It be odd how the simple act of having a break in a journey makes it feel as much shorter as it does. My trips to Manchester in the past (a place which I am annoyed I no longer have to go to: not for the reasons people might expect, but because I’m missing out on all the brilliance that is Mario Balotelli – he went to church in Chorlton on Christmas. I COULD HAVE BEEN THERE. Stupid job in the south stopping me from meeting my new footballing hero. Also he could have given me a thousand pounds for no real reason. Or ten thousand, I’m not picky) were always to bloody long.
Five hours, usually more thanks to trains being utterly shit, in one sitting is not a Super Fun Time. If anything, it’s a bit of shit time. I may have complained about it in the past, I’m not sure. But switching it up a bit, like I am doing here by going Leeds-London-Bournemouth, makes it easier on the brain. Here’s a quick summation of how the brain works on a five-plus hour journey:
YEAH I GOTS FOOD AND TV SHOWS AND MOVIES AND NOBODY’S SAT NEXT TO ME THIS IS A WELL GAY TIME IN THE OLD SENSE OF THE WORD.
Yeah I gots some food and drink left and I’m still watching something and I’m not bored of it yet and there was somebody sat next to me for ten minutes but they’ve fucked off now fortunately.
Is this over yet oh wait no there’s two hours left at the very least but the train hasn’t moved in twenty minutes and I’m bored of watching things and the headphones hurt my ears and I think I’m going to stab this fat stinky bastard sat next to me and this isn’t worth this much money I wish Jon Snow would ask a question I suggested on Channel 4 News and ohwhyisn’tthisoveryet.
Brain numb. Ass painful. Sitting not fun. Can’t stand up, people will steal seat and/or belongings. Hatred rising. Been coughed on or at so many times. Other people: they are indeed hell. The train company should pay me to put up with this shit. I hate everything.
AND THEN EVERYONE DIES.
The topic for this particular DEFINITIVE REVIEW was one I came up with a couple of weeks ago, when I was in the midst of being completely unable to sleep more than a couple of hours a night. A combination of factors had lead to this, but generally speaking I hadn’t been sleeping well for months by that point.
Thing is, I’ve started running about on the spot in my room in front of my TV now (“exercising”) and it’s helped a fair bit. I can actually snooze a tad better. Anyway, take this as a retro DEFINITIVE REVIEW.
Not being able to sleep is the most brilliantist thing ever, because it means you can be awake for longer and everybody knows that when you’re awake it’s the best thing ever, especially when one of the reasons you can’t sleep is because your brain thinks of too much Bad Shit when you’re awake.
God, being awake is brilliant.
It’s also brilliant because it puts you in a mood – you know how great they are!!!!!! And when you’re in a mood you get cranky and snappy with people who don’t really deserve it (unless they do, but that’s a whole other matter). This makes for a cycle of unreasonable anger, followed by snippy remarks, followed by a feeling of guilt at being such a cock, followed by feeling bad, followed by unreasonable anger… etc.
But hey, at least you can sleep it all off and feel better in the morn… oh. No. Yeah. That thing.
Like I said though, I’m back on the Shut-Eye Chariot of Dreamsville McSnoresnore now, so this is all a bit trite. Ho hum.
8 of 14 catch up entries to go.
There are things in life that come along and change you. They make you a different person, as instantly as… instant mash. These things are unavoidable and inevitable – you cannot get away from the fact that, at some point, you will encounter something that irrevocably changes your entire life. Today was one of those days for me.
I was all set to write a blog about something different, to chat shit about nonsense and chit chat about nothing at all. I was happy to fill hundreds of words with inane wordage, as I usually do. But then I was shown something. I was shown something bad. I’ve seen it, I can’t un-see it.
As a result of what it was I saw, my mind wandered away from the task at hand. Whereas initially I had a vague idea of the topic I would cover in today’s entry, not five minutes after I saw the thing I had forgotten entirely what I wanted to scrawl. Not only had it wiped my mind, though, it had changed me as a person.
Immediately I felt it, and since seeing it just a few hours ago I haven’t felt the same. I haven’t felt like Ian Dransfield. I haven’t even felt like an Ian. It’s a good job there’s no one else around right now, as they wouldn’t be able to recognise me as me.
I hope I will recover, at least in some small way. I hope I can return to my usual nonsense by tomorrow, or that I can even concentrate on my work that needs doing during the day. I hope I can end up back in control.
But I know I will never be the same again. And it’s all because of this.
It’s something I hear people say a fair bit, and it’s something that’s popped up a couple of times in the last month or so from a few different sources: people comparing themselves and their achievements to celebrities, sportspeople, inventors or whatever else. I’d like to throw my bonce-warmer into the squared circle on this matter. Basically to say: shut up, and get a grip. So you’re whatever age you are and you haven’t done what Thomas Edison had done, you haven’t ran as fast as that Fast Man had by the time he was 24 nor had you been in as many newspapers as Smacky McDrunk had by the time s/he was 15. First: is that a fair comparison? No. Second: who actually cares? No one of genuine worth.
Talking less about celebrity types, or people who generally don’t matter, the reason names of inventors, great thinkers, authors or whatever pop up is because they’ve accomplished something exceptional. They are, in essence, the exception that proves the rule – the rule being that 99 per cent of people are normal, lead normal lives and generally just get on with it. You might make a difference some day; you might write the greatest story ever told or avert a world catastrophe using a rubber band attached to a squirrel. But does it matter if you don’t? No. You make differences in different, admittedly smaller, ways.
Celebrities? Sports people? Celebrated because they’re born into already-famous stock, they get their mimsies out in public, they have lots of money or because they can jump higher than you. If the fact you aren’t on a par with these people gets you down, there is probably something wrong with you. I would like to have their money if only for comfort’s sake, but the rest of it I can take or leave. It’s not something to get anything approaching worked up about, or even to care about in the slightest.
I’m not saying don’t try, though normally I do. I’m just saying get on with yourself and stop worrying about what some dead bastard, idiotic whore or school drop-out who could run fast and kick a ball have done. It’s a comparison you’re always gambling against and it’s another obnoxious offshoot of our bullshit culture’s obsession with being the best at everything. Embrace your mediocrity; something special might come from it. And if it doesn’t, does it really matter? No, because you don’t matter. BAM.