Torchy

Dear Diary,

It's relay day, and the clouds gather all about the sleepy town in which I live. This should be vaguely amusing, seeing my friends arrested as they make a play for the burning flame, as it passes through the streets. It's yet another rubbish day, and I forgot to take out the trash-can this morning. Luckily I've accumulated but half a carrier bag full this week.

Yesterday night, I managed to scrounge enough for a bottle of the good stuff: the eighth degree scrumpy. We had a viewing of last year's local panto'. Robinson Crusoe, written and performed locally. It was amazing, I hath never seen it before, and the story was excellent. Under the sea scenes, the rainbow fairy, a wicked-witch called "Storm", exotic islands, song and dance. The best bits were my mate the keyboard player playing the role of Black Jack the Pirate Capt'n. Arrr. He was so funny, and I was sat with him at the time we were watching the film.

The next picture we watched was The Day the Earth Stood Still with definate 'commie' overtones, shot during the fifties. We got really wasted and watched it, t'was such a good picture. I love the way the alien came in peace and wanted to meet the greatest philosopher.

The group work thing is hotting up. Again the introductory forum is being read by someone on my account. The vanity of the hacker wants to let me know I am being hacked-into. I changed the password to something only my twin brother and I would know, unintelligible to anyone else. I should keep changing it to things like this, but fear it's the key-stroke getter prog' that allows them to enter as me. Rather than worry about it, I am just going to get into the routine of changing my passwords to things that only mean something to me.

I had a lovely email from C.P. yesterday, she was as inebriated as I. Very nice to hear from her, I must get around to replying. I was invited to visit sometime. It might be alright up-north, I'm certainly going to take St. Lillian (my Spanish guitar) with me, perhaps even Sweaty Betty or Dirty Gurty as well.

I thought I'd regale you all with my becoming a musician. I don't often talk about my childhood, as is the trend with some blogs; feeling it better to move-on, live in the present. Heaven is where you stand, and that is the place to be: here and now... (Ueshiba)

One of my earliest memories is of being in a smokey jazz-bar in Toronto, sat with my identical twin brother. A hairy, cheerful man was putting my cap around the wrong way, and I kept giggling and putting it back with the peak facing front. He would do so again, switching it around, and I would laugh and repeat facing the cap about. This went on for some time. I remember thinking how happy the man was, and wanting to grow up to be just that content. I discovered fairly recently that the man was a banjo player, a hobo. No wonder he was so jolly! My time spent picking Sweaty Betty the Banjuitar as a hobo made me very happy indeed. Free. Liberated. At peace. I fulfilled my ambition to become like him plainly.

Another transforming experience I had when young was going into the music store-cupboard at school during lunch-breaks. Other children had smashed up all of the instruments, and what lay about the room was the shattered remnants of broken acoustic guitars. Of all the broken shells, their was one guitar that had about three-quarters of its body remaining intact. I managed to salvage strings from the other ones, and began to play the smashed up musical instrument. I played some composition I had written in D major, finger picking tirando style. Unbeknownst to me, the art teacher was looking and listening, I was so absorbed in playing music, concentrating, that I hadn't noticed her. When she spoke I was surprised, not just that I had an audience, but at what she said, "How can you make something so ugly sound so beautiful?" I knew there and then what I was to be - a musician. Why does the eagle soar up in the skies? Because that's what eagles do, fly. (J.Webster)

Our first band was called 'Parallel Voltage' and played rock music, that was at school. After leaving school I joined an indie-punk band: Slabbi and the Storks (a.k.a. Slabby and the Stalks, a.k.a. Clam). Then I was in a metal band "Knight of Swords". From there I was in the Buinon Boys (Bluejass) and the Contreband (Rock). I had a stint in Wreck' ed (a Punk band, now known as Michaels Rejects). Park-People doesn't really count as we never did any gigs, and only practiced twice. The same goes for the duo with the flutist.

Maxwell's Silver Hammer is going nowhere as Harry can't be bothered to learn any of the songs I play (though I know all of his). Lazy bugger. I am more enthused about jamming with Gulliver, the banjoist and fiddler. The next ensemble will be playing in the jive band with my old man. This brings me upto the present day.

So anyway ever dearest Diary, I bid you adieux for the now, off to drain the last half of the bottle, smoke my final cigarette. The siege is on after that. Sobriety again. My dipsomania is getting to me. The morrow bodes a visit to see Cyborg, it will be truly great to meet up with him again.

All the best,

Maximus Fleximus.