Friends aren't all they're cracked up to be

I sometimes wonder how I managed to make such a success of my early life. Everything seemed to fall into place and despite the fact that my depression left me feeling empty and socially distant most of the time, the songs and the work kept coming. It didn’t seem to matter that an empty, pointless feeling was ever present in the pit of my stomach or that, when I did have bouts of euphoria they didn’t last very long and usually embodied horrendous drinking sessions that would almost kill me.

With youth came energy and with energy came success. Now I’m older I can see that. Most people living the life I had would have been on a permanent ego trip what with all the famous folk I have around me and the places I got invited to. But I never really understood that. That emotional ride was one I never managed to get on. Shame really.

I have spent most of the last six years thinking about my bipolar, about how it has ruined what could have been a pretty charmed life, how things have passed me by, and how now things don’t work out like they used to. Nowadays just living is pretty hard; coping with the way life kicks me (constantly) and trying to understand what I’ve done to deserve this type of lousy luck consumes my days. I sit and think, think and sit. It’s pretty crap to be honest.

But I think I understand everything better these days.

I don’t understand what love is – I know that for sure. Emotions have never featured much in my tool box but love just isn’t there. Oh I see other people who are in love, I can understand what they feel for each other and why they feel that way – I just don’t ever feel it myself. I was married for 19 years and before that I lived with two other people for 5 and 6 years. But it wasn’t love. It was contentment, getting used to things, not rocking the boat. And I didn’t rock the boat – they did – but I can see why they did. I left my wife but it was all over and done with long before I decided to walk. The others saved me the problem and left me, and I can’t blame them.

You see whilst I am successful and I do know lots of ‘famous’ folk as a result, I am a cold fish because of my depression. I don’t get phased, I don’t get star struck and I don’t really ever get excited or angry. Middling sort of guy I guess you’d say.

Now as I was saying, when I was young things just rolled along. I found writing songs really easy, got accepted for being good at it and also got some kind of buzz out of performing which I did around the globe. But you get older, the performing gets tedious and the catchphrases that are the catalyst to every pop song dry up. Suddenly you’re retired and you never realised that was going to happen. And of course the music industry is very cruel where retirement is concerned. You retire, the calls stop, the invitations dry up, you cease to exist.

I have two Ivor Novello Awards and a share in a Brit and an Oscar. Songs I’ve written have sold in excess of 100 million copies and if I wanted I could cover the walls of my flat with Gold and Platinum Discs – but I don’t of course; that just wouldn’t be me. But I had believed that I had made friends in the music bizz along the way; some of whom were in that famous category.

Now I think I was wrong. I didn’t make any friends only acquaintances and pretty edgy ones at that. One wrong word and the relationships are over, they move on, like it never really mattered. But it did matter to me.

Most people in my industry are very ‘surface’, everybody knows that so I’m not saying anything significant, but we all need proper friends don’t we? Well I have discovered that the ones I picked seem to have thought it was a surface thing, one cross word, one little ripple in the sand and they’re gone.

So I have realised I have only two real friends, and one of those is my ex-wife! I’m a bit down about this at the moment but I’ll figure it out don’t worry.  First thing I need to do is head for the other real friend I have and tell him I an grateful. Then I’ll plan from then.

Life can be cheap and mine seems utterly cheap at the moment.

What Americans know about the English

These are all "facts" told to me by my American chums........


1. In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes. When you pulled on the ropes the mattress tightened, making the bed firmer to sleep on. Hence the phrase "goodnight, sleep tight".
2. In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts. So in old England, when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them mind their own pints and quarts and settle down. It's where we get the phrase "mind your P's and Q's"
3. Many years ago in England, pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim or handle of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. "Wet your whistle" is the phrase inspired by this practice.
4. In ancient England a person could not have sex unless you had consent of the King (unless you were in the Royal Family). When anyone wanted to have a baby, they got consent of the King, the King gave them a placard that they hung on their door while they were having sex. The placard had F.*.*.*. (Fornication Under Consent of the King) on it. Now you know where that came from.
5. In Scotland, a new game was invented. It was entitled Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden.... and thus the word GOLF entered into the English language.


And if your American and wondering ...... NO none of them are true!

To all my friends who in the last year sent me best 'wishes', chain letters, 'angel' letters or other promises of good luck if I forwarded something, NONE OF THAT SHIT WORKED! For the rest of 2012, could you please just send money, vodka, chocolate, movie tickets or gasoline vouchers and airline tickets instead? Thank you! 

Why Men Don't Write Advice Columns

Dear Walter:
I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work leaving my husband watching the TV as usual. I hadn't gone more than a mile down the road when my engine conked out and the car shuddered to a halt. I walked back home to get my husband's help. When I got back I couldn't believe my eyes. He was in our bedroom with the neighbor lady. I am 32, my husband is 34, and we have been married for twelve years.

When I confronted him, he broke down and admitted that they had been having an affair for the past six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him. He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. He won't go to counseling and I'm afraid I can't get through to him anymore. Can you please help?
Sincerely, Sheila
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Sheila: A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the vacuum pipes and hoses on the intake manifold and also check all grounding wires. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float chamber.

I hope this helps.
-Walter

Made me Chuckle!

A woman went up to the bar in a quiet rural pub.  She gestured alluringly to the bartender who approached her immediately.  She seductively signaled that he should bring his face closer to hers.  
As he did, she gently caressed his full beard.  
"Are you the manager?" she asked, softly stroking his face with both hands.  
"Actually, no," he replied.  
"Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him," she said, running   her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.  
"I'm afraid I can't," breathed the bartender. "Is there anything I can do?"  
"Yes. I need for  you to give him a message," she continued, running her forefinger across the bartender's lip and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.  
"What should I tell him?" the bartender managed to say.  
"Tell him," she whispered,   "There's no toilet paper, hand soap, or paper towels in the ladies room." 

Happy Bloody Christmas

I was reading MIddleAgedCred’s blog about Christmas and it made me realise how different this time of year is for different people. When I was working (until 7 years ago) I never got time off at Christmas or New Year; as a professional musician it’s the time when the pay day bell rings long and loud and you have to be a fool to sit it out. It was funny to listen to radio DJ’s telling people to give a thought for all those working at Christmas, then spewing out the usual suspects – police, nurses, firemen – and yet I never heard a DJ add musicians to that list, even thought they spend their whole year playing records!

Musicians are the ones staying sober at your Christmas Eve/Day/ New Year party, the ones taking all your drunken abuse and smiling, the ones entertaining your kids, grannies or anybody in between, and you will expect them to work through midnight and into the new year, you won’t ever think about them, offer them a drink (which they can’t accept anyway) or get out of the way when they are trying to load their van quickly so they can get home to see their kids. In short you will expect them to be fabulous, funny, original, dance worthy and then disappear into the night sober while you stagger for a taxi.

And that’s what I miss................

Now I don’t have to do it anymore and I have the opportunity to relax, enjoy my family, wrap presents and put them under the tree, be with loved ones on these special days, I miss it horribly. How perverse is that?

You see the feeling you get from working at Christmas and New Year is different to the rest of the year. Somehow it’s better, bigger, brighter. And when you’re not there anymore Christmas and New Year seem dull and a little dingy.

I guess it’s because Christmas and New Year are manufactured periods of euphoria – you HAVE to be happy, you HAVE to laugh and raise your glass, no matter how shit you feel. If you are lucky you have the money to buy useless gifts for people you don’t really like, you can drink mulled wine, play carols on your iPod, watch reruns of Morecambe and Wise. In fact you can do as much as is necessary so that your pretence of festive joviality is maintained. Cynical moi?

When you work you look out at people enacting this ritual. You are sober (I would drink tea for my voice and water for the smokiness), you are rational and you are doing a job – hopefully to the best of your abilities – you smile and laugh, you make eye contact, you might occasionally let some drunken skunk up onto the stage to show his drunken friends what a talent he is. Performing is a thankless profession but at the festive season the thanklessness is magnified. You rehearse so that it looks easy, you perform through gritted teeth (sometimes) you accept the big money and have your celebrations later, in calmer times, with civility and no false friendships or platitudes.

The musician works for his supper, he celebrates his Christmas at a quieter time, with real friends, with real happiness. Nothing foolish, nothing forced and without any feeling that mirth is ‘required’.

So when you look back on this years round of parties, think about the musicians, the invisible people in your selfish festive parade.

For me, I hate Christmas and New Year now, it’s so tacky from this side, so cheap and false, it lacks any sincerity and it just seems to be about draining the life (and the cash) out of otherwise decent people.

Roll on January 3^rd.

Fatty

I use the word "fat." I use that word because that's what people are: they're fat. They're not bulky; they're not large, chunky, hefty or plump. And they're not big-boned. Dinosaurs were big-boned. These people are not overweight: this term somehow implies there is some correct weight... There is no correct weight. Heavy is also a misleading term. An aircraft carrier is heavy; it's not fat. Only people are fat, and that's what fat people are! They're fat!