A - Z Songs

Today I realised that I have been neglecting this blog and anyone who might be fortunate enough to stumble across it. Before anger overcomes any of you I swear that I have real excuses. Recently I have had to focus on other projects that people might actually read so I have not had time to talk nonsense on here. Nonetheless I felt that I should try something to keep this little project alive and as I absolutely adore music I thought why not knock off one on that. So I present to you my alphabet of songs which you will no doubt disagree with but tough, because I am 100% correct in this. Enjoy... or stop reading, it is up to you.

All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix
Blue Ridge Mountains - Fleet Foxes
Chicago - Sufjan Stevens
Do You Realize? - Flaming Lips
Empire Ants - Gorillaz ft. Little Dragon
Fat Lip - Sum 41
Grace - Supergrass
Hurricane - Bob Dylan
I'm Your Boogie Man - K.C. & The Sunshine Band
Jupiter, The Bringer Of Jollity - Gustav Holst
Karma Police - Radiohead
Lovely Allen - Holy Fuck
More Than A Feeling - Boston
Nude - Radiohead
On A Day Like This - Elbow
Plug In Baby - Muse
Quiet Houses - Fleet Foxes
Rebellion (Lies) - Arcade Fire
Sao Paolo - Guillemots
The Times They Are A-Changin' - Bob Dylan
Us - Regina Spektor
Vaccine - Mew
We Are The People - Empire Of The Sun
X-Ray - The Maccabees
Yellow - Coldplay
Zuton Fever - The Zutons

So there you go, maybe I'll do bands next but hopefully I will find time to say something useless on a topical subject soon. I hope that you have found some pleasure in reading this and if anyone has a better suggestion for Q then I would be happy to hear it.

VALEDICTION!

Chapter One - Oscar

Here is the start of a novel I am working on. Here we see the first chapter, dedicated to Oscar, one of the main characters. The start of the novel's timeline is there, as well as some of his back story but it will probably not be in this exact order when finished. Enjoy.

 

Drip, drip, drip. The sound of liquid hitting the rough, hard ground drew Oscar out of his unconscious state to be met abruptly with the sharp agony that streaked down the right side of his face. A dull pain rested heavily on his shoulder, running across his chest, down to his waist. Just as heavy were his eye lids and he struggled against a throbbing headache to open them onto the confusing devastation that lay shattered across his view. He was in a car, and the night air passed through the obliterated windshield and began to rouse Oscar from his daze. Looking up, he saw the roof of the vehicle sprinkled with glass and past events crept out of the shadows of his memory, while the time that had elapsed since then was still shrouded in mystery. There had been a tremendous crash, the remnants of the stag still stamped on the hood across the POLICE lettering.

Police car?     

The cold sting around his wrists suddenly became clear as the restraint of handcuffs suspended in front of his face. It became apparent that he was not seated in the backseat of the car. Gravity was pulling him out of it and the weight across his front was the seatbelt holding him above the distorted ceiling. Fumbling with the catch, Oscar fell to land sprawled across the roof of the car. With the windows smashed he was able to crawl out of the side to examine himself. He was miraculously left without serious injury. A few bruises complimented the gash that ran down his cheek.

 

 

Oscar's brother, Alex, sat in his room, his eyes fixed against the wall registering nothing. He had been caught again. He thought of every time he had been interrupted by his mother when taking drugs or masturbating and it made him angry. Tonight he had been rolling a joint when his mother walked into the room without any semblance of a knock. She had walked out in disappointment and silence but he knew that the call would come anytime and he would be summoned for sentencing. He knew she would be irate, but he was now furious. Fire flooded his head and he searched for all the ways that he could lash out. It was not fair, he told himself.

He was young, only sixteen, but his life had already been taken over by drugs. It was only an escape from boredom but every hour he spent without intoxication felt like overwhelming torture. There was no desire to escape the trap and one by one his friends had turned away in despair and disgust, to be replaced by those who would satisfy his needs and lead him into greater depths. He could not understand what he was doing wrong, stealing and lying was an emotionless means to an end, an easy path to easy satisfaction.

Then he heard the shout. Before he would have been scared, worried that punishment would be harsh and long but he quickly learnt that they had not the means to stop him and these talks were now just inevitable irritations. He would scream and shout, maybe they would finally understand his righteous position but no, he would storm out. There were plenty of parks and fields where no one judged or sought to stop him, where he could get lost in waves of plastic euphoria. Rising from his chair he walked into the kitchen where his mother was standing, arms crossed and a gaze of hopelessness and fury met him. Her stare sent him into the tantrum which usually took minutes to envelope and he began a monumental verbal assault. Curses and abuse spewed from his mouth like volcanic lava and a violent determination surged into his limbs. She had no right to tell him what to do, it was his body and mind and he would have dominion over it. The knives stood on the counter to his right, beckoning him with promises of sharp, swift justice. He grasped one, the biggest, with cold menace.

 

Oscar was lying in bed, enjoying his holiday and the relaxing time that he expected from his family home when he heard the yells from below. He had lived away from home for many years and a lack of communication with his parents left him clueless to the path his brother now sprinted down. He was unaware of the situation and his mind immediately leapt to panic about break-ins and attacks. Jumping from his relaxation, he clutched his old hockey stick and bounded down the stairs. What he saw in the kitchen made his heart stop. Terror and devastating sadness shone from his mother's eyes as she bore witness to her younger son brandishing a knife before her. Oscar was not a violent person, but he would protect those he loved against any intruder and, to him, he who stood with his back to him was not his brother but a demon, sent to tear at family ties with mindless brutality. Oscar would not let this unfold and with startling strength that strained every muscle in his arms he swung the stick above his brother's ear. In less than a second, Alex changed from ferocious monster to crumpled heap on the floor. Blood trickled from his temple while his life force dissipated. Then Oscar could see who he had made his victim. He forgot all language, unable to speak and while his brain struggled desperately to make sense of the situation his feet took control and he was out of the door and running down the street.

So Much Football, So Much Time.

The world cup is here! Of course, it has been for some time and is actually starting to come to an end but I thought I should make some grand statement of it at some point. Also I haven't made an entry in quite some time so I felt I should alleviate your agonising wait.

So what can I say about the football? Well it is lovely to see so many countries coming together for this illustrious event with most tensions forgotten and a smile on everyone's lips (at the start, anyway). As one supporter from North Korea put it so splendidly on their board "Let's forget politics for 90 minutes". Of course, that only covers one match, should we remember it for the rest of the games? And considering they were playing Brazil at the time, I imagine that most people were actually thinking about how badly they were going to get thrashed. Or, as it turns out, how Brazil weren't managing to thrash them. I would have been most interested to witness events had they played South Korea, but alas, luck or rather careful organising, didn't allow this. And another thing, when I think about North Korea I don't necessarily think about politics, which are easy to forget, but rather nuclear bombs and surging armies and an antagonistic leader whose motives I just cannot fathom. Was I supposed to forget those things as well? I think there might have been too much for him to fit on one board, perhaps he did alright after all.

Now being half English and with my beloved Scots tumbling out somewhere else in the prolonged process I had a designated team to support. And didn't it go well? As usually the hype and excitement preceding any English football effort was about absolutely nothing. Now is the time to remember that no one actually promised us the World Cup so hopefully people can calm down and not be so angry about it. It is only the world cup after all. Actually wait, the use of 'world' does make that sound quite grand. What I mean is that it is only football after all. Perhaps if we keep experiencing this repetition of hope and despair people will become desensitised to it all and one day we will turn around and an aged Rooney will be holding aloft the cup but no one will care.

Like a lot of the nation, and perhaps the world, I had a strong affection for the African teams in this world cup. This was not new for me, having been to Africa and being one of many that seems to subscribe to the idea that the continent is really just one nation with one identity, I have always supported the likes of Côte d'Ivoire (see I use the actual name) and Ghana. This didn't pan out either, but at least Ghana provided us with the most exciting bit of the world cup but I do feel sorry for the player who is presumably still crying. Now I just hate Uruguay.

This world cup has brought with it a startling realisation for me. I just don't like football that much. It was quite some time ago that I came to terms with the relentless eternity and meaningless of domestic club football but I always thought that international tournaments still exuded enough excitement and passion to keep me entertained but now I think I might be wrong. I have sat through so many hours of mind numbing ball passing that I am even considering doing something productive. Maybe it is thanks to the accompanying atmosphere, sitting in silence watching the clock count to 90 with my parents doesn't lend itself to excitement. It is infinitely more fun to experience the environment of a packed pub, downing beers and watching the toothless alcoholics jeer and sing. Being a judgemental arse, I enjoy that spectacle more than the one on screen.

So to summarise my pointless discussion, football isn't that great and we all make too much of a fuss about it. But saying that, it has some merits and can be a little fun. Now if they could only do something about how shamelessly these players roll around on the floor and collapse at the slightest sign of contact. I can't help thinking that they must struggle in life generally as accidental bumps and touches aren't exactly infrequent.

Goodbye!