You Were Right

And so here we are, at the end of the year, the end of the decade. It's been eventful. I was in Liverpool the other day and visited two work friends, Paul and Andy. I like meeting those two, we just clicked right back in and it was like we were just going off for a mooch around town over a long lunchtime. It was good to be back, but Liverpool didn't feel like home anymore.

I was going to compile a list of my favourite bands, records, books, films this decade, but I haven't and right now I can't think of any films from the last few years. There's two songs that I've absolutely loved and played again and again. The first is 'You were right' by Badly Drawn Boy and the second is 'Emily Kane' by Art Brut. I heard the Badly Drawn Boy record the other day by chance and remembered how good it really was. There's so many brilliant lines in that song. 'I was busy finding answers while you just got on with real life'. And Emily Kane is just fantastic, c'mon it's up there with the Buzzcocks. Here's to Glam Chops recording an album in 2010 and Belle and Sebastian too, and going on tour.

I bought a TV today, the first one in fifteen years. I missed out on the years of the silver TVs with the flatscreens, the plasmas and am now looking at a ridiculously big LCD TV. It scanned for channels and has picked up a whole two channels, after boasting freeview, so obviously the arial on the roof hasn't been keeping up with the times. Looks like I'll have to go with virgin media after all if I want those channels.

I'm staying in tonight with my girlfriend. I guess that's as good a new year as any, avoiding the cold, the queues and the inflated prices in the process. I better go, the dinner is nearly ready. Goodbye to the decade they called the noughties and hello to the start of the tens.

Christmas on Ice

Snow is falling off the roof in blocks as we step out onto the ice skating rink in our blue skates. It's a slow start, skating around the outside, keeping the barrier in easy reach, until we make our way gradually towards the middle where the fast skaters are flying past. You feel yourselves falling backwards and the confidence goes. Others fall and we start to slow down. We stop to look at the dark walls of the Tower of London, contrasted with the well lit offices of the big glass buildings in front of us. We take a corner fast and we fall over. We're back to where we started.

I'm on holiday at last, and the pressures of work makes it feel like a well deserved break. It takes time to shake work off. I went and did all my Christmas shopping yesterday morning. It all went well; when I reached the bank I discovered I'd been paid. I found the presents I went for, found them amongst the lights and the people in red, with their buckets, singing christmas songs and collecting for charity. I stumbled into shops to find other good gifts. I was home before the rain started and we were at the ice rink in time for the snow to stop.

This morning I had the luxury of getting on the tube at ten. It rolled in, empty but for a few people a carriage. This morning I took my time, eating crumpets and drinking tea at the kitchen table at eleven.

On the skating rink we've ten minutes left and I'm skating fast now, weaving between the people, away from the barrier, getting close to the middle, faster, faster, looking down at the ice, then around at the snow surrounding the tower and at the people smiling, people in scarves and red christmas hats, gliding around together. It feels like Christmas now. Merry Christmas.

Ranting

Ok, it’s nearly Christmas, good will to all mankind, the season to be jolly etc. I’ll get round to that soon enough but first let me indulge in a bit of banter. It's nearly the new decade and I want to mention a few things that crept into the early 21st century and shouldn't be allowed any further.

Men trying to sell toiletries in night club toilets

What’s this all about? You go to the toilet and a man selling toiletries squirts the soap for you and turns the tap on and you’re supposed to tip him? It’s a sickness my friends. Give the guy a proper job in your club or get rid of him. These people have crept into night club toilets across the land. You can’t even go to the toilet without someone trying to sell you something. That’s fucking sick. I'll wash my own hands. And while we’re at it I’m quite capable of turning a handle on a toilet door rather than wanting to press a button, Mr idiot designer who designed toilet doors on trains.

Text messaging as a form of conversation.

Too busy to answer the phone but can text all night? How does that work? If you spend all night texting what other possible task can you be doing. If you speak to someone on the phone you can do no end of things; cook a meal, wash up, even have a shave. Ok, I don’t mind the odd message: meet you here, etc, but trying to have a conversation, forget it. It’s really bad. Text messaging should have been invented before the telephone. Think about it, it’s less advanced. Imagine if text messaging had been invented first. They’d have said, yes it’s good but imagine a device where you could have a two way speaking conversation with someone. Now that really would be the future. Bring it back for the new decade.

Camden

Thieving Council, horrible after hours food, massive queues at crap bars to buy a £4.20 can of lager, waiting for uptight people who insist on paying by debit card. Third rate opticians with their horrible little grey suited sales people and ill mannered inept staff. Camden is like the bitter older brother who never really moved on, and can never get to terms with the fact his younger brothers, Brick Lane and Islington are far better dressed and people you’d like to hang out with. And in Camden you never ever see anyone looking as though they’re having a good time. See the photo above for an example of neighbourly communication in the borough of Camden. The only good thing about it is Alan Bennett and the fact it’s near Regent’s Park.

Automated/most customer services

So you phone with a problem, you’re taken to a series of options, which lead you down a cul-de-sac that won’t answer your query, then you’re told what to do for a problem you don’t have, and the phone cuts off, as if you’re query has been in any way answered.

And while we’re at it, what happened to customer service? It’s all attitude and people pointing the accusatory finger at you. On trains, in Banks, on the phone to the Council.

And what’s going on with administration systems? They can’t process anything: contact lenses can’t arrive, council tax bills can’t arrive, driving licence sent to the wrong address, any money you’re owed – no chance. It’s the 21^st century and a change of address has made me notice that virtually nobody seems to be able to process anything anymore; everything is so fucking lame. This has got to change.

Manners for customer based jobs should be re-introduced into the new decade. Oh, and top hats too. This helps with the manners you know. You can tip your hat to people to greet them.

Busy

Hello, are you still there? December and the rainy days have found us. Weekdays are spent trying, and failing, to get to the tube before eight to try and get me some space on the tube. The first few times I took the tube, since I moved, I kind of liked it. But now the novelty has worn off. This morning I skipped the tube and waited for the next one, which was coming a minute later. I was the only person on the platform but then every few seconds another person appeared until one minute later, there were about thirty people ready to board the already packed train.

The tube; full of people reading the free papers or books. Nobody looking at one another. Heading out of the tube to get the Metropolitan Line (which I like because I usually get a seat, and the train spends time above ground), I try and avoid people with suitcases, couples with arms linked, people walking along playing games on their phones. Anyone that will slow me down. Occasionally I smell an aftershave or a perfume that reminds me of years ago. I follow a man with a briefcase to try and locate a particular aftershave smell; it must have been the eighties, it was the age and time to overindulge in exotic smells to try and attract girls.

I like the clock at the tube station. It looks like a clock that someone would have in their house. Perhaps it was donated by an old lady on Gillepsie road. I like Gillespie road, I like the fact when you come out the tube it opens onto a normal suburban looking street, with the school at the end of it. It feels homely. I like the atmosphere on match day too, with the sweet stall and the hotdog stands and all those people in their scarves heading to the match.

When I go past that clock in the morning I'm going to make sure it hasn't yet reached eight o'clock.