Sunday, June 19, 2011

Hit Me With That Funky Bass

I think it would be fair to say that the last few weeks have been not good. Having never actually been made redundant before, I think the experience had a more far-reaching effect on me than I ever could have imagined; this hasn't been helped by my apparent inability to get a job.

Agencies don't do much to fill you with confidence. The two I have contacted have not got back to me, despite constant reminders. My argument is, if they haven't got anything then let me know, don't fuck with my confidence any more by just ignoring me. Ignoring people is churlish and even a cursory acknowledgement helps me think that I'm not just wasting my time.

I've been pretty much worried out of my head (it's not been helped by my former employer being as good with money as Gideon Osborne has compassion) for the future. I've tried to get myself motivated and just occasionally I've managed it; but there really isn't anything worse than losing your job, while all the others around you, also at risk, don't. That is what happened at my place; everyone at risk are still there except me and two of my colleagues - the third leaves at the end of next month.

Essentially, my former employer uses an organisation to do some of its work. They pay them a fee and the people who work for this organisation do exactly the same job as I once did. I struggled to see why my union didn't campaign for the cuts to be put in the direction of this organisation rather than at us. We could have undertaken all of the work done by this other organisation; because we do it anyhow. So as a result, they were all put at risk in February and by the end of April none of them was going to lose their jobs. In fact, one of the girls who worked for that organisation was convinced that none of them would lose their jobs. Her conviction was based on no substance and I kept thinking that she was in for a rude awakening. Guess what? She was right. It sort of got me thinking that she'd been told by someone, higher up, that her job was safe and she'd neglected to be tight-lipped about it. I may theorise more when I've got all that they owe me; providing I do and I don't have to go to the press and tell them how I've been treated like a prize c*nt by my former-employer (again).

Of course, I'm my own worst enemy in some respects. Having gone 8 months without smoking, I went and bought myself some hashish - at a time when I have no money and starting an expensive habit again is a bit like walking up to the biggest, baddest monster, kicking him in the nuts and calling him a big girly c*nt. It's stupid, unnecessary and will probably kill me!

Fortunately, the temptation to buy tobacco has been held at bay. I was given some baccy by a friend last Wednesday, so that I could have a few spliffs for the Amplifier gig, mainly because smoking a pipe stuffed with illegalities tends to be a little more obvious. But, I woke up on Thursday feeling like shit; I don't know if that was the late night, lack of food or the fact that I put a lot of nicotine in my body for the first time since September 2010. Probably, it was all three.

The cannabis has been the 'secret drug' I mentioned back in April. The 'analgesic' that seems to work a damned sight better than most of the faux opiates and painkillers I've been flooding my body with for 8 months. The results have been surprising - when I have it I function at a much higher rate than when I don't. I'm not completely convinced that it might just be my mind saying, 'hey I can deal with this better', but even if it is, it works, so what's to complain about? But the difference between having the odd puff on a pipe and not is being able to get out of bed in the morning without needing to grab hold of the wardrobe handle to pull myself up; it's being able to put my socks on without wanting to invent some contraption to make it easier; it's feeling a little better about my general aches and pains, which in turn makes me feel a little more confident. Sadly, during the last 2 months, it hasn't helped me lose weight; but it was always the tobacco that did that and the occasional tobacco slip up isn't really a slimming plan.

The biggest downsize is that my lungs aren't happy and I'm wheezing again; couple this with finding exercise more difficult because of putting on three stone in 8 months and you have one fucking unhealthy bastard, who doesn't ache as much as he did... Where is the balance? That's what I want to know!

A couple of friends have suggested eating it - that doesn't appeal really. I think the biggest problem is I like an immediate hit - forget the analgesic properties, I just want to be transported back to when I was 17.

The biggest and most obvious thing about this change in 'medication' is that since April my consumption of tramadol, co-codamol and general medication for my crumbling bones has all but stopped. Where I was taking painkillers all week, just to take the edge off the pain, I'm taking a tenth of the amount and where six months ago the thought of running out of meds was terrifying, I currently need to refill my co-codamol prescription, but ibuprofen will suffice... That has to be viewed as an achievement, if nothing else.

In fact, I appear to be in roughly the same physical condition I was last September, just before I had that prolapsed disc. The biggest difference is that I can no longer afford the pot, but the thought of the pain is probably a little more scary than not having any money. This is the Catch-22 situation polarised: I can't live with it, but I can't live without it. I mean, yeah, I can live without it, but the debilitating effects make me more depressed. I've started stopping thinking of it as a recreational drug and more of a pain management success.

Yet again, my life can't be simple...


Moving on...

The TV reviewer in this weekend's Observer needs to do his homework. He claims that Camelot is filmed in Wales, yet it states in the credits quite clearly that it's filmed in Ireland.

I urge anyone watching or thinking of watching this TV series to give up now. It is as good as having sex with a dead fish that has been buried in the ground for a month before the act. It's a load of old shite. Nothing happens for the entire series and the lack of budget gets more and more obvious the further we get into the story that will go nowhere. It is so naive, you'd think it was written by a 14 year old who wants swords, very little sorcery and a wealth of nudity... The nudity dries up pretty quickly, so be warned.


I've been pleasantly surprised by The Pierces - You and I, which reminds me of the Sixties and as much as I want to dislike it, I can't, even if there's a hint of C&W masquerading as pop music in there somewhere. It's worth spending 40 minutes of your free 10 hours of Spotify to see why I like it! Rock music fans should avoid like the plague unless they have soft spots for The Byrds and the Beach Boys.


Danny Alexander - now, there's a face you'd just love to slap! we can all hate Nick Clegg, but his little wanky sidekick in the Treasury is just as loathsome as Gideon Osborne. The fact he's supposed to be a Liberal is distressing; the look of joy on his face during PMQs makes me wonder if he parades around his bedroom at night dressed as Hitler and getting his wife (or boyfriend) to sieg heil him.

People with ginger hair should disown the little bollocked fuckwit!


I'd just like to remind people that Tuesday is both the best and worst day of the year. It's the best because there is nearly 18 hours of daylight and the worst because the year is already half over and the nights will be drawing in. Before you know it I'll be shitting and stamping in it about the autumn, winter and lack of sun, warmth, optimism... Just thought I'd remind you!

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