random-objects-stuck-together-and-painted-on-with-emulsion

Up late again. Breakfast.

A morning of… not sure what. Looking at the internet and fuming. It seems like a good idea at the time, and then later on it just seems so unproductive. Hum.

H comes back with lunch, so we have lunch.

Walk up to the Tate Modern.

Sit in the Rauschenberg again to do some typing. This time I pay more attention to the exhibition. Not sure what I think – his work is very eclectic, but to the extent of not really having much coherence. Also there’s something about the random-objects-stuck-together-and-painted-on-with-emulsion that I’ve seen in so many art school final year exhibitions that I’m not sure I value them as much as I ought.

But I get some typing done, which is good.

Relocate to a bench in the new bit to do some more writing. The benches are really not for sitting on for long periods of time – after a while my back begins to hurt. Or possibly they’re designed for smaller people to sit on. I expect they would be OK for smaller people.

Take a major detour to go to the shop and buy some apples, pears and carrots, all for Future Snacking Purposes.

Get home. H has already gone out. I eat some fruit and sit at the computer mixing tracks I’ve not even finished yet, which I’m sure isn’t the best idea. I’m not sure what the best idea is, but can narrow it down to “something different from what I actually do” in most circumstances.

H gets home, and we have dinner.

Back at the computer, fiddling with mixes again.

Toast to mark the end of January. Goes quite smoothly, possibly because there’s not much to say.

Minor site tweaking.

Perhaps it can be de-uglified later on.

Wake up late. I’m beginning to prefer staying in my dreams to waking up and facing the real world. And I’m occasionally chased by monsters in my dreams.

Coffee.

Back to the website. I go through all the venues and posts and tidy them up, making sure they’re all linked properly.

Eventually I decide that I’ll move the website over to the actual URL. Everything goes stupid. I can’t remember whether it’s more arduous this time or whether it’s always this bad and I just block out the pain.

I put on the TV to watch Boris answering questions on what we must call the Presidential Clusterfuck (and specifically the immigration order). There are a disturbing number of people who are prepared to normalise and excuse a regime that’s spinning out of control. Enraging to watch, but strangely compelling.

Boris is going to be in the history books as a cocktail of Chamberlain, Quisling and Billy Bunter, though.

H comes home, saving me from the Parliament channel.

Moving the site over isn’t going well, and it dawns on me that the simplest thing will be to do what I did this morning all over again. Which is annoying.

Continue dividing my energies between website tweakery and looking at the news on the internet and going Grah.

Eventually the site is basically done, though in an ugly way. Perhaps it can be de-uglified later on.

Go out to the Boots at Waterloo to get shower gel. Why I felt it as necessary to do this at eleven at night (apart from the fact that I don’t have any shower gel and I’d need to do it sometime), is a mystery.

Stay up far too late again, tweaking the site and setting up a gig announcement.

fairly disturbed in this case

Up late.

Out to the supermarket to get breakfast. While I’m there I buy more vegetables for dinner.

When I get home, I realise that I went out to get eggs to scramble, which is the one thing I forgot. So I go back again.

Breakfast, finally.

Back to tweaking the website.

I realise I need to get garlic, so go out to the supermarket again. Go to a different supermarket, as it’s getting embarrassing.

Set the roast roasting.

Spend the day alternating between tweaking the website (or, at least, trying to work out why my latest tweaks don’t work) and watching the anti-Trump petition click upwards, while listening to Radio 3. And occasionally doing other dinner-prep things, like chopping vegetables and moving ingredients in and out of cookers.

Serve dinner. Very nice. I may not have mad cooking skillz, but they seem to be fairly disturbed in this case.

Carry on tweaking after dinner. I never did use the computer and turn it off again.

Watch, or at least have on, <i>Ghost Rider 2</i>, which is a wonderfully dumb movie, like one of those classic 80s dumb action movies. It even has Christopher Lambert in it.

Stay up far to late to continue the tweaking.

the patch creation realm

Up, breakfast and post-breakfast dithering.

H goes out some theatrical event or other.

Today’s displacement activities involve getting the VG99 to work with the new OS X – I’ll have to watch out for that, as there will come a point when it simply doesn’t work any more. Even now, it turns out that the voice editor on the computer is one iteration behind the VG itself in ways that are too tedious to explain, but actually quite significant in the patch creation realm. At the same time I’m listening through to unfinished songs that had somehow slipped my mind, and which look likely to remain unfinished for a while. However, I do add a guitar solo where I wasn’t expecting one to be.

H comes home and I do the ironing, while watching a film that I can’t remember the name of. It was perfectly good company while I was ironing, but I was able to switch it off with no regrets at all.

Back to the computer, to displace unto total dispersion, as far as I can tell. .

Fish and chips.

Devising a way to copy entries from old site to WordPress. Although it hardly ever works, I’m surprised that it works as often as it does. More tomorrow, I expect.

closer to un-unfinished

Up, sit, breakfast, shower, dress. Leave at a modestly sensible time and go in to Walker to labour at the Wally Face.

Spend several hours doing work that I thought would take an hour or so last night. By which I mean I had hugely underestimated the amount of time it would take.

Find categorical proof that this particular room hasn’t been redecorated in over twenty-five years, and realise that only very few of us would know what it meant.

Complete the work and after a little too long lingering and chatting set off for home while it’s still light, so I can cut through Archbishop’s Park. There’s building in there at the moment, which means that it’s not actually a short cut, but it’s nice to walk through the park anyway.

Stop off at Greensmiths to get breakfast for tomorrow. It seems that the Ginger Pig franchise are to be replaced. I’m surprised and shocked, and actually surprised that I’m so shocked. All major changes these days are somehow entangled with Brexit and Trump in my subconscious, though I’m fairly sure this is one development that can’t be blamed on either Farage or The Orange One. I’m given a souvenir GP tote bag, which is nice. Get breakfast and go home.

Get home and tell H about the shop news. She’s also shocked. We have a cup of tea. Then I realise that we’ve nothing for dinner, and decide to aspire to something a bit more interesting than chips, and a little less indeterminately fattening than an Indian takeaway.

I go back to Greensmiths to get something for dinner, as I forgot earlier – a combination of Friday brain-non-function and the shock butcher news. Get chicken for tonight and lamb for Sunday. Use the new GP bag to carry it home.

Get home, prepare dinner and leave it to stew for a bit.

While the food is cooking I go and update my timesheets (boring) and tweak unifinished tracks (theoretically more interesting, but in practise only interesting to me). As usual I wonder how on earth I get round to writing lyrics for them to nudge them closer to un-unfinished.

Very glad I went to get something proper for dinner.

Spend the evening desperately trying to find something entertaining on television. Or at least, something that entertains me. I appear to be a tough audience. Some shopping for razor blades in bulk and an electronic scale small enough to go in my pocket. These two things are completely unrelated.

Went to bed, then realised I needed to write this, so now I am. That’s how fuzzy my head is.

Around, on the floor, like a drunken bear.

Up, sit, breakfast, shower, dress. I’m supposed to make sure I’m not late today. It’s all going very well until I find I’ve just been staring into space for long enough to make me late, so I have to rush.

Into work. I actually get there on time, though this is because I walk very fast. The bus companies seem to have got the knack of not having a bus available for ten minutes whenever I need one quickly. I’m impressed, as it must be more difficult to avoid me than simply running a regular service.

The morning begins with various small tasks, then I’m sent in search of something to do, and end up cutting out bits of pictures and sticking them into frames. All virtually, of course, I’m not doing real world stuff at the moment. All while listening to the very wonderful early Roches albums. This takes up what would normally be lunchtime and most of the afternoon. I need to interrupt it to do some minor tasks, but after that I decide that I’ll come in tomorrow morning to finish up the job. My brain isn’t really up to it otherwise.

In the middle of that I get an email from my accountant to say that this year’s accounts are done. I’d started to worry and imagine terrible things this morning, and someone asked a question about how the On Account system worked at lunchtime, so he was just in time. Apparantly it’s going to get a lot more complicated.

Home.

Sit at the iMac and listen through to some tracks I did by improvising one part into Logic (usually, though not always, guitar) and adding the other parts afterwards. I really need to add vocals to them. And then inflict them on the world in some way.

H comes home and we have tea, despite the fact that she’s been at a tasting for an experimental black tea that is, allegedly, like coffee. Looking forward to it.

Go back to the iMac to set up invoicing information for 2017, but keep getting distracted by unfinished tracks in Logic. Totally fail to do a five minute job, despite the fact that I have several hours to do it in. Because that’s how I roll. Around, on the floor, like a drunken bear.

Sitting shivering before bed. The weather seems to be doing cold, just to remind us that it can.

Going for a walk is a dim and distant memory now.

A day that I seem to remember as pithy phrases.

Up, sit, breakfast, dither, shower dress.

In to work.

Arrive a little late, annoyingly. One day I’ll get in on time. Doing bits and pieces of work, not quite enough to fill the time, so there’s some sitting around.

Lunch. Going for a walk is a dim and distant memory now.

More bits and pieces. I’m encouraged to make the day I actually get in on time be tomorrow.

Finish up and leave work.

Home.

Dinner.

Finally upload some photos to the GC history site.

Try doing the thing I failed to do yesterday. Fail again.

I try the Apple help thing again regarding logging in, but to no avail.

Apparantly not, so I do.

Up, sit, breakfast, then lose track of time.

Catch the bus rather than walking. The driver seems to be instructing someone, or alternatively having an incredibly boring conversation about the route, so it doesn’t get me there as quickly as I thought it would.

So I manage to get in late again, but then the art director I’m working for got in late, too, so that seems to balance out.

Various fish-related things.

Lunch, then a bit more work.

There doesn’t seem to be anything more to do today after that’s done, so, after a bit of dithering, I come home via food shopping and turn on the iMac

Before starting work, I think it would be nice if the calendar on the iMac showed all the items that are on the other devices, so I try to log in to iCloud. However, it seems I need a special password from the iCloud website. I try to log in there, and literally nothing happens. I try the support people on Twitter, and while I’m waiting for a reply check to see if there’s any reason not to upgrade to Sierra – any software I use that’s not compatible. Apparantly not, so I do. Then I go to make dinner.

After dinner, it seems that the installation is still going on. That’s been over an hour.

Checking back later, I find it’s got to the iCloud log in screen. I log in and it goes in to account-set-up mode. And stays there for half an hour. Then says there’s a problem with the server. So I set it off again, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to take any less time.

Get in contact with the Apple support on Twitter people again, though it doesn’t seem to help. After an hour or so of the iCloud account trying to set itself up I turn off the computer. Perhaps next time I turn it on there won’t be the problem with the server that they didn’t want to tell me about.

Of course, if I could have been content with the calendar not showing all the items I’ve added elsewhere, I might actually have got something done this evening.

in a very tentative months-in-the-future form

Up, sit, coffee.

Some primary exercises, that mainly serve to demonstrate to me that I’ve done not nearly enough primary exercises recently.

I spend rather a lot of time ripping CDs to FLAC and uploading them to Loop. This is something that appears nowhere on my todo list, other than in a very tentative months-in-the-future form. I appear to be trying to avoid something. Well, I know I’m trying to avoid something, as I’ve successfully avoided it since Thursday night. Which is odd, as it’s something I’d rather like to have done.  On thinking whether I did anything else today non-FLAC related, I’m coming up blank. Bah.

Watching videos of the late Mark Fisher on YouTube, interspersed with a trip to the shop to get milk, which I’ll be glad of in the morning, and peppermint tea, which I’m glad of now.

Also, I write a song. I have no idea if it’s any good, as I won’t remember it until I watch the video.

I also buy a used copy of Waterhouse on Newspaper Style, which I’ve been meaning to read for a very long time, but which I didn’t intend to get until about thirty seconds before I did. Internet, eh.

if I stay here, I’ll continue dithering

Up, breakfast.

General dithering to a Radio 3 accompaniment.

Shower and get dressed up a bit. I need to do some writing, and I need to find a different location to do it in, since if I stay here, I’ll continue dithering. so I walk up to Tate Modern. I find that the best place for it is in the middle of the Robert Rauschenberg exhibition on one of the benches. Actually it’s a little uncomfortable after an hour or so, but probably wasn’t designed for someone to sit typing for long periods of time. I get a lot of typing done, though.

I have no idea about Robert Rauschenberg. I should probably go back and look at the exhibition some time.

Home, tea.

Dinner is chicken curry (sauce from a jar, no actual cooking required), so I put the rice on first.

While the rice is cooking, I walk up to Waterloo Station to get some aspirin. Notice that the herbal sleep remedies are marked “Based on traditional use only”. I can only conclude that this means that people have always taken it but there’s no scientific reason to suppose it actually works. Decide that I won’t gamble three pounds on the possibility that there are parts of the herbal remedy industry that science hasn’t quite reached yet. Or at least, not today. 

Anyway, when I get home, the rice is cooked, so I make dinner.

Dinner. The movie for the eveing is the very lovely Hunt for the Wilderpeople. Then a selection of random YouTube videos.