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12 Jul 2012

Post 352:A Talent for being a fan of Nu Metal or Grunge?

I have been watching quite a few Andrea Bocelli vids on youtube in the last week because the man has an amazing voice, and probably because I’m soft as sh*t and I think I’ve =noticed something in the way his female duet partners stare lovingly at him and seem to ‘look after him’. One of the reasons is because Bocelli is blind I think but he’s not an unhandsome man

but most importantly, girls love a man with a talent, which got me thinking – I’m not sure if I have a talent anymore, Before my stroke I was a passable DJ

and an alright Golfer,

lent for I was also a palatable talker and raconteur,joker and cheeky bastard and hope I still am.

Now, I’ve got what really? This blog? It’s hardly Voltaire or the work of the next Oscar Wilde? And doesn’t cause any ‘weakness at the knees’ or lightheadedness. Nausea is the best I can hope for. Actually I think my talent might just be getting up in the morning but thinking about it my talent might just be the fact that I keep talking and I keep trying to do things and meet people despite being given an inability to basically do anything with the rest of my life. Nah, bollocks am I going to make this yet another ‘lamenting at loss’ post although it is hard not to. One of the things I try and do to try and counter the inevitable depression that comes from having everything I was good at stolen forever is by trying to identify achievable projects. My latest crackpot idea is to somehow add an extra bedroom to the house.

I have come to realise that for the rest of my days I am going to need housekeepers/carers and upstairs has basically now become a flat for my carers. It’s pretty nice now apparently, it’s got two bathrooms, a kitchenette, a huge sitting room, a double bedroom and Gary and Gwen seem to like it and have made it their home. My goodness, they have been brilliant. I have no idea how I have survived here since 2008?! The dream was always to find a girl who would live here and care enough about me to look after me, but that’s not fair and is never going to happen. Girl’s these days want their space and independence, a good nights sleep and to come and go when they please – which I think this idea sort of achieves, I think. Perhaps I’m being naive. Shit, I probably am but at least I’m trying to do something about it. That could be my motto actually ‘trying to do something about it’. Note that the word ‘succeeding’ doesn’t feature in that. One notable success in the friend department has been meeting the lovely Chey who despite impressions is a bit of a rock chick

and fearlessly took me to see Faith No More at Brixton Academy on Tuesday. Now a friend of mine once said he didn’t like Florence, as in ‘Florence and the Machine’, because she was ‘too shouty’. I wonder what he would make of the distinctive shouting of Mike Patton

from ‘Faith No More’. Brixton Academy is an awesome venue,

but really not my favourite in a wheelchair. Firstly, unless you get there first the wheelchair gallery gets a bit full and the view can be a bit occluded

and getting through the crowd at the back is a bit scary. Plus, if you need the loo you have to hold on!
My first thought after Faith No More was ‘f*ck, was I really this angry when I was a teenager?’. Grunge in the early 90s (e.g. Nirvana) expressed ‘self-loathing, dissatisfaction and pain’ (Soundgarden in Hyde Park on Friday should be interesting but nu-metal a la Faith No More or Linkin Park is ANGRY. Now, as a rule – I don’t like anger and aggression. The most I can do is a bit of online ‘passive aggression’ other than that I’m all ‘Pen is mightier than the sword’. I have to play to my strengths.

Absolutely finally. I have not always been 100% supportive of my friends with children (only really having a go at those who forget anyone in the world matters – this may strike a chord to some) but my cousin Nicki has just had a 2nd girl so as we’re a close family this is utterly worthy of a mention. They’ve called her Olivia, a name I’ll always associate with a whirlwind post-finals romance. Her beauty was something else and she used to almost attack me in the bedroom which I f*cking loved.
Daydreams, lip biting and shades of Grey aside, Nicki’s first, Ava, has been a great kid so high hopes for Olivia.


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