Quick update

We’re back from Fi’s place after an excellent Saturday and Sunday (although the drive down was pretty frustrating), I just wanted to write a quick post as I’m winding down for bed, because I just found out that the two towers near the M1 in Sheffield have been demolished.

From http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/south_yorkshire/7578266.stm

Two iconic concrete cooling towers in South Yorkshire have been demolished in a controlled explosion.

Millions of drivers passed the 250ft (76m) towers by the Tinsley viaduct on the M1 at Sheffield over the decades.

At 0300 BST the blast to reduce the “salt and pepper pots” to rubble left part of the north tower still standing but it has since collapsed.

The M1 reopened to traffic shortly before 1800 BST after safety tests were completed on the motorway supports.

Those towers were a part of my life for a good few years while I was living in Sheffield, traveling north and south along the M1, and working in Rotherham. Wish I could have been there.

Cheque!

Stockon on Tees council were good on their word and their £360 cheque arrived this morning – which is good timing because we’d been a bit strapped since the Brighton blowout, and being on holiday and visiting friends this month. We also got a cheque from the insurance covering 2/3rds of the costs for Bubbles’ ‘incident’ which is about what we expected and is also well timed.

Optimism – officially sanctioned ignorance?

I’m not an optimist, and optimists seem to take offence at what they view as a negative outlook on life. However, it’s only negative because their view is eternally optimistic. If you believe tomorrow you’ll win the lottery and I tell you that it’s really unlikely and that in fact, if I put a bet on it, I’d probably win the bet and I’d be richer than you. You’ll think I was being negative, I’ll think I was being realistic. If I’m right and you don’t win you’ll say ‘oh well, maybe tomorrow’. I’ll say ‘that’s not very likely’ and you’ll get all angry again about how negative I am.

How can that be healthy?

And yet being ‘negative’ is usually heavily criticised. I understand why, there’s no surprise, being negative (or as I would describe it, being realistic) can get in the way of feeling good, having something to look forward to is great and sometimes you need to be optimistic to believe that thing will happen and hence be able to look forward to it.

If you’re a realist, you don’t expect to win the lottery, and so you can’t look forward to doing so.

That leads to another thing about this dynamic, optimists don’t understand why those of us who are realists or negative keep going things. Back to our lottery example, I play the lottery. Every week I buy two tickets (by direct debit no less) and I’m in a syndicate at work with some friends. I can simultaneously have no expectation at all of winning the lottery and yet I can still play it. I don’t need the optimistic belief that I’ll win to drive me to play. This extends into every aspect of being optimistic or negative.

I’ve been saying from a very early age that expecting to fail isn’t a good reason not to try – sometimes you’re wrong. I guess that’s actually an optimistic view with negative overtones. But it’s worked for me, sometimes I look at something and think yep – no chance in hell of succeeding. But it doesn’t stop me trying, which I guess is a human trait. An underlying blind optimism that runs through most of us. What I don’t do, is relay that optimism verbally or mentally. I don’t need to hide the truth or the facts or the chances, in order to get myself to try something.

The real kicker is when people (mostly optimists) get upset on my behalf because of my reality based / negative view of things. Here’s a classic example conversation,

Them: “Do you want to buy a lottery ticket?”
Me: “Hmm, 1 in 14 million chance of winning, not very likely is it? But yeh what the hell I’ll buy a ticket.”
Them: “Man if you’re going to be so negative about it why do you bother?”
Me: “Well, I might be wrong?”
Them: “God! How do you cope with being so negative?”
Me: “I’m a realist actually.”
Them: “Oh, is that what you call it? I call it pessimism.” storms off
Me: “But, my ticket?”
Them: shouting from distance “If you’re going to be so negative I’m not going to sell you one and make you even more unhappy.”
Me: “But, I’m not unhappy?”

Optimists are trying to save me from my reality based view of the world. And yet, I find the irony that it is they who have a false view of how things are tantalisingly sweet.

The good thing of course is you can never really upset an optimist long term.

Them: “Hey, I came back, I thought what the hell, even if you don’t believe you can win, I’ll believe for you. So here you go.”
Me: “Oh, thanks, yes, very nice of you.”

For clarity, here are the ways to work out if you’re an optimist, realist or pessimist.

It’s raining. Ask yourself ‘what will the weather be like tomorrow?’

Optimist: Could be sunny, you never know!
Realist: Probably rain.
Pessimist: Probably rain.

It’s sunny. Ask yourself ‘what will the weather be like tomorrow?’

Optimist: Gonna be the hottest day this year, I can feel it!
Realist: Probably sunny.
Pessimist: Probably rain.

I’m not a pessimist. I’m a realist.

council tax

Not long after we moved into this house, maybe just before, the council in Stockon-on-Tees got in touch and told us we owed them around £600 or so, in council tax arrears. This was due to a lot of confusion, some on my part, some on theirs, around when we moved out and when the house was vacant and a number of other issues. At the time I was livid that it had taken them so long to work out they’d missed the money and we agreed that I’d pay it back £20 a month, because at the time we’d just moved house and really didn’t have any cash.

A few days ago I remembered that little £20 standing order, and of course I couldn’t remember how much we owed them, but I resolved to give them a call and find out how much was left outstanding.

We’re in credit by over £300.

I’m sure the people in the Stockton-on-Tees council tax offices are lovely people, the lady on the phone sounded pleasant enough and was very helpful. But it took them over three years to remember we owed them money in the first place (we kept them up-to-date with where we were and what was happening) and then once I’d paid off the debt they happily kept accepting the money and never bothered to get in touch when I went in credit. Good software they must have tracking those accounts.

Anyway, £20 a month back now I’ve cancelled the standing order and a £300 cheque in the post in a week or so.

Another debt from our debt-ridden past gone, another step away from the legacy of that house.

(And I’m still having to put in word verification for each post – tfhgovml !)

meh

no energy for upper case today. tv repair man (assuming it’s not a woman) is coming around between 2 and 5 to have a look at the tv. the speakers resonate when there’s a specific frequency being played which is usually deep voices (for some reason, without a trace and ncis are the worst offenders although it’s possible we don’t watch enough other stuff to notice it). so they’re bringing some more speakers and hopefully a ‘main board’ to repair the tv.

real shame because i loved the lcd tv, and i hate it when technology fails.

we had half planned to go out for breakfast but grete reminded me they were calling in the morning to let us know when they were coming around, and i had this image of us missing their call, them putting it back to tuesday and me spending my entire two week holiday waiting for the tv repair guy (unless it’s a gal) to turn up.

weather is shit anyway so no paddling in the ocean for us today. grete (and myself i may add) want to try and get to the beach if it’s warm enough and paddle without shredding our feet like we nearly did in brighton. the council in brighton should ship in a billion tons of sand and get rid of that pebble beach shit[1]. i’m sure sandy beaches support more types of natural wildlife, like paddlers and sandcastle builders or something.

so i’m sitting here, in the muggy dampness of the height of the british summer (it’s raining) waiting for the tv repair bloke (unless it’s a lass) to turn up so i can start my holiday for real. which probably describes my life, always waiting for something to happen so i can start my life for real.

and then you look back and think ‘shit, that was life, that i just let go by while waiting for it to start’, or something. i think i read a quote recently from someone, let me see if i can find it, meh can’t find it, never mind, it was really insightful and sharp. basically, stop waiting for it to happen, this is it.

which is good advice, when i look back in a few years i’ll probably wish i’d done just that.

maybe i’ll cherish the day i blogged without using the shift key.

we’re planning to visit tracey and stuart at the end of the holiday, and visit fiona in the middle (although i need to talk to fi and confirm details), there’s the beach (and we may have to go paddling in the rain, and if we do we will, fuck you british summertime), birmingham sea life centre looks neat although the ticket buying process scared me (really, i had nightmares) and we have to go and see hellyboy 3 (no spoilers from anyone ok?). the mummy got bad reviews and i may just wait for it on dvd.

maybe i’ll have another cup of tea in my favourite cup (from lindisfarne which we visited during our honeymoon two week tour of the uk, during which we took in 5, maybe 6 different locations!) or maybe i’ll watch some olympics on tv.

fuck it, i’m on holiday, i’ll do both.

edit: visit to fi sorted.

[1] i have half a mind to start a facebook group dedicated to convincing the uk government to do just this.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Disclaimer: my memory sucks.

I was reading Wil Wheaton’s blog and his post on the Rocky Horror Picture show, and it reminded me of my first Rocky Horror partici -(consta)- pation (movie rather than stage show, I’ve never seen the stage show). Things were a little different for me, I’d listened to the audience participation album, over, and over, and over and over before I saw the movie.

The album was fascinating, almost magically transfixing. I can’t really explain why. But it was made even more surreal by never having seen the movie. I’d listen to it on my Sony Walkman, while going to sleep or doing whatever, amazed by the ability of the crowd to synchronise with the movie. I mean I really couldn’t even tell what was movie and what was audience sometimes.

Assuming you’ve seen the movie or the screenplay or heard the album, you’ll know there’s not really any mention of what any of the characters are wearing, or how they look. Ok, I’d sort of seen an image on the front of the album cover but it was only one image. So I guess I was in for a surprise when I finally did see it. My friend, who’d recorded the album onto tape for me, said we should watch it on video one day. Or maybe that happened after I saw it in the cinema. If he’s reading I’m sure he remembers.

Well well. Not quite what I was expecting, as you can imagine. More, skin that I was expecting. Certainly significantly more lace, and more gold lamé. But still, it was good to finally see what the hell was going on – there are some sections of the movie which when all you can experience is the audio don’t make any bloody sense at all. For example, the scene in the lab where the machine is turned on and makes a lot of whoooooooooommmmm type noises – no clue what the hell is going on if you just have the audio to work from.

So we watched it through, we shouted a few things and it was okay, it grew on me. Listening to the tape made a whole lot more sense now. I think that eventually I went to university, or it’s possible that this happened just before I went to university, as I say things are a bit hazy. But we found that a new cinema was opening in our home town, and for their opening night they would be hosting a Rocky Horror Picture show. Who could turn down such an opportunity.

I went as Eddy, I remember harassing a friend of mine to lend me his brown leather jacket, which he was clearly reluctant to do (especially since he knew where I was going to take it). My entire costume consisted of a stripe of tomato puré on my head to act as Eddy’s scar, and the desire to borrow a leather jacket (I’m pretty sure Dave never did let me borrow it, quite sensibly). Andrew wore a basque, I still have photo’s of him in it, which I swear never to show anyone. We piled into what I remember was quite a small car, maybe a metro or something, and drove to the cinema.

I have clear, absolutely clear recollections of driving past a police car on the way and getting a really good solid stare from the two officers in the front. I think we were all pretty nervous about being pulled over, and what kind of excuses we’d have to make. It added a sort of excitement to the whole deal, the risk of being pulled over (although we were obviously driving well within the legal limit), some guy with food on his head, another in women’s underwear, and who knows who else in the car (I don’t, memory explained above).

The cinema made the mistake of offering free popcorn. I’m not sure what they were thinking. Hundreds of people, who’ve come along itching to throw stuff around in a cinema, with water guns, and they handed out free popcorn. I don’t think anyone ate any of it. I do remember going home with it stuck to me, my feet, my hair and my clothes. And I vividly remember leaving the cinema walking through a trail of popcorn on the floor.

I remember throwing stuff, and shouting stuff and standing up and wafting the smoke away from the side of the screen (I stood in the aisle, not on the stage, not brave enough for that) at the right moment. I remember belonging to this club of complete lunatics for the length of the film. I remember it being a fantastic night. I remember spending a lot of time trying to ensure the people in underwear I was gawping at were in fact female.

I have no clue how much it cost the cinema company to clean that theatre but I’d like to thank them, erm, around 18 years later (roughly), for hosting that evening, it really was excellent.

And 18 years on, Rocky Horror Show participation is still a part of my life (like far too many movie quotes). I’ll be quoting it until I pop my clogs I should imagine, I listened to it so much, I just can’t get it out of my head.

So if you ever meet me, and half way through something you’re saying, I call you a slut or throw rice in your face, it’s probably not intentional. I promise.

BBQ!

Someone within smellshot[1] is BBQ’ing and it’s making me very very hungry.

[1] yeh, well it should be.

My memory sucks

I envy those people who recount with clarity tales and funny moments from their past. I can’t, my past (anywhere from around 30 minutes ago to the point where I first sucked in a gulp of air) is a hazy blur of forgetfulness. Let’s get this cleared up first though, I had a good childhood, my mother is great and did an amazing job, my sister is great and her family is wonderful. I love them both dearly (although I don’t think I’ve ever verbalised that to them). I didn’t suffer any more than average as a kid due to bullying at school (although I was bullied), and while we weren’t rolling in cash my mother made an amazingly small amount of money go miles and we had enough.

So, I haven’t blocked out my childhood memories because they sucked, I just don’t really have a lot of memories, and the ones I do have are hazy and I’m really bad with dates and timelines.

I remember going and seeing the first Batman movie, but can’t remember when it was in the context of my life, for example. I think it’s because I don’t spend a lot of time trying to recount my past memories, these things get stronger if you remember them over and over. So perhaps if I sat down and wrote down memories they would lead onto other memories and more things would come back. Thinking about some things certainly causes them to behave that way. But anyway, in general, I don’t have a good recollection of my past.

Why am I telling you this? Well, I started writing a blog post about the Rocky Horror Picture Show and wanted to put a disclaimer saying my memory sucks, and wanted to be ‘clever’ and link to a post about how my memory sucked. So here it is. And this isn’t a plea for hugs, it’s just a statement of fact, which explains why some of my other posts and future posts have screwy time lines.

Self referential blogging at it’s best.