Tired (again)

As we can all tell from my last post, even without the statement at the end, I was, and still am, very tired. What started as a brief joke message to my brother turned into a rambling post on here about all sorts. This was not what I had intended to do. I was going to set some time aside for another Chris open source DNA newsboost post only suddenly it was 11pm before the end of the month and I had to scrabble around for something quicker and easier instead.

Everyone knows that looking after babies is exhausting. That still doesn’t prepare you for how exhausting it actually is. It’s a new level of exhaustion not felt in a very long time; to think I used to get a bit rowdy if I lost as little as half an hour’s sleep on a weekday. Oh, what a fool I was.

The good news is that despite some major changes to preparing baby formula bottles and some minor stuff, a lot of it remains the same and muscle memory is keeping me afloat. I am a happy state of tired, one that means I struggle to remember which way to clean the cheese grater so that I don’t shred the sponge but one that knows it is all worth it because of who it’s all for.

Perhaps with all this weariness we’ll return to 2007 Ian, writing nonsense poems about shoes made of bonfires and random articles about haunted sesame seeds. That all remains to be seen and I apologise in advance if it does happen.

Classic photo

If you happened to be living under a rock you may not have noticed a certain anniversary of a certain album last year. An album everyone, and I do mean everyone, has heard of from the year 1999. Can you remember the year 1999? What a time to be alive.

Pop music was yet to turn a corner from fabricated bands and artists put together by middle-aged men in suits to everything auto-tuned to within an inch of its life and sounding like they all came from the same computer programme. Yes, as you can see I’m an old person. I can’t say I preferred it when “bands” like Steps, A1, 5ive, Backstreet Boys and all the others invaded your ears through the radio but at least they had a bit of personality and a distinct style. These days I struggle to hear the instruments in modern pop music.

Anyway, back to 1999 and everyone’s favourite Dido. Even I with my angst and my Clash liked a bit of Dido. She may have pronounced ‘I’ as ‘ah’ in every song (“ah won’t go, ah won’t sleep, ah can’t breathe…) and struggled with a tempo anything faster than what can only be described as plodding however there was something about her songs. They were breezy, easy to sing, and plodded so hard even your dad liked it. This prompted everyone in the known stratosphere to buy a copy of her album which is why you’ll find it in most charity shops.

Cut to last year and the 25th anniversary of ‘No Angel’. A milestone. A wonderful thing. I was reading the description when I got to the bottom and squinted.

Dido is a singer. Is she photographic? Of course. So what’s a classic Dido photo? Did I miss that part of her career? Did people walking around with a photo of Dido shaking hands with Prince Charles? Dido playing with friendly gypsies? Dido squatting over a bin? I tried googling it and was directed to an article on Wikipedia about the first queen of Carthage. Please can someone post some classic Dido photos so I know what I’m missing out on.

(Thank you for reading this. I am very tired and struggling for WORDS.)

Newsboost – unused material (part two)

I think I deserve credit for not diving into this straight away after unleashing this hotch potch of box-ticking nostalgia bait. I waited a whole *checks* four months before phoning it in again. You’re welcome.

I also deserve a hearty pat on the back for writing a ‘quick post to earn a bean’ post nine days before the end of the month. I’m breaking all the rules of convention. What a trendsetter I am. You’re also welcome (God, this is exhausting).

We need some kind of awards ceremony to celebrate how great I am not just at being me but also being me in written form.

Anyway, enough of that. Let’s dive back into 2014 Ian to see what was going through his mind:

An apple a day keeps the cold-calling telemarketing away
Giant butt sea castle
Torch eyes tours
Dyslexic spelling error sky writer message
Nuclear fallout – beetles and lens solution
Learning to write with toothpaste is silly
Sugar cube igloo
Snake shoelaces. Worm shoelaces?
Bulldog clips rep is misguided (?)
Fruit tennis
Return of the icing sugar squirrels (this one still makes me laugh)
Napkins have feelings too, you know
Bog roll binoculars
Public trampolines
New type of screwdriver

The rest of the ideas from this page were so good they were used in the Twitter feed because they’re all crossed out.

What a great time was had by all.

Retirement thoughts

Now that we’re all middle-aged, there’s the lingering prospect of all the good stuff that you hear about but don’t get to experience until you reach a certain part of your life. Want some examples? How about pains in parts of your body that don’t make any sense (“I never use my little finger so why does it feel as though a lynx is trying to slash its way out of it?”), confusion when entering a room (“wait, wait… I was here to find the… banana, was it?”) or perhaps feeling out of touch in every possible way (“when did people stop using Netscape?”).

It’s inevitable. Though we may joke about being right on the fashions, it’s been some time since I was anywhere near the fashions; I’m barely in the same postcode let alone being right on them. Sigh. Can’t be helped.

There’s no time to sit and ruminate on how unnatural it feels looking through a Reddit post or ask why everyone dancing on Tiktok is going to destroy the human race, there’s so much to do before then. I’ve got to pay off the mortgage first, which means working until I’m probably in my 70’s given that the retirement age keeps going up. There’s also raising my second child (I’m reliably to blame for that one) which is about to begin any day now. Oh, and I still haven’t finished the garden. I think the gooseberry bush is dead.

When the weight of responsibility gets on top of me, I drive a hundred miles out of my way and stop to look at this view. Why? Because one day, I am going to buy it and build my dream home on it.

Now I know what you’re thinking and, you’re right, it is very small. Too small in fact. You have to think outside the box because otherwise your dreams will never come true. The Japanese have been getting by with very tiny pod or capsule hotels for years now. Here’s how it’s going to look:

The bedroom or, more accurately, the standing bed. I think it’s asking too much for the entire building my house will stacked against to turn 90 degrees to the right so that I can have a flat surface, so I will have to get used to sleeping standing up. I’ll nail the pillow to the wall and utilise a slim sleeping bag for maximum space efficiency.
The toilet or, more accurately, the cereal box in the corner. Nothing else will be able to fit in that space except perhaps an A5 lever arch file, and I can hardly three w’s in that now, can I? It’d go everywhere.
The sitting area or, more accurately, the only space left to do anything. I don’t know where all my video games are going to go. I guess I’ll have to put them in storage unless by the year 2055 I’ll have super cool VR goggles where I can play them all using my brain impulses so I can probably lie in my “bed” and play them there, leaving the sitting area for entertaining guests. A snug flat screen TV in the top left-hand corner, a kettle for hot bevs and a shoebox as a coffee table? It’s all coming together.

I’ve got it all planned out. It’s going to look incredible. The only problem is where Vikki and the baby are going to go. I guess I’ll have to purchase the flat on the other side so they can stay there.

That’ll work. For sure.

Anniversary (M-me)

July was a very important anniversary for me. It officially marked my twentieth year up in the North-East of England.

I forget the actual day, some point in July we jumped in a van and drove almost hundred miles into the distance. That doesn’t matter anyway because we’re already way past that point.

Why didn’t I mention it sooner? I was planning on writing this last month and never did. As a prolific writer of bobbins posts, you think of and store one or two things you plan to do in the future. I may have even been planning to do this a lot earlier. Part of me wanted to go all out and wrangle some people together for a party. That would have been nice.

But it never happened. July is a busy month for most people what with the summer holidays, Kev’s birthday, Independence Day, National Fried Chicken Day, National Lipstick Day any many, many more. Trying to shoehorn a sort of important but not really party into all of that would have been exhausting and I doubt many would have been in attendance. Besides, I was too busying wearing so many different types of lipstick that it slipped my mind.

Will I remain up here for another twenty years? I suppose so, what with another tiny person on the way. I’d rather not be putting everything I own (which is a lot more things than 2005 Ian) in a moving van and driving to another part of the country. People barely tolerate me here so there’s no way they’d want me down in *checks* Wells-Next-The-Sea? Is that a real place? It’s on a map but it doesn’t sound like a real place.

Everyone LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! Okay, now stop.

The People vs the solo Spice Girls discography

Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, you have heard the evidence presented to you and yet I am duty-bound to go over it one more time so that you are aware of the heinous crimes that have been committed.

When the Spice Girls split, it created five solo careers. Five very different and yet equally awful solo careers. We have had to endure the outputs of these solo careers for over three decades now and it’s about time each and every one of them is brought to justice.

Let’s start with the best of the five, Emma Bunton. Apart from that weird one where she starts singing about sucking you off all night and that sub-par cover of Downtown, Bunton remains the least offensive. She has a warm voice and her discography is a lot better than it should be. ‘Maybe’ remains a genuinely decent song. There are a lot of singles from her past that aren’t anything to be embarrassed about.

The same, however, cannot be said for Mel B. The only reason she isn’t higher on this list is because of the frequency of her singles is significantly lower than some others. Absolute stinkers like ‘Want You Back’ and her stitched together with string and cellotape cover of ‘Word Up’ by Cameo stick long in the brain and not for good reasons. Perhaps she knew that singing wasn’t her strong point and thus gave up quick sharpish. The over polished American R & B smear that appears on most of her singles makes her sound like every other R & B singer during that era. Time has not been good to our Mel.

The same also cannot be said for Victoria Beckham. Less a singer and more a millionaire’s daughter who decided she wanted to be a singer one day, if you don’t count the autotuned-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life ‘Out of your Mind’ with True Steppers and Dane Bowers, she only has three singles to her name. Do you want some really sh*t rapping over a ballad? Becks has you covered with ‘A Mind of it’s Own’. Are you interested in someone singing a terrible Kylie b-side at you? Try ‘This Groove’. Every single feels as though they made the video first and cobbled a song together around it. You have to stick to what you know. It’s a good job she’s a fashion icon and also has a millionaire husband otherwise she’d be bored senseless.

We’re down to the dregs and you know where we’re going. She has eight (count em’) albums to her name although I doubt any of you would have heard anything past the second one. Mel C almost almost took the crown from you know who because her crimes are numerous. On her first album she covered as many genres as possible including rock (Going Down), pop (Northern Star), twinkle-shafting R & B (Never be the Same Again) and Ibiza club nonsense (I Turn to You) without mastering any of them. She then went a bit alternate with the second album, probably doing an Avril Lavigne thing, which was the style at the time. If we could give an award for trying then Mel would get it. I’m sure if we had enough time there’s probably a lot to like in her later stuff and she does seem like a lovely person. Still, strength of character is not on the stand today. Personality is not being judged here. What’s being judged is keeping Bryan Adams in the public consciousness and ‘When You’re Gone’ continues to dominate certain easy listening radio stations. That cannot be forgiven. Canada thinks we’ve forgotten, but we haven’t.

I’m going to come out and say it; Geri Halliwell’s career is the worst. Think I’m joking? She only has nine singles to her name. Nine singles! It feels like more because they’re that terrible, ladies and gentlemen. Once you get past the go get ’em sassiness of first release ‘Look at Me’ you’re left with disturbingly bad anglo-Spanish your mum’s holiday video ‘Mi Chico Latino’, so unmemorable and by the numbers you’d think it was written for an advert ‘Lift Me Up’, feminist anthem but nobody was listening ‘Bag it up’, I left my switchblade on the bus but I’ll happily cut off my ears with this oyster card before I ever touch this again cover of ‘It’s Raining Men’, my five year old wrote some words on a paper that rhyme so make it a song ‘Calling’, another Kylie b-side but worse than Victoria’s if you can believe it ‘Ride It’, Emma’s doing a 60’s thing so I’m going to copy her shamelessly ‘Desire’ and the puke-inducing generic song about driving and probably talking about sex too ‘Scream If You Wanna Go Faster’.

I need to sit down. It’s all too much for me. Remembering is fun but not today. I hereby condemn all five Spice Girls solo careers (okay, we’ll let Emma Bunton off).

ABOFB 39: An Oral History of Pouring Beans (ish)

In a slight change to the usual episodes, today we have a self aggrandising look back over our voluminous body of online work under the Pouring Beans name. Everyone does these thing on nice round numbers or important dates usually, but not us. No Sir. Basically we read our own stuff back to ourselves. We discuss:

Why is it called that?
How did it begin
Some McIver poetry
Remembering is fun

Logical Dreamscape: that Rachel Stevens dream

Right, it’s about time we find out what’s going on here.

For too long I have wept in the shadows from the trauma of that Rachel Stevens dream from some twenty-seven (possibly) years ago. I need to take the bull by the horns and try to interpret what my brain was trying to tell me at the time in my life. I was young, hormonal, somewhat deranged, floating in a puddle of filth.

When I need explanations I turn to the friend we all need; dreamdictionary.org. Let’s have a brief recap as to what happened:

“I’m somewhere on Garforth main street when I meet Rachel Stevens from up-and-coming pop group S Club 7. She’s a little bit alluring, somewhat flirty but mainly pushy. She’s very, very pushy.

She takes me up a flight of stairs to a fairly plain corridor with only one door and a wooden chair outside. She makes me sit on the chair and goes into the room behind the door. When she emerges, she has a plate of salad and a fork in her hands. She then proceeds to angrily eat the salad making constant eye contact with me throughout the whole experience.”

I hope I haven’t misremembered what could be a pivotal turning point in my life. Anyway, let’s turn to the dictionary for an insight into the troubled mind of a teenage youth.

First, let’s pick out the main points:

Street, celebrity / singer, woman, stairs, corridor, wooden chair, salad, anger

Now let’s see what the dream dictionary says:

Street – walking along on the street could imply our current life’s path. Take note of what is around you and write down all the symbols because it may have hidden gems that might help you out (I don’t remember anything).
Celebrity – this represents our own desires to be noticed or unacknowledged potential that needs to be explored.
Woman – According to Jung, a man dreams of his anima; the feminine within the masculine psyche that needs to be integrated. In dreams a women represents wisdom, love and protection.
Stairs – there is nothing for stairs.
Corridor – there is nothing for corridor.
Wooden chair – when we dream of a chair it symbolises our need to take it easy. You need to take a break from you busy schedule and rest. You are working yourself to the bone and this dream is your unconscious tell you to calm down.
Salad – there is nothing for salad, there is nothing for lettuce (I remember there was a lot of lettuce in that salad).
Anger – there is nothing for anger, I also tried looking for ‘rage’.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

So, by meeting a celebrity woman on a street it meant that on my life path I wanted to be noticed. I don’t think Rachel Stevens represented wisdom, love or protection because she was so enraged with my very presence. If I was doing GCSEs or A levels around that time then the idea of taking it easy would make sense. Wanting to be noticed too does make sense because, shocked as it may be to hear this but, I wasn’t very popular during secondary school.

Huh. Maybe there is a little truth buried beneath the absurdity of it all.