10 Mar 2013

Post 386: Am I a control freak out of control? And au revoir to B

I am worried that the first bit makes me sound like some sort of fruitcake, or slightly less bad, some sort of control freak. Well, hopefully I’m neither of those labels. I’m just an order hoarder to coin a phrase, when Neo says in the first Matrix ‘I don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my life’ it is one of the few times Keanu Reeves has delivered a line with much meaning. I am living proof that we don’t live in a matrix. No-one would be evil enough to make someone suffer like this and there are some pretty f*cked up people out there. Anyway, I’m not going down that unreadable path (again). Nup, I’ve got some far more pressing information, It is the awful news that my friend, the awesome Bianca is tragically going back to Melbourne next week because her two year visa is up. We met because she responded to my gumtree Ad for a weekend carer about 18 months ago. As much as I wanted to hire her from the moment I saw her, as soon as we had chatted for a nanosecond, I knew she was a good egg. There is no flannel, flapping or fluster too her and even though in her mid twenties, she has a maturity and gravitas way beyond what I could dream of. She instantly knew what was needed and by the way she said, if you ever need a driver to take you to a gig, I love those. She might be the ideal woman! I reckon London is the destination it is for travellers (particularly antips) because London is such a Global centre for the world’s top musicians, bands and artists, I think we often forget that – I know I do.
Anyway, on that note, I had done my usual thing of speculatively buying tickets to see a band I’d barely heard of at Brixton Academy last night called Sigur Ros. B knowing full well that this was likely to be the last gig she could go to in London and the last thing we could do together in theUK, had volunteered. Last week we had been to see the brilliant Kaiser Chiefs (see last post). Well this was like chalk and um, Icelandic ambient post-rock dream pop (thanks Wikipedia) or the Kaiser Chiefs and cheese. Their one song I knew Hopipolla was not unpleasant, and the youtube description I put just about says it:

I was pleasantly surprised by this gig. I'm used to rock gigs and Sigur Ros are definitely not a rock act. They play sort of weird ethereal ambient music really and the singer sounds like what I imagine a castrati to sound like. Anyway it creates quite an atmosphere amongst quite a 'hipstery' crowd who probably all read the guardian, live in Shoreditch, work at the BBC and are Vegan. As you may have guessed that's not my scene but I enjoyed it nonetheless if mainly for this song, the slightly otherworldly atmosphere and the laser show later and an honourable mention goes to a chap called Mark, a 6’10” nuclear physicist who had damaged his leg, his assertion that their performance the night before had been the best gig he had ever seen certainly got me excited and thanks are due to the academy staff who are so good at blazing a trail for me through the crowd and helping me down the lethally steep ramp at the front door, I think they recognise me now.
Here’s the laser show:
It has been such a pleasure knowing B, and taking her (or having her take me to gigs) has been a joy, or at the very least a vicarious one. She has been the younger sister I never had. I have been the disabled English older brother she never wanted.
It makes me so mad that she has to go home because her visa runs out when I consider how many f*ck-knuckles there are overrunning this country who abuse our generosity through the welfare state whilst being too lazy to work or even learn English, squirting out children with scant thought about bringing them up. I’m sure some champagne socialist will point out how reactionary and ‘Daily Mail I’m being. That’s unfortunately what happens when people get scared, and I’m just a bit terrified because my carers (who have been two of the most important people in my world)have quite rightly to go away for a month quite soon. Now, thanks to the heroics of my neighbour, a lot of my mornings (which is when I need the most help) but I also need support in the evenings, mainly to cook me diner between 7 and 8pm. I can’t just be ordering in food – it’s expensive and there isn’t a nutritionist in the universe that recommends ‘the take-away diet’ and seeing as one of my goals is to keep in the 100-110 kilo or less range. Then there’s the issue of not emotionally being able to manage on my own. It’s bad enough if you’re fully able bodied. When you’re trapped in a wheelchair the feeling of fear and loneliness is profound, and any company from someone friendly, talkative and able bodied is welcome. Now, you might think: ‘Dom’ll cope, he’s got plenty of friends. Yes, maybe I do, but I live in the sticks and my friends are busy, and have their own lives, friends, family’s, jobs, commitments and problems than to worry about me unless you’re looking for a place to crash mid-April to mid May – no, didn’t think so. So, that was my pathetic appeal for help. I can almost imagine the deaf ears it’s falling on. I have got in touch with my GP and he’s going to see what he can do – he’s going to try and mobilise Elmbridge Boroughs social care apparatus. To be honest I’m at best apprehensive, at worst terrified.
So, changing the subject I noticed the following video which I couldn’t help chuckling at, so many of my female friends will be able to relate and for the record this is my idea of a yummy-mummy. Is that wrong? Computer says no! Ignore the fact it’s actually a Fiat advert!
Another idea – don’t know if it’s a good one, is that my dad recently suggested I give my entire blog a read and edit. My initial thought wa that’ll make depressing reading, but on reflection it might remind me of how far I’ve come, and seeing as it was intended to be a sort of journal of the better events and every so often I could add a new one on the front detailing sh*t that’s been going on and any interesting editorial snippets. It might also provide an antidote to the occasional writers block I get. Answers on a metaphorical postcard. As is your right and you don’t give a solitary sh*t do nothing, although I would question why you’re even reading this picture of my favourite cat should calm you down!

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