should – how his latest vehicle “You Have Been Watching” works, then let me be succinct: Charlie shows cleverly edited clips of appalling television shows and guest comedy panellists join in the slating whilst paying little more than lip service to a supposed quiz format. It’s not a great show but it is fun some of the time.

Tonight, though, we discovered that you can go to the Channel’s web site to find out when the television programmes are on that will be under scrutiny in the nest episode. Alarmingly, this concept appealed hugely to us. Then we got on to spotting the irony and laughed heartily at ourselves. We are now going to become part of the problem. The programme whose purpose is to slate off the worst television is encouraging us to watch full episodes of the poor programming so that we might have a more in-depth understanding of just how bad these programmes are. Ratings for bad television goes up...the need for “You Have Been Watching grows”...We become part of Charlie Brooker’s evil game-plan and part of the problem, not the solution.

Staying In = Staying In Touch?

I hereby declare the outside world largely irrelevant this half term holiday. I am totally enjoying my third consecutive day of watching movies, playing video games, occasional napping, song-writing and catching up on my favourite podcasts. I am currently listening to Richard Herring’s final episode of his first series of “As It Occurs To Me (AIOTM!)” and every spin of the roulette wheel is making me chuckle. This afternoon I’ll check in on a few episodes of “Answer Me This”.

As I alluded to in my last “blog”, I accept that different people like different things, but there are a few people in my life who make me feel like I am being judged (because I am) for enjoying the act of not going out. I am not depressed – I know this because my G.P. says I am not (ooh now there’s a future blog right there though!) and neither am I agoraphobic. In life, there are choices and often I choose to remain at home – because it is where my entertainment is! Plus – it is relaxing – and that is what I need to be doing a lot of (according to my G.P!). And...gasp...it’s cheaper!!!

On my occasional forays into London, I obviously see a lot of people on trains with iPods and I actually start wondering if I might actually prefer to have a long commute these days. I would use every feature my iPod could squeeze out. I don’t have an iPhone – mine is one of those that can play videos though, which is pretty awesome. With a huge commute I would be able to listen to some choice tracks to either suit or adjust my mood. I could watch critically acclaimed series I missed. I could keep up with all the comedy podcasts I wish I had time for. Apart from the back-pain I suffer from, I have even become calmer when sitting in traffic thanks to my iPod.

I am only sorry I can’t listen to a podcast and music at the same time.
But when I am at home, I can do things at the same time. I am catching up with Richard Herring’s podcast right now, as I said. When I’ve finished, I’ll probably have a quick blast on Xbox Live. This afternoon I have a film to finish and I’ll have a chat window open to my Australian chum too, I suspect. This week, I really am Hugh Grant’s character from About A Boy, with my time divided up into units of 30 minutes.

When I collect my wife from work, we will continue our battle to keep watching the television stuff we have chosen to record on our hard drive. We only watch stuff we like. The days of channel hopping to find the least bad viewing are over (I used to call it "channel hoping" - see what I did there?)...The only adverts I have to see are the little tiny bits they cleverly put in shows to catch you out when you’re winding forwards – but I like the competition I have every day with the advertisers...so even that passes for entertainment.

Now don’t get me wrong. I go out with friends most Thursday nights and I do go on holidays for some input. I have tickets for a few live bands coming up and I love going to see a bit of stand-up. I even go on occasional walks where I know things won’t cost me anything.

I suppose if there was a point to this blog up to this point, it might be that the likes of me have no right to be bored in this day and age. But now I’m going to unpick my rant somewhat...You know how listening to your iPod everywhere you go is just superb? Has your battery charge depleted recently when you’ve been out? Have you walked along your normal route listening to the noises of other people getting on with their lives? These are entertaining noises as well.

I have finished off this blog whilst sitting out in my garden, by the way...so have a look at the photograph...and the next time you catch me complaining how hard I have to work to afford what I have got, remind me please.

Hang in there, my friends, I am (very) trying!

I am an incredibly difficult person in some respects. I think I need to thank all of the people who, for some reason or other, continue to be my friends. I’m not talking about “FaceBook friends”, I am talking about the long-suffering fools who continue to actually want to socialise with me, invite me out to places and invite me over to their houses and so on. I sometimes wonder why they do it, but so far they keep on coming back for more.
 
You see, when we meet up with our friends with children and go and do some free treasure hunting in the woods or to some summer show with an entry fee of £9 per head, you can guarantee one of two things will happen to me. Either I will be cynical, moaning and ripping everything to shreds, or I will “behave” and then have the feeling that my friends are waiting for me to start slating everything based on previous behaviour. So far it still seems to get laughs and occasional long-suffering sighs, but I wonder if the time will come when they no longer bother with me.

The thing is...I just cannot help my responses to things. I am open-minded in so much that I can appreciate that one person’s idea of mind-numbingly dreary “fun” is nothing like mine, and I appreciate these differences are what make it all so “interesting”, but I cannot help but mock that which I cannot relate to.

I am going use the Hampshire County Show as an example. I am not making this up: one of the attractions was the England vs Germany Chainsaw Wood Carving Challenge Match. Right, okay. Now you’re over that, consider the fact that seeing this actually happening is a mildly diverting visual treat – for 15 seconds – and no one wants to hear the offensive noise they make when they do this, do they?!

But wait. There is more. Check out my picture of the Ferguson 12vt (or something) tractor...and my arty ironic picture which directs the show’s patrons to a cordoned off grassy (repeat: grassy) area where they can – wait for it - learn to fish...and my picture with a “quite big” tractor, a medium-sized one and a “quite small” one all next to each other.

What a treat, right? So...I hope my friends understand...I genuinely had a great time today, but not necessarily for the reasons people may expect. I was just so entertained by sheer...trivialness...of it all. I loved the people commentating on people riding their horses. I loved discovering some horse-related thing where pairs of people sit on little chariot things one behind the other...and I loved wondering what role the person sat at the back played, if any – I mean, they didn’t hold any reigns or a crop or anything. And after some discussion of how tiresome watching these people go repeatedly clockwise around a rectangular arena was, when my friend leaned over to me and did a pretend voice over suggesting the second passenger simply said “Turn right” repeatedly, how I didn’t end up rupturing something through laughing, I do not know.

But...different strokes for different blokes and all that, right? I know that the things that interest me are just as dull to other people. I only hope that the tractor enthusiasts of the world who maybe don’t enjoy song-writing, live music, stand-up comedy, travelling, rollercoaster riding, going to the cinema, watching great television and playing and chatting with friends over Xbox Live and FaceBook have a fabulous time mocking the likes of me and the drivel we fill our desperately sad lives with.

To my friends...You guys have known me for so long now. I apologise for being the way I am. When you’re dragging me around shops, you have learnt I hate spending money. When you’re dancing to music I despise, you’ll see me nodding my disapproval. When you laugh at poor quality slap-stick Saturday night television and you see me sighing at you, it doesn’t mean I am not enjoying myself. I am happy being a sardonic miserable old sod, and I ask that you continue to embrace the fact that I just see things a little more skewed than you do, perhaps.

I love you guys. My school report from when I was 10 years old says I was “unusually cynical for someone so young” and that I kept a “very select group of friends”. I love my life and I love spending time with you guys. I love talking twaddle with you and I love the fact that we go to places that waste my money so I can moan about it and be all the more amused at my own stupidity...and often yours as well.

You're not the only unique individual you know.

The general consensus is that I am “random” and “left of centre” to say the least. I am told I have a dry sense of humour and I seem to have caused debate on occasion as to whether I am funny or just annoying. For the likes of me (and herein lies the main gist behind this blog, really) though, so long as we’re getting attention, we’re sort of happy...I think.

The internet has helped me so much. I have discovered there are people who have the same opinions as me and people who think almost exactly like me. It’s great! Or...is it? I don’t know whether to be pleased or depressed by the fact that I am not nearly as unique as I always thought I was. And I am not blogging this to be funny – it’s genuinely something that is on my mind.

I always considered myself to be one of a kind. But...I’m clearly not! Should I revel in the warm cosy feeling that I am not the only one who e-mailed the BBC to complain about Graham Norton’s stupid mug appearing during the climax of a recent Dr Who episode? Apparently, 5500 people complained. On the one hand I was very excited that we got an apology and that our complaints has resulted in change. On the other hand I was annoyed that it wasn’t my extremely witty e-mail that was quoted on the radio – it was some lame middle-of-the-road person’s bland drivel that was read out as an example instead. But...but...mine was the best!!!

I really am torn. I mean...it amuses me to think there are many other blogs out there blogging about the very same thing I am right now...about their discoveries they are not unique...and I kind of enjoy laughing at my own insignificance. But why isn’t everyone reading mine?!

Best of all though, is that I created a spoof FaceBook group called “Being a Unique Individual”. I did this for two reasons. Firstly, it was so that it would appear in the news feed that “Trevor Williams has joined the group ‘Being a Unique Individual’, which amused me more than it should have. Secondly, it was a test to see if anyone else felt they were so unique they needed to add themselves to a group proclaiming their uniqueness, thus totally undermining their supposed individuality. I was setting a “clever” trap, see? A bit like when teenagers choose to dress “alternatively” and therefore all end up wearing the same Goth nonsense or whatever.

But, alas, there are many many many people like me who think they are funnier and cleverer than they actually are – and they are all just like me. So come on you self-congratulatory and self-indulgent yet introspective self-analytical types, let’s unite! I’m sure we’ll get along fine.

The Local News Revolution Is Here

I want local news to be more local. No offence, Kent, but you're too far away and whilst I can, at a push, be fleetingly sympathetic that one of your main roads is down to one lane today, it has nothing to do with me. I'm not asking for the bullet-in radius to be Southampton - this would still not be localised enough. I want to know what is happening in the lives of the people who live on my very road – and maybe that road I turn my car around in. And let's be clear: I do not want to actually have to go and knock on doors and introduce myself and ask – I am sure they are very nice, but I want to find out via television bullet-ins that follow the national news (which is perfectly national enough for me, in case you were wondering).

And I'll be honest...one of my over-arching reasons for canvassing for proper localised news coverage is that I would quite like my trivial life to occasionally be the happy signing off story at the end.

"And finally, in other news, Mr Williams produced his first random 'blog' in bloomin' ages this evening. When pressed on why he had not produced a blog for so long, the 38 year-old explained he had been too busy writing witless status updates on FaceBook. 'But the blog is back', he has promised. ‘But how long will it be until he loses interest’, the pundits ponder? If you have an opinion on this, or any other of this evening's perilously tiresome stories, please e-mail us, text in or hire a sky-writer to send us a message."