Coastalblog

You know the best thing that has happened recently? On Sunday, I had my first external pint of the year. By which I mean, on Sunday enjoed the first slice of pure god is in his heaven joy BEER GARDEN pint of the goddamn YEAR. Beer tastes better outdoors. fact. Particularly if you, as I was, are drinking honest to goodness fabulous Flowers IPA. Mrs Coastaltown was cold. It's her own fault for drinking lager. OUTDOORS BEER people! Spring is here, my runs become long and contemplative, and not only becase I've stuck Brahm's third on my MP3 player to get me through the long miles, though that helps. Birds in trees! Clocks going forward! Robin being utterly fooled by my putting out kitchen clock forward three hours! Honestly, what's not to like? Furthermore, I am going to spend next monday getting horribly drunk FOR FREE as I am going to a TRADE FAIR. For catering! A days worth of free pimp food and drink! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Out on the lash in Manchester! Also, I c

Fare thee well white shirts of servitude, hello blue shirts of ordering people the FUCK around. Blue suits me a lot better, also. Any old road, I have no wish to neglect Coastalblog, and have been reprimanded for doing so. So here is a list of my top five favourite garden implements. THE RAKE The surly boss of leaves, the stick thin Freddie Krueger of the garden, the rake is the only implement which can also be used for scratching one's back in a pinch, and for that it gets "mad props" THE SPADE Hey you! Yeah, you! Diggin' a hole huh? Then you'll be needing one of these! Wave it in the faces of passers by in moments of physical metaphor. Alternatively fight a bloody hand to hand rearguard against the bally Hun. It can do ALL THESE THINGS AND MORE. Word. THE HOSE When I was small my Grandfather sat me on his knee and said in kindly tones "Should you ever be required to water a large area, you may require one of these. Furthermore they support a

Okay. Some reflections on management: it's a piece of piss, once you get the hang of getting other people to do things for you. The degree of detachment necessary is something I'm struggling to achieve but all told it's an improvement. The only downside is that the alst two week have seen work consume my life entirely, I'm curently on day two of a three day break and I can just about feel myself starting to unwind. Laregly thanks to and excellent meal last night at the Lynskey-recommended Wilsons restaurant. There's nothing like a good meal, good wine, and the excellent company of the delightful Mrs Coastaltown to restore some sense of self. Bit of a nuisance that I missed the debut Lynskey gig in Manchester, by the time I found out it was taking place it was far too late for me to arrange any time off. Grrr. Apparently it went down very well, I have yet to see the man himself for a thorough analysis though. So, all things considered it's all good. Poem

or alternatively, what every mid twentysoemthing complains to themselves about. So, new job, and it's lots and lots and lots of work. Conversely, when I opened my wage packet my eyebrows shot up to somewhere in the region of Pluto. Goodness me. No really, the pints are on me in perpetuity. However, my ever perceptive brother in Matt-ness Haikunym mailed me with the hope that this new job doesn't interfere wioth what I still regard as the "real me", that writing, geetar-playing eternal student I still want to be, which was an interesting point. Basically, to what extent am I allowing my new found (comparitively) wealthy manager-type status to interfere with that self image. Answer: loads. There are debts to pay, and a future to finance and thnk of. My question to coastalblog readers is this, where does your idea of you stop, and the realities of what you have to do begin? it'll take me a while to strike the balance, I think. All help appreciated. Siden

My memory is becoming increasingly unreliable. as a result, Coastalblog earns yet another pupose: to recall moments that I may forget, shortly. The night before my last ever day working at the Job Centre, knowing I was gone therefore not caring. The three hour walk back from Roger's in Halsall. Trying to phone work to say I ouldn't make it, no-one answering. Running, improbably, into my mate Adam, who was cycling to work as I walked home from the night before. The look of incredulity on his face as he ran into me in the middle of nowhere. Staggering into Ormskirk and buying a pie from Hampson's cos I was starving. The sure knowledge tha I am never likely to live a life wherein I walk seven miles home in the bright bright morning just because I feel like it ever ever again. I regret that I do not remember the precise nature of the pie but I think it was steak. A fumbled kiss in the doorway of the maternity ward of Ormskirk hospital with a girl I really shouldn't

So there I was in the wine aisle of Safeways, mulling over whether to buy a Margaux or not when a trolley crashed into my side, pushed by this young lad, probably about eight or nine with mop of blond hair and the most malicious grin I've ever seen. His mother rushed over to apologise, and turned to remonstrate with her son, she'd merely placed a hand on his shoulder and the kid opened his mouth and fucking screamed . "DON'T HIT ME AGAIN MUMMY! STOP IT! YOU'RE HURTING ME! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HT ME? STOP IT MUMMY!" I was a little gobsmacked, and more than a bit appalled, so it seemed natural justice when the kid tried running past me later on, and I stuck out a foot and sent the little fucker flying into a stack of tins before walking away, whistling. In case you were wondering, I bought a St Emilion instead.