That’s how many more people need to come to my blog for me to reach 6000 hits.  Yet I don’t really write any more.  Why?  I want to and frequently construct entries in my head but when it comes to the sitting and the writing and the composing, well my muse leaves me.  Stranded in the desolation of the internet and the shallow reciprocity of many online interactions.  I sometimes miss that online blanket of like minded people with similar ideals but when it comes I also miss the physicality.


When my brother was younger he had an imaginary friend called Chocky.  He was young at the time and not corrupted by all the movies I let him watch way too soon.  Chocky lasted for a year or two and then one day departed.  It was only years later that I found a battered copy of Chocky (by John Wyndham) in a charity shop.  It’s about a boy who has an imaginary friend who turns out to be an alien consciousness communicating with the boy’s mind.  There’s no way he would have known of this or seen the TV version.  That freaked me out quite a bit.  It’s quite an unusual name to just make up.


The time I wound down the writing corresponded to the time I found the wonderful xkcd – this sums up my feelings about the internet and online journals pretty accurately:

So true.  And it struck home.  I mainly exist in comments these days.  Find me there.


Sometimes all you need is a glass of wine, some nice cheese and a few crackers, a good book and soft music in the background. Whimsical. Mute. Entrenched.

Will I won’t I shall I shan’t I?  Write?  Well.  I’m unwell.  A long felt awareness of continually running at sub-par always seems to manifest whenever I take some time off.  Maybe the energy and stresses of work allowing my immune system to keep trucking on, keeping a low profile from the distracted awareness of my brain, crash and burn when I stop.  When the long weekend and relaxation kicked in it translated into rapid sinus congestion, sore throat and muzzy head.

Reasons to write?  One being the fun weekend we all had in Akaroa.  Got monumentally drunk Friday night with good friends and to my immense sense of self satisfaction I managed to play the entirety of Tarot Sport to a room full of people in a party type situation.  And only 2 people asked me to turn it off (cunningly by this point of the evening attention spans had been tequilaed down to bare seconds so I just ignored their pleas for musical leniency).  I actually played Street Horrrsing too but there was only one other left drinking and awake by that point so not sure I can claim that one.

Our sortie on Saturday for a bit of a ramble was scuppered when we arrived on the desolate beach to find a freaked out surfer who pointed us out to his 2 mates who were being swept out by the rip.  Our mate jumped in his kayak and went out to help the swept away guy (the other one made it to the rocks) while we went to call the coast guard.

One helicopter later, lots of standing around for us (plus a fuck load of paddling our mate) and all 3 were safe.  Good result and they were sheepishly nonplussed once it was all over.  Surfers are stupid.  We on the other hand went sea kayaking the following day and didn’t need helicopter rescue.  We did need burgers though.

Then we all got to see this:

And finally, perhaps the most joyous thing of all is that someone has posted the boot of the Royal Albert Hall gig by Mogwai from 2006.  In the 7 times I’ve seen them this was and still is the best they’ve ever been and I’ve been hoping for a copy ever since.  Everything about that night was perfect.  The venue was immense; the crowd were real fans, committed and politely quiet; the sound was enormous, it filled and decimated everything else in the hall, you could feel it through every inch of your body (I thought the bass on 2 rights was going to rupture my sternum); the version of 2 rights was the best I’ve ever heard live, the welcome return of Tracy and the second surprise encore (which I almost missed thinking they had gone) of a monumental and righteous MFMK was perfect.  I was there with a sweet Jewish San Franciscan girl I was sort of dating at the time at the end of a brief summer of letting go; she jumped a mile out of her seat at the noise mid way through fear satan and half way through MFMK said, ‘wait, this is…’

Yes it is; with a smile.  It felt better sharing it with someone and I was elated for days.  The recording’s pretty good so please download, listen and share it with me.

In my absence my blog seems to have been slowly ticking over and I’ve had over 5000 visits.  I don’t have much need for this any more though so not sure where to go.  I crave the anonymity and selective exposure of my earlier blog.  The ability to write absolutely anything and not worry about people you know reading it.  Writing to strangers.  There is something in the desire to publish and put out those intimate thoughts and events to be read by random unknowns, to be followed and supported, yet to be kept hidden.  A paper journal holds not the same appeal, the outrage of finding someone you know has peered within the sacred confines of a personal diary does not translate to the internet.  It also highlights the reality of what you’re doing when you sit, pen in hand and detail those troublesome thoughts to the page.  I am tempted to just hit that delete button for this and my past outlet.  Or perhaps reappear somewhere new with no fanfare.

Common joy seems to have lapsed into something sweeter.  This has been a fortnight characterised by a heap of new people and the discovery and rapture of a new muse (most fitting to Aoide); the associated back-tumble to the stages of my life that fling themselves into stark contrast with how things have been and how they can be no longer; and a god awful hangover that eventually lapsed into vague sickness.

There is (despite the runny nose and generally foggy head of the last few days) a smile on my face, a whimsy of the body and a desire to create.

On a somewhat related note I recently bought a new fountain pen.  Haven’t owned one for many a year but decided writing for me had become a chore, an act of work.  I wanted to take back the enjoyment.  Currently it’s been sent to Australia to fit a finer nib but once it returns I shall use it.  If anyone would like a letter drop me a line and address.

Watching ER tonight and talking with Katherine has led to me thinking about my death (not in a particularly morbid way – I’m still smiling) and what I want to happen (all because the black guy who’s name I don’t know, tragically died).  So I thought I should put my thoughts down somewhere in case ‘bad things happen’ before I’m ready.  So here we go:

  • I want to be buried, not cremated.  I know it costs more but I have money and I like the idea of rotting.  That may sound strange but not being a religious person, for me the concept of degrading back to my base atoms and rejoining the universe is more comforting than some garbled vision of a heaven.
  • I want my funeral to be a celebration of my life with smiles and laughter, not a mourning of my death; my Nan had a Humanist ceremony and I thought it was a wonderful way of approaching it.  I actually learnt things about her life that I wished I had learnt while she was still alive.
  • I want to be buried in a small village cemetery near a tree.  A picturesque tree.  On the coast with a sea view.  Far away from any big towns.  (this one may be tricky).  Actually, if I could really get my way I would like to be dispersed in space.  That’s a genuine desire and the fact that I’m never likely to enter space and voyage between the planets is probably the most saddening thing in my life (the fact that is the most saddening thing in my life hints at how privileged I have been).  As for an explanation why, I have a story about an experience with Jupiter that I may share one day.  Unless I’m already dead, in which case either hunt out people I’ve already told it to or make one up…
  • I would like 2 songs played; both are by Mogwai and I want both of them to be played really loud.  And if anyone speaks or moves while Helicon is playing I WILL HAUNT YOUR ARSE FOR ETERNITY:
  1. Superheroes of BMX (to be played first; for the chaos)
  2. New Paths to Helicon 1 (the live version from the Tour EP (ask my brother – he’ll know) to be played at the end; for the beauty)
  • I want to donate ALL of my organs to people who may need them (f they’re in good shape I don’t need them anymore).
  • My books can be donated to a local library (or a second hand shop for cancer research); my brother can have my music and films; my sister can be forgiven; Katherine can have my jumpers, my Mogwai collection, my fish necklace and my soul; my Mum and Dad can have my paintings and the knowledge that I loved both of them and were proud to have them both as parents (even if I never rang home often enough or told them enough).  Saying that – if I die before my parents I’m going to be pretty pissed off – no offence guys but I want to be around for a bit longer than that).
  • Fuck it – after all that, I want you all to get really drunk on Jack Daniels and have a party.

So there you go.  Morbid perhaps and I have no intention of karking it just yet but you never know what’s around the next corner.  I would rather have said it than not.  Ultimately it won’t matter because I’ll be dead but I wouldn’t mind having a lasting impact; if only for a few short hours.

Some tears in my eyes; perhaps.  Damn ER.  😉

Andy x

I’ve been rather slack when it comes to my blog.  Oh well.  Life has been busy.

It’s winter here now.  Truly.  I’ve gone skiing twice now.  My second lesson at the weekend didn’t go too well.  On the first run down I stacked it and got sifted to the ‘slow’ group, comprising me and 5 middle aged women.  It got worse as I went on though.  Felt pretty disillusioned with the whole process and had a bit of a strop until I saw a chubby guy about my age crying on his arse with his tutor holding him by the shoulders saying, “It’s ok Danny, we just need to get to the bottom of the slope; can you do that?; come on, we’re getting there, we just need to crack your balance…’, NO! I want to stop!”.  I decided to man up after that shameful display.

In the afternoon I progressed to the big boy slope and after 1 run of sheer terror I felt pretty good about the whole thing and was rather annoyed when the weather came in and we had to go home.

Ached like a bitch for the next few days.

A friend of mine let me know that the Blur set at Glastonbury was the best gig of his life which made me feel great.  Watching the footage on line it’s really taken me back to the old days, watching Blur with friends, crowd-surfing, singing to my throat gave out and leaving soaked to the skin with sweat, water and stale lager.  Upset I missed the gig.

I’m working in elderly care at the moment which is nice as I find old people fascinating and some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.  You don’t seem to get as many war stories in NZ though and I’m not sure why.  I’m currently sitting waiting for a medical registrar job to come up but in the mean time I’ve applied formally for jobs in December.  K is working as an anaesthetic registrar which is pretty cool.  I’m proud of her.

So many things.

Right now I’m listening to an almost perfect live version of 2 rights make 1 wrong from the Evening session in 2001.  It’s glorious and well worth digging out.  Time for bed now though.

This morning on the ward round we were hurrying around the hospital and as we came up out of a stairwell I reached out quickly to grab the door before it swung back and hit us.  Unfortunately one of the consultant surgeons strode through in the other direction at that precise time and I punched / bitch slapped him pretty hard across the face.


Trying to apologise, he ran up the stairs looking shocked while I tried to get out my words.  At which point my consultant fell about laughing.  And didn’t stop for the next 5 mins.

It’s a good job I don’t want to be a surgeon!