Misinformed, angry, coffee-addled ranting.
I have started writing this blog two days before Christmas because a series of twelve power cuts have ended a family holiday early. This is not the worst holiday I have been on with my family, an accolade currently held by an ill-fated trip to Tunisia which involved being driven to the wrong airport, missing the flight, and finally arriving two days later to pissing rain and freezing weather. To paraphrase Peter Doherty;
There are fewer more depressing sights than that of a German man in speedos and a raincoat.
But this is a digression, one deserving of the appropriation of the phrase ‘First World Problems’. This is unlikely, however, to be a solitary event. I am sure that over the course of this blog, the vast majority of articles will feature both digressions and complaints, angry rants and misinformed arguments. I am a student, a writer, and an opinionated moron. Therefore, it is likely that I shall at some point write something that is fundamentally disagreed with by many people.
This is a good thing.
I have a great many icons and people I admire, but I do not think any of them are perfect. I quoted Time For Heroes by The Libertines above because Up The Bracket is one of my favourite albums of all time and made me fall in love with music. The fact that Pete Doherty has a well-publicised heroin addiction is not a quality that I in any way admire, but this does not sully my enjoyment of the album. I take it for what it is.
I hope that such a comparison is not presumptuous. I don’t for a moment think that anything I write on this piddly little blog will reach an audience of anyone more than a few friends, let alone change anyone’s lives. But I would also hope that anything I write that is not to your particular tastes will not prevent you from reading future posts.
They say that variety is the spice of life. I seem to have edged more towards inconsistency than variety but it’ll do for now. Nowhere is this more evident than in the song lyrics I cram into the back of a small notebook every so often. Several years ago I was in a band, and despite lacking any discernible talent whatsoever, I was fortunate enough to enjoy working with some genuinely skilled musicians. I would never have dreamed of inflicting my piss-poor songwriting ability upon them, but I have still maintained a sporadic interest in jotting down the odd idea or two when the mood strikes me. Reading back over the bare fragments of the last three songs I wrote, I find a depressing breakup lament, a love song, and a sea-shanty style number about bacon sandwiches, boobs and watching wrestling. These were all written on the same day.
The Psychologist in me is probably aware that my general distaste for humanity and anger towards, well, everything stems most likely from my recent breakup; and that the animosity I feel towards something as trivial as say, someone’s poor grammar is actually the result of unresolved conflict in my life. The Psychologist in me is a dick.
If the Psychologist in me knew me better (and he should, for he is me), he would know that my hatred for other humans is nothing new. I have lost count of the amount of times I have been stood awkwardly in the corner of a nightclub, sober, bored and disgusted; looking around a dark room at all the attractive people having fun. Arseholes.
So, in short, I don’t know what I’m going to blog about. I’m highly certain very few, if any people will care. But short of actually going up to strangers and screaming at them to “GET A FUCKING HAIRCUT AND TAKE OFF THOSE STUPID FUCKING LENSLESS GLASSES”, or standing outside my Ex’s house sobbing “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME??“, this is the best cathartic experience I can think of.
I wish you all a pleasant day.