Alasdair Watson

I knew I’d not been the gym in a while. The weight I’ve put back is more than testament to that fact.

Still, since I seem to have spare time on my hands again I figured I’d fill it with sweaty masochistic practices, and try to get back into something that might pass for shape. So I popped along to the gym this evening to get a new membership card, since I’d lost my old one, with the intent of starting up again next month. So I get there, all set to pony up for a new card, only to discover that my membership has been cancelled. Last October, in fact. And I hadn’t noticed.

Whoops.

In other news, the oystercard people are bastards, who won’t let me buy a monthly bus pass via them (as least not on their website). Does anyone know if I can buy, say a weekly travelcard in order to get the card, and then after that, charge the thing with monthly bus passes (and no, pre-pay is no good to me), or is the only bus pass option the yearly one, even if you’ve already got the card?

Turns out that on top of everything else, Barrage were playing in London last week, and I missed ’em.

Fin and I just broke up. So if I’m a bit out of sorts over the next while, that’s why. I’ll bounce back, I’m sure, but I may not be entirely my usual cheery self for a bit.

What did people do before the internet, I wonder? Phone round? Spend the next few weeks correcting people in a slightly awkward manner? Take out classified ads?

There’s a building site just outside my office window, just like there is outside every office window in London. It’s quite a small one, but there’s a crane on it – a weird, stunted one, as if the equipment had taken up smoking and failed to eat its greens when it was a young piece of industrial machinery.

Aside from being small, this crane is also a mutant, as far I can tell. It appear to exist in order to move around really weirdly shaped lumps of concrete with spikes and girders sticking out of them (fuck knows what they’re building), and instead of having a hook, or anything conventional like that on the end of it’s line, it has a strange nodule from which hang a profusion of chains, like the tendrils of some kind of industrial squid. It’s been kind of weird, sitting here watching move around against the grey-blue twilight sky, the chains whipped back and forth quite sharply, agitiated by the motion of the cradle and the strong breeze. It’s like the damn thing’s alive and clutching for things, it really is.

Christ, I’ve just noticed something. There’s no cab on it. Nowhere for the driver to sit. It’s done away with him, hasn’t it?

Fuck. The machines are taking over. The little men in the yellow jackets down there are just servants to the yellow mutant’s whim, aren’t they? It’s building something strange down there. A think made out of concrete and sharp things. Machine aesthetics are at work outside my window.

(I may be slightly bored at work this afternoon, but seriously, the construction site looks weird in the twilight. I tried to get photos, but the phonecam isn’t up to the job.)

I’ve been meaning to link to this for ages, because it’s side-splittingly fucking funny – Ill Will Press home of your lord and master, Foamy the squirrel. Go. Watch the cartoons, especially the “Five More Minutes” one you’ll find the archive. (Note – requires audio, may not be worksafe.)

Like Andrew said: go here type ‘marysiak’ (without the quotes) and hit post comment. The karma gods will thank you.

Ah, the vomit streaked back alleys, with their bouquet of late-night drunk’s piss. The drizzle washed roads. The sound of buses reversing in the night. Weird christian sects chanting at odd hours on a Sunday, and strange shops selling saris (apparently, the area is one of the top places in Europe for high quality Saris) and Bollywood videos and overseas calling cards, and assorted ghastly knick-knacks. The Popular Front.

I quite like where I live. One of the nice things about it is that parts of it are gentrifying at speed, although as the aborted attempt at a fondue restaurant that opened up briefly downstairs from us last year proves, perhaps not at the rate that some people might like. Still, it’s always nice to find a new bar or resturant that’s not full of pikey filth in the area, and we ran across a rather nice one yesterday, a place called Smoke, where they do good food, adequate coffee, and, importantly, for my non-beer-drinking self, cocktails.

And as for vistas beyond Tooting, I picked up the London compendium the other day, full of little gems about my beloved home, and Raw Spirit, Iain Banks latest, and his first non-fiction, book, an account of a tour of Scotland’s distilleries, sampling whiskies, and seeking the perfect dram. Despite his strange fondness for Islay malts (I just can’t get on with them myself – too medicinal) he does pick out a few good other ones, and I picked up a bottle of the Glenfiddich 21 year old Havana Reserve – I’m quite a fan of their 15 year old Solera Reserve, so I thought I’d give it a go, and it doesn’t disappoint. In so far as I make any sort of resolutions at this time of year, I think I’m going to devote a bit of time this year to getting to know a wider range of whiskies – I’ve got a few I tend to stick to at the moment, and I think it’s time to try a few more, so I may have to lay out the seventy-odd quid, and join the Scottish Malt Whisky Society, so I guess the question is, if I did, would anyone actually want to come with me (Edit: as a guest, unless you really want to buy your own membership) and try their range of drinks (preferably more than once, because it’s a lot of money to spend for a one off night out)?

What do I want in 2004?

I want the fucking war to stop, unsurprisingly. I want Bush out of office. I want incredible riches, or at least a property market crash that’ll allow me to think about buying a house. I want work that’ll challenge and excite. I’d like to write something I’m happy with, which is the least likely thing on this list so far. But most of all, what I want is something bloody new.

I liked 2003, I really did. I had a good year, but it was completely unchallenging. I did pretty much nothing I had not done before. I cannot recall any cultural artifact of 2003, however much I may have enjoyed it, that will really stay with me either for it’s ideas or execution. So that’s what I want in 2004. Surprises. Something unlike everything I’ve seen before.

Saw Fin play gig. Acquired cold everyone else had sense to have early in December. Went to shops on Xmas eve, despite best intentions, as brother and self had got Mum same DVD, so took mine back. Attempts to sleep thwarted by cold, rather than pre-Xmas excitement, as am now old, and like to lie in on Xmas day, although parents continue to thwart this ambition. Gave presents to family. Dad particularly chuffed with gift of collected edition of Master Li and Number Ten Ox stories by Barry Hughart, and a domain name of his own. Had Roast Turkey Dinner. Went to see Fin’s family. Dragged Fin back home. Watched Raiders of the Lost Ark. Slept, interrupted only slightly by cold. Watched rest of Indiana Jones movies. Made roast beef dinner. Pissed about on computer while Fin watched 24. Contemplating sleep and/or more booze.

Forgot how to use pronouns.

Given that I’m going to be away from my computer for less time than I am some weekends, but still, I’m heading off now, so like everyone else who’s buggering off to the bosom of the family or whatever it is they do at this time of year, I bid you all a happy holidays. Have fun. Eat too much.