Alasdair Watson

I wrote this on Saturday afternoon, intending to post it via my phone, but the batteries died, and I never got around to it.

God, I needed this, after the stress and the strain of the last week. If I could, I’d bring all my friends here. I’m sitting here, at a picnic table, looking out over the sea toward Rathlin, wind blowing cold and hard, but the sun shining, glinting off the foam as the waves crash over the rocks. Dramatic might begin to come close, I suppose.

I’m sipping a pretty rotten coffee, now, but I was round the Bushmills distillery earlier, trying some very fine malts, including the one only available at the distillery, the 12-year-old, which is very fine and smooth. Good for the soul.

It’s a little slice of Iceland, this, part of the same basalt plain that’s out there across the sea, the same expanse of hard black rock. It’s a bit better covered wih soil, and much greener, but the same basalt. More mythically, it’s part of the Scotish folk-kingdom of Dalrida, and the geography here is certainly something you could mistake for Scotland – the winding road through the Antrim glens is beautiful, and I’ve not seen a coastline to come close anywhere on the planet.

It’s nothing short of wonderful, after the horrors of the last week, to come somewhere like this, where it’s just impossible to be down at all. I said earlier in the week that it was hard to see the wonder and the light. Not here it isn’t. Like I said: if I could bring you all here, I would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m done with my coffee, and I think I’m going to take a walk along the shore…

An evening round at Ryan’s, because the poor bastard is unwell again. Pissing about divining the future for his “Book of Answers”, a book with a load of vague (and indeed, not so vague) answers to any question one might put it. Now on the one hand, I am a sane and rational human being who knows that this is a load of old bollocks, but when it *consistently* produced (different) answers to my questions that basically said “you’re going to die alone and unloved – you bollocksed up your one chance, mate”, well, while I don’t believe it, because I’m not stupid enough to think that a collection of pen and ink can tell me anything about what happened yesterday, never mind tomorrow, it’s still the sort of thing that lodges somewhere and has me thinking “what if that were true?” and generally indulging in all the cliched single-person’s-neuroses.

Bugger.

Back from Belfast, relaxed and cheery. Went to Bushmills. Am now drinking fine single malt that cannot be purchased anywhere but the Bushmills distillery. Two of my best friends have just celebrated their one-year anniversary, which is a Very Good Thing. Life is doing well.

More when I’ve got my notes of the handheld.

In the meantime, here’s Grant Morrison to entertain you. Look happy.

Tangent to previous post: “I don’t meet people I’m interested in very often”.

This is one of the things that reall pisses me off about shit like Bridget Jones and the ilk. The whinging about how it’s impossible to find a nice man, because all the good ones are taken. Leaving aside the dull, PC (but probably true nonetheless) rhetoric about women not needing a man, etc. what really pisses me off about this is that no-one ever thinks that the reverse might be true as well – that men have the same problem. It just seems like a double standard to me – women are allowed to be choosy, and good men are rare, but men aren’t supposed to be choosy, because all they’re after is one thing, or something. Just weird and a little irritating, I guess.

(Yeah, I give Nick shit about being choosy, but then, that’s because he’s forever going on about how he hates being single, and then throws away chances, which just blows my mind. Yeah, if I’m honest, there’s probably a bit of jealousy in there.)

Later addition: the other thing that irks me: if a book came out featuring a man decrying most women as either slappers or bitches, and complaining that he just couldn’t find a nice girl, how d’you think it would go down? I mean, it’d be as accurate…

(And yes, I accept that books like Bridget Jones are written from a woman’s POV, and thus obviously can’t really make these point – I’m not faulting them for it, mind. I’d just like to see some representation of the flipside, that’s all. Knowing me, it’s probably out there, and I’ve just missed it entirely, or something…)

Right: back to self-obsessed introspection.

I’m single. I’ve been single for a few years, and knowing me, I’ll be single for at least a few more – I don’t meet people I’m interested in very often, and I have serious problems getting the nerve up to say anything about it, for a variety of reasons. This doesn’t bother me overly. I’m sure I’ve said that on here before. There are times I watch the sun set and think things like “the only way this could be better is if there were someone share it with”, or wish I had someone to confide in in a way I can’t in my friends – not through any fault of theirs, simply that a relationship with a lover is very different to one with a friend. But for the most part, I’m content to be single.

But over the last few days, I’ve never regretted it more. Not in the way you might think – yes it’d be nice to have someone to turn to, but to be honest, I’m as well equipped to deal with this sort of thing as anyone can be. Not even to have someone I can help, exactly – I’m not good at helping people with this sort of thing. It’s just at times like this that I miss being able to do stupid things with a partner in crime. Deciding to blow off work and go shopping together. Staying up all night for the sake of it. Something to remind us both that the fun hasn’t gone out of the world. Dealing with this together.

I’m sure I’m not alone if feeling like this. I just thought it was worth noting.

I was reading the Warren Ellis Forum, when I came across this, about what we can do to help, in the aftermath of the disaster. The thread in question had been closed for posting, just as part of an effort to keep the forum readable, but I just wanted to say how much it impressed me, and in the absence of the ability to do it there, I’ll do it here. The guy in question is running for mayor of New York, oddly enough. Find out more here. But here’s what he said:

“Here’s something else you can do.

Be nice.

Get the door.

Pick up the dropped book.

Say “excuse me.”

Give directions.

Carry the heavy bag.

Give up the cab.

Give up the seat.

Give up the pocket change.

Smile.

Say “I love you.”

Mean it.

Sing.

Dance.

Play.

Eat.

Drink.

Live.

Because THAT’S the best way to fight terrorism.”

There’s a man with his head screwed on straight. I’d vote for him.