Coastalblog

The festive season is upon us, and it is incumbent upon everyone (apparently - I had a threatening email this morning from some group calling themselves the Konsistently Khristmas Kommitee informing me that if I failed to mark the season in any way then my life was forfeit. They also mentioned a couple of you by name and made B-movie throat-slitting gestures, so, y'know, I'm doing this for all of you) to force an end of year round-up upon the unwilling public. So, upon pain of ice-pick, here it is:

JANUARY Slept, mostly.

FEBRUARY: Attempted to snowboard, realised quickly that I am by design a home-loving bookworm for a REASON

MARCH: Hmm, anyone remember March?

APRIL: The Shower broke, other more sub judice things occurred. All good clean fun.

MAY: See March, though with added wondering as to whether "occurred" is really how you spell "occurred". I know it is, but it just doesn't feel right. I said hi to London, London waved a vague hand in response.

JUNE: Aaah June. Sunny, as I recall.

JULY: Insects, mostly. Cricket tension, also.

AUGUST: Are you aware that when you bite your nails to the actual quick a nourishing, life-affirming substance extrudes, filling your intestines and telling you that it's all going to be okay and Shane Warne is not going to make the entire england Test side look like chumps? No? BECAUSE IT DOESN'T

SEPTEMBER: Shane who?

OCTOBER: 28. Numerals = Meh. Oh yes, left job. Odd.

NOVEMBER: Geordies

DECEMBER: Bewildering preponderances of things, not sure what things, just things. I did watch "Starsky and Hutch". It was okay, I suppose.

Some of you may recall that at the start of this year I indicated that I intended reading fifty books this year. I would link to the fifty book challenge, or the relevant I Love Books thread, but frankly I'm too drunk tired to do so.

Anyway, the challenge was completed at about half past four this afternoon. Those of you who are perceptive enough to notice a preponderance of light fiction towards the end of it will correctly deduce something of a sprint finish on my part, but also you must be aware that I've had one day off in the last three weeks and it's all I'm bloody capable of. So you can take your well-thumbed copies of the gulag archipelago and shove them up your time-rich arses.

The great thing about looking back over the list is that each book on it reminds me of something, be it location, state of mind, weather, quality of light....it's hard to say. It's been a pretty good read, I was particularly thrilled by Dashiel Hammett (and therefore it's kind of disappointing that I've now read the vast majority of his writing) but what I most remember about it is sitting on the platform at Preston waiting for a train, leaning on my backpack, stretching in the sunshine, enjoying a wonderful weekend just gone. I'll struggle to read Murakami without thinking of being unable to go snowboarding in Switzerland due to a knackered knee, ordering another coffee (with another brandy to keep it company) and the sun on the mountains, the glare off the snow and (obviously) the exceedingly cute waitress. Just as importantly it was good to read Anthony Bourdain again, because he reignited my love of cooking, the Calvino was read in between attempting the high score on Battleships in the Queen's Head, I got to know Harry Mathews properly, I bought Mark Gatiss' novel in the midst of a truly fantastic weekend away. At the risk of gushing, there's something attached to each of them. I do suspect that I could apply this logic to any list, the memories would surface and I'd think, yeah, pretty good year, but that is well and truly by the by. Anyway, the list:

01) A cooks tour - Anthony Bourdain
02) Cod - Mark Kurlansky
03) if nobody speaks of remarkable things - jon mcgregor
04) South of the border, west of the Sun - Haruki Murakami
05) The Wind-up bird chronicle - Haruki Murakami
06) Dance Dance Dance - Haruki Murakami
07) Beowulf - Seamus Heaney
08) If on a winter's night a traveler - Italo Calvino
09) Moving Pictures - Terry Pratchett
10) Last Orders - Graham Swift
11) Collected Prose - Woody Allen
12) Atonement - Ian McEwen
13) A lot of hard yakka - Simon Hughes
14) Red Harvest - Dashiell Hammett
15) The Dain Curse - Dashiell Hammett
16) Disgrace - JM Coetzee
17) The Waste Land and other poems - TS Eliot
18) The Maltese Falcon - Dashiell Hammett
19) The Restaurant at the end of the Universe - Douglas Adams
20) The glass key - Dashiell Hammett
21) Sputnik Sweetheart - Haruki Murakami
22) Hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world - Haruki Murakami
23) Cosmos - Witold Gombrowicz
24) Amsterdam - Ian McEwen
25) My idea of Fun - Will Self
26) Cannery Row - John Steinbeck
27) Yes we have no - Nik Cohn
28) Love, etc - Julian Barnes
29) Dorian - Will Self
30) The line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst
31) Quite Ugly One Morning - Christopher Brookmyre
32) Knots and Crosses - Ian Rankin
33) Country of the blind - Christopher Brookmyre
34) The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
35) Overtaken - Alexei Sayle
36) Not the end of the world - Christopher Brookmyre
37) The book of Illusions - Paul Auster
38) The Supermale - Alfred Jarry
39) Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem - Peter Ackroyd
40) Maximum Bob - Elmore Leonard
41) Lucky You - Carl Hiaasen
42) Life a user's manual - Georges Perec
43) The Vesuvius Club - Mark Gatiss
44) The Journalist - Harry Mathews
45) Dry Bones - Richard Beard
46) Tlooth - Harry Mathews
47) The Truth - Terry Pratchett
48) Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett
49) Carry on Jeeves - P.G. Wodehouse
50) Going Postal - Terry Pratchett

I don't think I'll hit fifty next year, there's too much else to do, and I've promised myself I'll reread both Gravity's Rainbow and Ulysses, which'll take a couple of months in themselves. Nevertheless though, reading, isn't it ace?

You know what's great? Winning money by knowing stuff. Particularly when pub denizens growl "Smartarse" at you and you reply "that's mr sixty pounds richer smartarse to you." Made particularly great by doubting teammates being convinced I wouldn't know the answer. We still came fucking second, though, damn those old people who have had more time to learn incidental bollocks than us.

You know what's even greater? Two seperate people have found coastalblog by googling "Ormskirk seed pods." If only they'd googled EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS that would have been even greater. Welcome, come one come all to the web's number one ormsirk resource (I get a load of googlers for the Arriba, too, god only knows what impression they get. But this one's just for them: THE ARRIBA IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GOT ENOUGH SELF RESPECT TO PAY FOR WHORES YOU RIDICULOUS BASTARDS. THE ARRIBA IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK ENOUGH TO PURSUE THE IDEA THAT CASUAL SEX WITH SOME GIRL TOO DRUNK TO KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING MIGHT BE A REALLY, REALLY GOOD IDEA, AND IN NO WAY AN HORRIFIC EMOTIONAL CAR-CRASH WHICH DEMEANS YOU BOTH. IT IS SHIT. YOU ARE SHIT. EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR IS SHIT. EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER DONE IS SHIT. NO, SHE WOULDN'T FANCY YOU SOBER. YOUR SHIRT, ALSO, IS SHIT. GO TO LIVERPOOL FOR FUCK'S SAKE. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. EVERY TIME YOU GO TO THE ARRIBA A FAIRY DIES. YOUR SHIRT REALLY IS SHIT, INCIDENTALLY, AND SO IS YOUR MATES. LITTLE BRITAIN IS SHIT, I KNOW YOU LOVE IT, BUT IT'S SHIT. OASIS ARE SHIT, AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STILL LISTENING TO THEM ANYWAY? IT'S NEARLY TWO THOUSAND AND BASTARD SIX. BUDWEISER IS SHIT. SMIRNOFF ICE IS SHIT. THE BAR-MAID DOES NOT FANCY YOU, SHE GIVES THAT FLIRTY GLANCE TO EVERYONE, THOUGH YOU MAY GET A DISINTERESTED HAND-JOB IF YOU OFFER HER SOME OF YOUR REALLY SHIT COKE. YOUR FRIENDS DON'T REALLY LIKE YOU, AND LET'S BE HONEST, YOU DON'T REALLY LIKE THEM EITHER, DO YOU? OH, I KNOW YOU SAY YOU DO. BUT CAN YOU SEE THEM STANDING BY YOU WHEN IT ALL GOES REALLY, REALLY WRONG? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THAT PATTING SOMONE AWKWARDLY ON THE SHOULDER AND MUMBLING "I'M REALLY SORRY MATE" CUTS IT WHEN A SERIOUS CRISIS HITS,YOU TIT? YOU'RE NOT FRIENDS, YOU JUST THINK YOU ARE BECAUSE YOU GET PISSED AND BELLOW ALONG TO "BROWN-EYED GIRL" TOGETHER. "BROWN-EYED GIRL" IS NOT A GOOD SONG. IT IS SHIT, BUT NOT, AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, AS SHIT AS YOU).

I am, incidentally, drunk.

Hello all. My repeated apologies for the paucity of posts, I've been working every day for the last two weeks and am generally too shattered at the end of the day. My computer time is largely limited to phd and teaching related matters at the moment. this state of affairs probably won't continue (I'm making sure I take some time off over the next couple of weeks, as well as most of january). What work, you cry? Well, I'm currently helping a couple of places out by sorting out their waiting on staff, tidying up the bar / putting various managerial stuff in order / organising booking procedures / training staff / that sort of thing. A short term solution, but an effective one. It's rather enjoyable, if I'm being honest. You all know how boringly evangelical I can get about standards of service, quality of stock and all round enjoyment of the dining experience, so it's good to get the opportunity to put some of these theories into practice with a free hand (which was what I was missing). Come the new year, however, I shall be looking for something a bit more permanent to supplement the teaching thing, so it's gratifying to note that I've got a few options to mull over, more of this later, presumably.

Unrelated matter #1 It is with great sorrow that I report to all fans of Ormskirk weirdness that the council, following the drearily predictable outcry from the lumpen masses, whipped up into something approaching religious fervour by the Advertiser, has withdrawn their planning application for the EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS. Local opposition ranged in its reasoning from "we want something from the kiddies" to "it's not by a local designer" (this last complaint being from - wait for it - alocal designer! Who was no doubt acting in the civic interest). Coastalblog is unhappy about the council's decision, and is considering hiring ex-Liverpool F.C. manager Roy Evans to front a "save our EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS" campaign, on the grounds that half the blokes in Ormskirk think he's a "Top Bloke", and the other half have had an "interesting time" in his shed at some point. Failing that, I'm reliably informed that Bobby Ball "will work for seeds."

Unrelated matter #2 This morning's execution of Stanley 'Tookie' Williams went ahead after his appeal was denied by Gov. Schwarzenegger with the words "without apology and atonement there can be no redemption." leaving aside the questionable ethics of leaving life or death decisions in the hands of a man whose mind has been irredeemably warped by Hollywood's Black and white Morality for Dummies just say that sentence to yourself in your best Schwarzenegger accent. Brr, eh?

Gentle reader, I beg your forgiveness for the scarcity of updates as currently stands. This is due to working myself in the ground in order to buy presents to celebrate the festival of a deity I have no interest in. I'm not entirely sure how I fell for it but needs must etc etc. I have, however found a few scant seconds away from the coalface to enlighten you as to the ongoing saga surrounding the proposed EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS that WLDC propose to plant at the top end of Aughton street ("The Gateway To Aughton").

Well, sad to report, but our council's far-seeing, nay, visionary proposal have met with naught but beefy disdain from the town's ruddy-cheeked traders. As one they have turned their broad, materialistic backs upon the mystical vision whch even now haunts my dreams. Yea, even the mighty Scott's butchers, which in its policy of selling as much game as is humanly possible I have hitherto regarded as a beacon of sanity in an otherwise godless world has proposed that the "monstrosity" (his words, not mine, I believe I have made my approval of the EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS obvious). The traders, displaying a breathtaking ignorance of local governmental funding policies have suggested that the money be spent instead on "something for the kids" to which I would reply the kids already have their skate park to have fights on as well as all the Zeppelin they can drink, what the fuck else do they want? What about those of us who want to see EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS eh? Eh? What about us? Should the proposals fail to go through I reserve my right to take to the streets. You have been warned.