Alasdair Watson

Cocteau Twins playing, grapefruit and rosemary scent in the air, sipping Calvados, and feeling pretty good. I’ve done the bulk of the coding for 9As 24 hour event that’s coming up, and started looking at learning VB (yeah, I know, why not learn a proper language), and now I’m getting ready for an early night. I should be recovered from this weekend in just enough time for the madness of next weekend…

Just THE WEST WING and 24 to go. God, I’m tired. Friday night at The Sun was the usual fun and games, followed by Ross’ birthday do at The Porterhouse, where they have an obscene number of different kinds of beer – if it weren’t so pricey, I’d drink there regularly. So, after the pub chucked out, Fin and I went off to see the Matisse and Picasso exhibition at The Tate Modern, which was open all night as a special event, whcih was cool, especially as we happened to be there in time for a talk the woman who had put the thing together. The we wandered back along the Embankment in seach of coffee, which went a bit wrong, and we wound up in the big KFC near Picadilly with with all the post-club crowds, and what with one thing and another I got home slightly after six in the morning, and then getting up again just before 11 really hasn’t helped my state of awakeness. So I mooched about my parents place all day, then met up with Fin to feed ducks for a bit before getting the train back here. Got VB (and a book on it) from Dad to install on the computer tomorrow so I can learn something new…

A thoroughly cracking weekend, but I feel absolutely shattered. I hope I can stay awake through the season finales…

Fiona was asking, Andrew’s written his up, and it’s too hot to do anyting useful, so here’s the answers. Before I started, I ought to note that Andrew, not Lyssa, actually won the quiz – he got 88 points. I was recalibrating the scores while he was doing the quiz, it seems, and the system doesn’t re-score people who’ve already taken the test if the points values change. Which is stupid…

Lyssa did get the most correct answers, at six, but lost out badly on one question. Andrew got at least second choice on every question, but only four right answers.

Anyway:

My favourite band are The Tansads. They’re the ones I put on when it’s all getting a bit much, and I need a dose of something that’s just plain fun. They’re the sound of the long hot summer of being 18, full of fire and the knowledge that I can kick the world in the teeth and walk away smiling. Happy, poppy pseudo-rebeliions. Then, in descending order – 8 points for Tom Waits, 6 for Nick Cave, 4 for the Pogues and 2 for the Cocteau Twins. Only 4 people got this right, but then only three of the people who took the test have known me since I was 18. Most of you went for Cave.

My favourite whiskey is Bushmills 12. It’s more complex and interesting than the 16, which was second followed by Glenfiddich 15, Black Bush and Jack Daniels. Same scoring system as before.

My favourite god is Odin – enough that I have his rune tattooed on my arm. A trickster and a con man, a god of magic and inspiration, a holy lunatic, and a terror. But nost important, a god whose power comes from sacrfice and leanring, rather than just because he happens to be divine. A god who has earned repsect and awe, rather than just commanded it. What’s not to like? Most of you went for the atheist option, which shows a remarkable lack of thought. If I asked you who your favourite fictional character was, you could probably come up with an answer, couldn’t you? But still, I was generous, and atheist was the second choice – I don’t believe in gods as anything that most people would understand by the term. After that, it’s Hermes and Mercury, and 0 points for Christian.

My favourite writer is Brookmyre, which only four of you got. His stuff is hugely entertaining, infintiely re-readable, and exactly what I want when I want to relax with a book. Alan Moore was second choice, but in Moore (who most of you went for) I see something to aim at, rather than something to relax and enjoy. (Which is not to say that I don’t enjoy the work hugely, but it’s a different thing.) Then, in descending order Robert Anton Wilson, Iain Banks and Terry Pratchett.

No-one got my favorite colour – not even by blind guesswork. Black isn’t actually my favourite color, I’m afraid, but I’d look pretty stupid dressed in silver all the time. Yes, black is second, though, followed by purple and red, then blue.

My favourte place, which most of you got, is a pub that no longer exists. (The Pioneer/Cauldron, in Edinburgh.) Only one person went for the second choice of The Embankment, which surprised me, because it’s a very close second. Arthur’s Seat, Soho and The Meadows complete the set, and to be honest, the scoring system on those three was really difficult to pick out…

9 of you went for the right answer to favourite holiday, which was a trip to the Anrtim Coast when I was a kid. We hired a cottage with a view down across fields to the sea, and it’s the most dramatic and relaxing view I know. I’ve been promising myself for years that I’ll take a holiday up there on my own for a week at some point – just head up there for a week, and become a reculse, sit about and enjoy the view while drinking whiskey from the distillery up the road… 10 of you went for the second choice which was the Edinburgh holiday, followed by New Orleans/San Diego, Sutton (just a really nice week off where I got a lot done, and returned to work feeling relaxed and re-energised), and Washington/New York.

No-one got my favourite coat, which I admit was a bit of an evil question – the correct answer is “other”. I’ve got a black linen thing that I really like, followed by my leather, then my trenchcoat (which most of you went for), then the suede, then the multi-pocket thing.

The Visor and keyboard was the obvious and correct answer to this one, followed by MP3 player, Camera, mobile and other (which was still worth two points – I love all my sad wee gadgets…)

And finally, I created the test because it amused me. Other reasons, in order were “to see about setting up something like it) the most popular response, then curiosity, then because I was bored, and then because everyone else was doing it. Yes, I know when the subject line of the post that I linked to it with was. I just felt it was a better title.

And that’s that done.

Looking on-line, I discover that this month’s Strange Attractor is on tonight, and that I’ve missed what sounds like a fascinating topic – underground installations. Drat. Still, I’m off to the Secret Chiefs meeting tomorrow night with Ryan (of the dyed hair, not the shaved head), and it sounds pretty interesting, too: “Death Mysteries And Customs Throughout The World” – an examination of practices and myths surrounding death around the world. We’re meeting up beforehand to grab some dinner and then heading for the pub it’s on at in Holborn. Drop me a line if you fancy joining us – it should be an interesting and different night out…

Yeah, I know, hardly news. But still – today, I was supposed to get broadband. There is no sign of it when I get home – no useful kit, so communication from them in any way shape or form. So I phone up. And discover that they have no record at all of the order I placed. Which at least explains why I’ve not heard anything from them, but still..

So, Broadband ordered again, and another two-week wait. Bugger.

FOPP have finally opened a London branch. This is ace, as it means more cheap CDs, and a generally excellent (well, better than places like Virgin and HMV) alternative music selection. And cheap books.

It does however, mean that I’m going to have to be careful when walking down the Charing Corss Road. FOPP is too good at inducing shopping accidents in me.

I’ve got candles lit, and the Cocteau twins on the stereo, after having spent the day lying about watching DVDs and pissing about on-line. I’m sipping Bushmills and waiting for The West Wing to start. The room smells of apple and cinnamon (yes, I have lit the Big Pies candle). If I had managed to have a warm shower today, it would have been just about perfect, but one can’t have everything, I guess. One day, I will teach this fucking boiler who’s boss. Possibly with some kind of hammer.

My friendtest. How well do you know me? I suspect it’ll be embarassingly easy for some of you…

Andrew and Marysia have just left. They remarked (among many other things) that I haven’t updated this in a while. Sorry, folks.

So, here’s the news: now firmly ensconced in South Woodford, where I fluctuate between (most of the time) feeling a sense of achievement at getting out on my own, and contentment at having my own place to come back to, and occasional bouts of feeling kinda lonely. They’ll pass.

Enough of the news. Tonight’s thinking, prompted by conversations with the pair of them:

Talking about dreams and plans – aside from writing, I have none. I do not want anything out of life. There is nothing I feel I have to do/achieve/acquire in order to make me happy. The only thing I want is to be happy, which most of the time, I am. I’m good at enjoying what I have, rather than lusting after what I haven’t. I’ve taught myself to be happy with the hand life deals me.

Eighteen months back, as I’ve said here before I think, I turned my back on what I wanted (or perhaps, realised that I didn’t want it after all). This was a dreadful shock to my system, as I switched from building myself around this goal to suddenly having nothing to strive toward. It fucked me up for a good chunk of last year. So I rebuilt myself, and now I try not to want anything out of life, and I’m happier for it.

Corollary to this: talking about people for whom we would drop everything, give up our lives as they stand and just risk it all for – Andrew and Marysia would like to be in a position to do this. I’d be disappointed in myself if I was/did.

The difference, of course, is that I had someone for whom I’d have dropped everything, if they asked, and then I got my heart broken. I swore that wouldn’t happen again. Not the not getting my heart broken (that might well happen again) but that I’d never give anyone that amount of power over my hopes and dreams. I’d never make the decision to place what I wanted second to someone else. Not only is it unrealistic, because while I can say that I made that choice, and if called on it specifically, would have followed through, it’s also true that I failed in it in a thousand tiny and selfish ways, but it’s also unfair both to me and to the other person. It’s not fair to place that sort of burden on someone, whether they know about it or not.

But the two things combined make me wonder: am I becoming isolated? Am I, over time, withdrawing from the world, focusing on giving it and the people in it less power over my happiness, becoming happier and more sure of myself at the expense of emotional attachment?

I’ve never been tactile (except within a relationship, when I can be quite normal about it – my boundaries are removed, there). I do not make casual physical contact (unless I slip or stumble, obviously), and I do not like to be casually touched. Even the slightest contact has significance for me.

But I’ve noticed, over the last year or so that I’m actually getting worse. I’m over-reacting in response to it. I can’t (or possibly just don’t) mask my reaction as I used to.

This leaves me with the mild worry that I’ll never actually manage a relationship again. The thought doesn’t fill me with horror exactly. As I’ve said before, I’ve more than made my peace with being single. But y’know, I’d like to have the option. And I’m bad enough at flirting anyway. I don’t need it getting harder, thanks.

But enough of this semi-whining (I’m not worried or miserable about any of this, just sort of observing it in a detatched manner, so y’know don’t go thinking I’m having an angsting session or anything – it’s just something I’m thinking about). I have fine Bourbon and good movies to watch. So I shall relax, happy and untouched. :)

The verdict: Eh. It was the first one warmed over a bit. Not as fresh, not as funny. See it if you’re bored. But still, I do like that I can get off the train from work, and decide on a whim to amble round to the cinema before going home, and catch a 6 o’clock showing.