Today celebrates one year since I started writing this blog.
At the time I was going through some things and thought it would help to write them down, to reason things through to myself.
Since then I have written near enough every day. On some days it has been a struggle, but I pushed myself to do it. My good friend Ben told me it was essential as a writer to write every day and recommended the idea of a blog to me. It obviously worked because when I sit down to write anything now I don’t find myself staring in dread at a blank white page. It pushes me to fill it as quickly as possible.
From here on in I won’t be writing a blog post every single day. I’ve proved to myself I am able to do it, and I need to take the time to work on other things. I am still a blogger. It’s taken me a year to set up a domain, I’m not just going to drop off now. I’ll only post when I have something fulfilling though. I read other blogs and realise a lot more thought and concentration goes into what they’ve expressed than what I gurgle onto the screen each morning. While I’m very much a fan of how and why I write I don’t think expressing my every single thought and process is necessary anymore. I’m in danger of becoming like the people I hate, those who put “I hate Monday ugh, wanna stay in bed lol” as a Facebook status.
I’ve got a lot of exciting things on this year, and I’m looking forward to sharing them.
I just wanted to say thank you for sticking this little experiment out with me, thank you for your insight and I’ll see you in the future.
Since I started this blog in February 2012 it has been read in 54 countries. That absolutely astounds me. Thank you so much.
One year in. Still going strong.
I should probably write something deep and meaningful shouldn’t I? You know…. to mark the occasion.
Love one another.
That’s already taken.
I have a dream?
Again. Good. Very good, but done.
I guess what I would like to say is you are perfectly capable of achieving whatever you want to achieve as long as you stay set on it as being your goal. If you stray it becomes harder but you can steer back to the path.
Think of what it is you want to do, and head for it. It’s your patronus.
I woke up this morning to a new David Bowie song. It’s sort of like Christmas in that you’re too tired to really comprehend the gift at your feet. I’ve listened to it twice now, waiting for it to sink in.
The problem I have with David Bowie’s return is history. I grew up listening to Hunky Dory and Aladdin Sane. The versions that play on a loop in my head have the crackles in place where the vinyl catches. They’re a part of how I grew up and they are extremely important to me. Someone coming in and attempting to change that legacy is difficult, even when it is David Bowie. That’s how I feel about The Stars.
The video is exactly what you would expect from Bowie. He had to find someone as androgynous and awesome as himself to play his wife, and Tilda Swinton fits the part. I also like the idea of Bowie going into his local shop and saying “hump day”. It has an air of Smashing Pumpkins about the effects in it but maybe that is just me.
My problem with the song is it sounds like Bowie is shouting over the top of the band. It’s so close to being spectacular yet there is that going on. For a guy well in his sixties though, look at him go. I’ll be buying the new album.
Last night I uploaded two songs from my new EP to BBC Introducing.
I honestly think they’re the best thing I’ve written in a long time and I can’t sit back and just let me and mine be the only people who hear them.
It might not amount to anything but I’ve got to try right?
The fact is my music is a lot better than most stuff on the radio. That isn’t even me being big headed, stuff on the radio is shit. I am better than shit. Fact.
All it will take is one of my attempts to crack through and everything will follow alongside. If my book sells then I throw in my music, and visa versa. I will always write and I will always record and the idea of earning a modest living doing those things is the biggest of my dreams.
I spent the entire weekend with my girlfriend and her friends. Two years ago I didn’t know them and the thought of meeting them and spending time with them filled me with fear. I knew how close they all were, and how protective over Kate they are, and rightly so.
Being with them Saturday/Sunday made me feel part of the gang (aside from the constant Les Mis song drops).
At one point on Saturday evening one of them grabbed me and told me how happy he was for me and Kate and how good we are together and it’s something I will never forget, despite not being able to remember more than five songs played during the four hours we were in the club.
I mention this now to anyone due to meet their girlfriend’s friends, or indeed family because it soon becomes the most natural thing in the world if it is right. I’m lucky.
Misc. Brighton nightclub.
Daniel Collier sings as much Les Mis as he can remember off the top of his head with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Each time I go to head inside he stops me and belts something about bread and courgettes in my face.
Beside him debutante and socialite R-Macs stands shivering, having misplaced her glitterball suit jacket.
Inside Tom Hullyer dances in a way in which his soul is completely exposed.
Later that evening/morning Daniel Collier will be unable to finish his cheesy chips and burger sauce. It will be his undoing.
I’ve just got home.
I feel cold and dirty.
I spent the weekend in Brighton with my girlfriend and her friends. It was John’s birthday so we went to an eighties night at a club. I have an awful hangover today. We were out until about four, got kicked out the hotel before twelve and spent the afternoon feeling sorry for ourselves at John’s flat.
Last night was fun. We drunk a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s before we left the house and tried to play Roxanne but there were no speakers for the laptop to play the song loud enough.
I can’t remember the name of the club. That’s how wasted I was. We danced about to Bowie, Eurythmics and Michael Jackson and Kate took a lot of photos.
It was a nice reminder of how I once spent my weekends as a student, and indeed how I spent my weeks. It’s a phase in my life I enjoyed thoroughly but have concluded I am well and truly beyond. I don’t like the way things sit on my rain when I am hungover. It isn’t right. I can’t concentrate.
I miss the free time of being a student, the mystery that came into being each morning.
I don’t miss the poor diet, lack of
sleep and negative bank balance.
I don’t have a lot now but it’s my own.