Nothing can make you miss your glory days like being trapped inside on a beautiful afternoon like this. I’m a writer so I’m not particularly adept to the outside world but how I would love to be a part of it today.

It reminds me of those hot Spring and Summer months at University when we literally had nothing to do, or anything that we did have to do didn’t really matter which in itself felt like a reason to celebrate. This was a time when it didn’t matter how bad I was at sports I still wanted to get out and play. Those were truly the summers that went on forever, in a different and better way to those of my childhood because I was too reserved as a child, I spent too long in my own company. By the age of eighteen I had sort of worked out how to be around people and it was a real delight.

What I miss most are the barbecues on the lawn and the home brewed alcohol and running around campus in just a pair of rolled up skinny jeans and smoking too much and blaring music too loud from the flats so we could hear it on the lawn below.

I didn’t even realise how good it was at the time, or how much I would miss it later. The wonder of hindsight.

Through no fault of my own I’ve been to a number of funerals lately, and with all the grieving aside (because that’s something far too private to blog about even for me) it has got me thinking about when I’m eventually lowered.

When one of my dear friends passed away late last year it was noted that it was difficult to do anything per his wishes because he didn’t have a will. It’s not something I thought about before but having seen the run of things recently there are a number of elements I would like to control. Until I get the chance to draw up a will proper I may as well outline them here.
– Don’t play Robbie Williams’ Angels.
– Don’t let anyone comment on the history of shit jobs I’ve had, if you have to read out a biography of sorts then make it about my conquests and achievements.
– Make sure the front row is family, and the second row is beautiful women weeping.
– Please play Procol Harum’s Whiter Shade Of Pale & The Smiths’ Asleep plus anything fitting to how I died.
– Make sure I am buried with items I’ll need in the after life. Ideally I’d like £160, a bottle of Jack Daniels, Catcher In The Rye, a set of guitar strings, a Parker pen.

I should really actually get this off to a solicitor.

There was a time when I cursed Monday mornings, and in doing so decided to wrap Sunday evening up in that because it was part of my downfall. There’s a feeling I used to get at about five pm on a Sunday evening that I can only relate to hand in deadlines at University, that grip of fear as it dawns on you that work starts again tomorrow at nine.

I would like to try and offer you some advice, but I don’t know exactly how it will come out or if it will serve any purpose, I haven’t planned a golden rule to give, I’m just going to tell you about what changes I’ve made to embrace Sundays.

I’ve near enough stopped drinking, that was a big one. I was spending every Saturday night in the Brush (nightclub in Rayleigh (if you can call it a nightclub)) and then feeling wholly sorry for myself for the majority of Sunday as a result. I’m sure most of my friends think I’ve abandoned them or gone straight edge or something because it turns out the only time I saw the majority of them was when we were getting drunk. The problem I now have with that particular Saturday night tradition is that it leaves me unable to get my head together to write anything on a Sunday which as a writer isn’t the best thing. I procrastinate at the best of times and a hangover was the perfect excuse to not even start getting anything done. Having cut out drinking (and unfortunately it appears; socialising) I can get between three and five thousand words done in a day, alongside having time to cook, clean, visit relatives, play guitar, watch films and whatever the hell else it is I have been taking up on a Sunday.

Yesterday I got up at seven and went for a run, maybe that did it. I find that I feel much better in myself after running in the mornings, it just sets you up for the day. Once I get in after a run I can’t just lie back and do nothing, my blood is racing for the day, which drives my brothers insane (because they are both all about the hangover).

I guess those are my tips then, cut your drinking, eat well and get some exercise. Is that really anything new?

This is quite fitting because I’m actually hungry (which for this time in the morning is highly unusual). It’s a topic that comes up quite a lot at home, at work and out and about because I have a very strange relationship with food.

I’ve always been a skinny little thing, never peaking the eleven stone mark which for someone over six foot is classified as being underweight I believe. From what I can remember the problems started at University where as a result of my lifestyle and lack of funds I completely lost any love I may have previously had for food. To this day I feel sick and guilty if I over indulge which some would probably classify as an eating disorder. At the end of the day it is my opinion that as a rule we eat far too much, and we also waste too much but that’s another post for another time. When I was at Uni I managed to get to the point where I was eating one or two meals a day and I was entirely comfortable with that. I wasn’t punishing myself, I wasn’t in pain as a result of it, my stomach had shrunk and I just didn’t have the capacity for it at all.

Food is just not classified as a priority to me; a very wise women once said that I ‘eat to live, whereas the rest of the family live to eat’ and that has stuck with me, and is something I turn to as a defence. If something is very well prepared then I can still appreciate it (my girlfriend’s cooking for example is spot on) but for the most part I just see food as being coal for the burner in my belly, I just need enough to keep me going and even that often gets forgotten when I get lost in a task. If I’m writing or recording or hung up on something it isn’t exactly the case that I forgo food as much as it doesn’t even come into my thoughts until I’m finished or the offer is made to me. I guess that’s why it would be dangerous for me to live alone again, there are only so many notches to feed into my belt.

Evaluate from that whatever you want.

I’ve been working in the office environment for three years now, and for the most part I don’t actually mind too much, I know it’s not what I want to be doing but it’s the means to an end and blah blah blah. What I have serious issues with is the way people turn on each other, there are constant playground jibes being whispered back and forth and what people seem to have forgotten is that none of it actually matters, at the end of the day we are all replaceable cogs in a massive clockwork machine that doesn’t actually serve any kind of purpose.

People get far too hung up on the little tasks they have to do – press a button, get a banana, pull a lever, get a banana – and when you think about it there really is minimal impact available at our hands. The decisions we make in work don’t matter at all, they aren’t really our decisions at all.

I suppose it all boils down to the fact that it shouldn’t be important enough for us to get all bent out of shape over, but people insist on being that way and I don’t think I will ever understand why.

Every morning I join the throngs of commuters on their way to our nations capital and I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong. This thought is reflected in their attitudes towards me, the way their noses raise up and the little smirk appears on their face that says to me ‘you don’t belong here’. I’ve come to realise that the reason I don’t belong there is because I’m happy, and because I’m the one with the plan.

There’s nothing worse than looking around a morning train to London and just seeing the bloated entrails of what’s left of these people. They’ve got so comfortable in what they’re doing that it requires very little effort to think the whole thing through. They might have ‘made it’ in their eyes (meaning they live quite comfortably) but that doesn’t really seem to equal a whole lot of happiness for them. Once you’re trapped into the system or the ‘rat race’ proper I imagine it’s very hard to break out of it, you get used to the burn, and eventually you are nothing but a smouldering pile of ashes inside a filled to capacity shell. I’ve made a promise to myself to never get like that, to never accept anything, because it’s all changeable, there’s nothing certain about what we do every day and I take joy in that. I’m still aware. That’s what I believe makes them snub me, it’s because they can still see my cogs turning and the dreams in my eyes as I return their gaze and smile to myself.

So at the weekend I reached the 90,000 work mark on my novel, a piece of work I started in June of last year and it looks like I’m actually going to do it, I’m going to finish.

From the off I have said I want to write a hundred thousand words and although I can tell by the way things are currently running that I’m definitely going to go beyond that there is a quiet relief in the fact that I know I can do it. My brother recently commented that he doesn’t even know that many words (and yes I had to explain that there aren’t 90,000 individual words in it, that a lot are repeated).

The issue now is that for it to go anywhere I need to get it out to people, people beyond my close friends and family are going to have to read what is essentially a work of non fiction, a little bit of my life that I’m putting out on display and that’s where the fear really lies. I still don’t feel like my shell is hard enough to repel any negative press. On the surface I think ‘Fuck them, they just don’t get it’ but I know deep down its going to suck to be given any criticism of my work. That’s the real worry. It isn’t finishing it, because I’m quite excited about that as an idea, it’s the fact that it will leave my work and therefore me open to the world. It should really follow that the majority of people will find it intriguing because it is, it’s a funny story, there’s nothing not to like (other than some of the characters) so that’s what I’m focusing on, it’s an enjoyable experience reading it so anybody who thinks differently doesn’t really concern me, I don’t surround people who aren’t on the same page as me, so why would I care if those people don’t get it, they’re no supposed to.

Peace.

Hi guys, just come in, yep, close the door. Alright Justin, put the Grammy down I get it.
Now I’ve gathered you here today to apologise for not believing that you could follow For Emma, Forever Ago up with a second brilliant album. I guess in a way I didn’t even want to believe it and that’s why it took me so long to get into Bon Iver; Bon Iver – brilliant title by the way lads.
I realise now that not everybody has to have a disappointing follow up just because that’s what the system seems to promote. So from the deepest of my heart I apologise and would like to tell you that Towers is one of the best things I’ve ever hurt.

Thanks for coming in, I’ll see you soon boys. Oh, if Fleet Foxes are out there could you send them in please.

Morning,

Those of you who know me will be well aware of my much publicised slumps, these are the moments (or lumped days) in which everything gets a bit too much for me, I can’t see the light, I just spiral in on myself and get depressed.

I’ve struggled with bouts of depression since I was about eleven and luckily (for you) I don’t have time to go into it now but they’re becoming a lot more sporadic, I can now see their symptoms and take some time to myself, just to touch base and ensure I’m safe. Unfortunately for those around me it means being ignored or trying to help and being barked at. I’m lucky to have such good people in my orbit because I don’t think I would come out the other side for anything but happiness.

Last night I went for a run, it was the first thing I got to do for myself in a number of days, and I pushed harder than before and cut my time down. I’m new to running you see and have mapped a mile and a half that I try to circuit a couple of times a week and each time I listen to Given To The Wild and last night reached the finish line as Glimmer started. I don’t know how long that is, I know it’s track five, but I don’t really want to calculate it because I’m sure it’s not particularly quick. Anyway I was out running and I managed to just shake off a lot of the blue I’d been shouldering.

So I’m back, back from the slumps, and I’m pushing myself harder than ever from now on.