Tuesday, December 12, 2006

I see a badmoon rising

The clock is ticking- I still haven't bought a solitary Xmo pressie yet.

I'm not panicking about it, as no one has actually replied to any of my requests of what they want so unless I hear from them soon, it's going to be pot luck with what they get. Last Thursday evening, Lisa persuaded me that we should go to town on Saturday, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I agreed enthusiastically. However, when Saturday morning arrived my enthusiasm was on the wane somewhat. I occurred to me that I had no idea in the slightest what I should be buying and therefore a trip into town on a Saturday afternoon would be pointless and most painful, if it hadn't been put to me that we could go for a drink afterwards I wouldn't have got out of bed.

By the time we'd reached the bus stop, Lisa was getting severely pissed off with me moaning, and decreed that I should just "go home if you want". Reverse psychology works every time.

We boarded the bus, which was a nice change from our usual train journey, but I was forced to it next to some soppy looking Student who wouldn't close his legs which meant that I had to sit with only one arse cheek on the chair. I could have asked him to move, but revelled in my martyrdom. I noticed this student wasn't wearing a coat nor jumper, rather two T- Shirts. This amused me considering it was absolutely freezing outside and tried to think of a reason why he wasn’t dressed warmer. I couldn’t think of one. I could hear via his IPod/generic MP3 player that he was listening to Credence Clearwater Revival's 'Bad Moon Rising'.
"Kudos to you no coat" I thought.
The song reminded me of when I was in Halls of residents. My guitar protégée Clint and I were strumming along to our usual medley of Bob Dylan/blues numbers, when the rarely seen Sinister Steve (a slightly older student who lived in the hall’s annex, he drove a motor bike and surprisingly managed to pull on of the older, more glamorous PGCE and totally unattainable student- much to everyone’s astonishment and discontent) asked if he could jam along. He could only play Bluegrass, and showed us how to play the song. He had a capo and we didn’t (perhaps that what attracted her to him?) so I worked out the proper chords so clint and I could play along. He got a bit arsey when we started to deviate from his boring blugrass rhythm, so we stopped and never jammed with him again. It was the first time I’d ever heard the song- anyway I digress…

Lisa and I hardly spoke on the bus. I don't really like talking on public transport- especially a crowded bus/train, as I become extremely conscious of people listening in to our conversations. More often that not I try to speak in hushed tones as I may have already discussed in previous entries, I am unable to whisper successfully.

Once we'd departed the bus, and checked out the Old Bar-Celona/new Quiggins Alt Chopping centre (Goths R Us) we made our separate ways. I still had 'Bad Moon Rising' in my head.
I then proceeded to bum around town for three hours, during which time, I somehow read a chapter of Stuart Pearce's autobiography in WH Smiths(??), bought several records, purchased a 'How to Speak Cech' Phrase book/Cd, a blueberry and banana smoothie and some ear protectors. I tried to find some Credence records but was unsuccessful. I ventured into Sci-Fi tastic Forbidden Planet and actually realised that the geeks in their weren't 14 years spods, rather guys in their late twenties with beards, glasses and long coats.....I edged out of their slowly and chose not address this dilemma.

At 4.45pm I realised enough was enough when I picked up Chris Moyles' biography in Waterstones and proceeded to flick through it and look at the pictures. “Agggghh – what am I doing” I cried when I cam to my senses, dropping the book and casing several heads to turn disapprovingly in my direction. I called Lisa, who grumpily informed me that she wouldn't be ready until 7ish.

I'd been had.

I called Sweet Jonny who was in town with Eve, and we arranged to meet for a drink, however they were just sitting down to eat so I had to kill another 45minutes.

So I waited like a bum in the shelter that was provided by the doorway of that chav looking bar (the one that used to be waterstones) on Bold Street. I looked out to the masses as they trudged wearily, laden with shopping bags, grimacing from the bitter cold, and like every year I promised that next Christmas will be different. "Next year I'll do my shopping in November...no wait- October! " I decreed...again. I thought of the student with two T Shirts.
Joanna Newsom warbled in my ears, and this warmed me temporarily and I looked at my phone for the correct time. Damn, I've still got 35 minutes left to wait. I debated if I should just go ahead and sit in the pub on my own until they arrived, but decided that I should wonder aimlessly around one of the three guitar shops Liverpool has in its city centre.

This proved not only to warm me, but entertain me as I watched the harangued staff try to cope with the influx of Emo looking kids wanting to try the drums or guitars. Watching as the kids hilariously watch one of their chums wield an axe and proceed to bore the pants of the rest of the customers by playing the same predictable riffs. The "No Stairway" joke from Wayne's World should be replaced with a sign of similar cultural significance. Alas, I am no longer in tune (accidental pun-honest!) with what it replacement ought to be. My Dashboard Romance or My Chemical Confessional perhaps? I also observed the lesser-spotted fat sarcastic Terry Pratchett loving type working in the new guitar shop in town, complete with authentic goatee, ponytail and Megadeath T-Shirt. After 10 minutes of looking at cheap imitations of good guitars, I'd really had enough. Even the sight of some spotty kid shredding away with some dodgy looking metal guitar failed to lift my spirits- I felt thoroughly miserable.
When I stepped out on to the street, the cold rain hit me immediately, so I pulled up my collars and decided to trudge over for our pre-arranged rendez- vous point. Then, as if by magic the most wondrous sight came clippety clopping down the street. Holy shit- it was Father Christmas! !

Okay- it wasn't the real deal, rather a man dressed as the Coca-Cola invented present giver stood up on a Horse cart (I think it might me referred as a 'trap'-but I could be wrong) which was being pulled along at speed by a majestic looking horse. In the back of the cart was five girls aged about 14, complete with their lilac/burgundy tracksuits and sideways ponytails. I stopped to watch this odd but rousing sight as he hurtled past and gave me a wink his white beard trailing behind him in the wind. Joanna Newsome’s song slowed to a staccato plod as if the music had been chosen with this scene in mind “why the long face?”. The girls tried in vain to protect themselves with their tracksuit jackets from the rain and through Joanna's delicate vocals I could her them screech like banshees in the worst possible kind of throaty scouse accents "ahhhhhh! Fooking hell! It's freezing-Agggggh!". They looked so distressed as they held their tops over their heads with their MacDonald’s' drinks in their hands.

Ho Ho Ho. Perhaps it's not all bad after all I thought and trudged to the pub with a massive smile on my face. After all there’s is nothing like the misfortune of other to make one truly appreciate Christmas I thought.

Anyhoo- further irrelvant MP3's:

Sparklehorse - Knives of Summertime

Swell- Fuck Even Flow

Herman Dune –I Wish that I could see you soon

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