Valley of the Trolley Dollies

My father’s visiting me this week, and this morning, standing on the platform at my train station on the way to work, at about 6:45, a wave of emotion swept over me.

We do a very good silence in my family. Oh, don’t get me wrong: We talk. And talk. And talk. And, as D will tell you, frequently talk over each other, finish each other’s sentences, and take the conversation off on tangents that get very confusing for the uninitiated.

But we don’t often talk about serious emotional stuff. Don’t get me wrong: Over the top of every single conversation and interaction with my family is one huge soft warm beautiful fact: We really and truly love each other, and that is the best feeling in the world.

But there’s stuff I wanted to talk to my dad about - nothing heavy, just family history, small genealogy stuff - but the first step is always a bit scary. I guess what I want to do is get to know him as a person, rather than just as this huge figure that is ‘dad’. Sunday, we discussed politics, and I was surprised to discover his political afilliations are very different to what I had expected, and very very close to my own. We talked like two real grown-ups for a long time.
But this morning, standing on a dark cold platform at that point in the day when the night is over, but the morning hasn’t yet begun, the thought crashed over me: Time is passing. The moments slip by, and each one never comes again. So ask. Talk. Don’t wait. And it was all I could do to get on the train without crying.

Then, mid morning, I got a call to say that my mother’s brother - a man I’ve never thought of as my uncle - had died at 10am. He was young. He leaves a wife and a daughter, and two sisters, who are on holiday in the US and can’t get home.

And again, I thought that the moments gone are forever lost.

Grab them while you can.

And blessedness goes where the wind goes,
And when it is gone we are dead;
I see the blessedest soul in the world
And he nods a drunken head.

O blessedness comes in the night and the day
And whither the wise heart knows;
And one has seen in the redness of wine
The Incorruptible Rose,

That drowsily drops faint leaves on him
And the sweetness of desire,
While time and the world are ebbing away
In twilights of dew and of fire.’

THE BLESSED by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Torchwood. Not sure. Slick, stylish, funny, a little heavy on the exposition, with one or two large clunky setups and teasers thrown in (”Torchwood 4,” anybody? Cap’n’ Jacks inability to die. The fact that a large chunk of the audience are wondering hiow he got from satellite five at a point waaaaaaaaay in the future to Cardiff today). The look is fab, the aeriel shots of Cardiff making a visual reference to all those American series set in bustling metropolises where you could believe that a race of serial killing aliens could be on the rampage without anyone noticing. I’m not sure if I’d believe that in London, but in Cardiff? You buy a new duvet and half the town would know. Sill,watching episode two tonight, and looking forward to it.

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La Mirren in PS6. Fantastic.

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Robbie ‘Rudebox‘ - how can someone so washed up produce something so good? It’s not a masterpiece. It’s very derivative (and what has he done that’s been anything but derivative), but it’s, musically, fun, and lyrically, in some places, the wittiest and most personal stuff he’s done in ages. “The ’80’s” and “The 90’s” are lyrically fab, if (in the case of the latter) being another addition to the ‘It’s hell being R Williams Esq.’ cannon. “She’s Madonna” “Kiss Me” “Don’t touch that switch” and “Actor” are fab and sparkly and great pop tunes. “Louise” and “We’re the Pet Shop Boys” are pretty pointless, al told: Karaoke pop. It’s a giant vanity project that might have been better put out under an assumed name; but then EMI wouldn’t have been able to guarantee the sort of sales they’re no doubt guaranteeing. I’m just not sure how much ‘damage’ this could to to his already slightly wobbly fanbase here int he UK (the suburban ex-lads and their missuses, who don’t usually rush out to buy electro albums).

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The New Janet Jackson is also quite derivative - this time, of her own back catalogue. It’s got stuff that sounds like “Rhythmn nation” “Escapade” “Nasty” and various other highlights of her 20 year career. None of which is a bad thing. It;s also, perhaps, her best (if shortest - perhaps the two things are linked) album is a while.

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New PSB album out today. First one i haven’t rushed out to buy - because, dear readers, I am not made of money. Still, have downloaded the new tracks from their recent singles, as well as acquiring (thanks to my hubbie) the vinyl verison of ‘Numb’ with a wonderful acapella version of this beautiful song. “Concrete” can go on my Christmas List, along with This. And This. Can you tell i’m a pethead?

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Something kinda oooh makes it to #5 on downloads alone. Woo, and, indeed, Hoo!

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The iPod is 5! Happy birthday to my new best friend.

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My Dad’s visiting. Book shopping on Saturday brought me back to two of my oldest friends, and introduced me to one of their newer (and, quite frankly, more gay supertexted) adventures, which I hadn’t read. I can so see where my obsession with ancient history, historical fiction and big Menhir delivery boys came from.

That’s it.

My Blog mentor (hello blog daddy), Bob over at bobzyeruncle has been publishing a series of short pieces every Tuesday. The process has come to be know as Tuesday 200 (nothing can come in over 200 words).

Having never pretended to have an original idea in my head, I decided that I, too, would write short pieces of bloggable fiction regularly. Some of you will know I already write larger pieces, but these things (like Bob’s) can be about characters I’d never dream of writing a novel about; they can be funnier or darker or less plot driven or, frankly, duller than some of the things I’d spend time developing. Equally, they might actually open some doors, get me thinking about some ideas that have lain in the drawer for a while. Maybe even turn into full fledged real life stories in their own right. One difference: The word limit. I want nothing more than 400 words. I’m just not that good at editing (surprise!). So it’s more of a Friday 400.
Hey - I’ve always been a bit too wordy. So sue me!!

Anyways, without further ado, here’s the first piece

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