They are driftin' from do' to do'

Doesn't matter how busy I find myself with work, everyone seems to be more busy and more I know what I'm doing so get out of my way with theirs. Anyhow, still ticking along. Keeping my eye on the prize.

There's this cat who keeps hanging round the Gulbenkian at night. Not seen him during the day. I know he is a him because he has a cat's penis. Quite a nice cat, actually. We fed him some beef the other night and he loved that, but he doesn't look starving. Where the hell does he keep coming from? I was stroking him after my shift, and he put up with it for about two minutes before swiping his claws along my arm in a very I don't see any more beef in that hand of yours, so dangle kind of manner. Some of the staff wanted to tempt him into the building. What's that about? Where is he going to go for starters, let alone the hygiene concerns and all that. Clearly from this reasoning, I am too sensible, and they are too taken in by fur.

Decided after much deliberation with people that the best movie of the last ten years was the Coen Brothers' O Brother, Where Are Thou? (2000). Hard to explain why. Just ticked a lot of boxes for me. I'm sure there have been 'greater' films in the last ten years (for want of a better word) but I'm just in total admiration of it, not least because of Chris Thomas King's cover of Skip James's Hard Time Killing Floor Blues. This is a song to drown to, and I have done a lot recently.

By coincidence, I showed O Brother at the Gulbenkian recently. I also came downstairs that night to find a giant hand-painted tapestry depicting scenes from the film hanging over the windows. There was also a few country musicians performing in the cafe. Weird, unexpected evening. Good start to the year, though. A continuation of nice things to come, let's hope.

Got three essays back: 63% for Media (better than 40% last term..), and I also got 76% for Language in Literature and 71% for Theories of Discourse and Culture. The TDC is the one I'm most happy about. That was a hard essay. Deconstructionism is a tough gooch, no matter which way you wax it. However, the source material (Raymond Carver's So Much Water So Close To Home) was something I have profound interest in. There's something about Carver's stories that almost gives away the fact he died young. I know that's a strange thing to say - they're not suicidal or anything. It's just that Carver wrote stories where everything is forthcoming, and characters seem at ease with this. This is also something I myself am beginning to understand; dwelling on the past. What's the point? If you're here now, you're here now, and the future is forthcoming, but you're here now. My degree is happening now. My PGCE is forthcoming. Where ever I end up after I get out of this very small town is forthcoming. Has anything ever been so tender on the mind?

Other news; got a new tattoo (pics to follow) inspired by the cover to Michael Marshall Smith's SF thriller, Spares. The idea came about when I was sat, turning 32, in the Yorkshire House pub back in the Shire with Ted and Dominic, and I recalled that about 10 years and 1 week to that day I'd been recommended it by a friend. Since then, pretty much every single person I know (especially ex-projectionists) have gone out and read it and loved it. I can seriously see several people back home getting a similar tattoo now - Aidan and Ted for starters. After I got it done I sent them the template and said 'Ok, your turn'. They're getting theirs next week. Almost feels like we're forming a cult.



Charlotte is addicted to Pac Man. She seemed almost genuinely furious when I first showed her the various free online versions you can play, knowing full well that she would be instantly hooked. I often get home late to hear the inimitable wakakakaka of the pill-popping wazzack, followed by shouts of despair and 'Fuck you Pinky' emanating from the front room. She even got a Pac Man mug for Christmas, which hasn't actually got Pac Man on it. Bit strange.

Read a couple of books recently which have had the odd effect of making me well up because of a powerful relation I've found with the protagonists. It's a strange feeling, and it means I'm either finding, by sheer coincidence, books that seem to tap into something emotionally sensitive about myself, or that I'm looking too hard for any kind of relatable symbolism. Probably a bit of both. Anyway, I found the character Karl in Michael Moorcock's Behold The Man (1969) highly interesting. I think he displayed an honesty in men that not many are prepared to admit. I also read Haruki Murakami's South Of The Border, West Of The Sun (1992). First Murakami book I'd read in a long time (seven months is long for me), I can always rely on his books to say something to me. How gruesomely self-indulgent I find reading at times. I positively wallow.

Saw Richard Herring performing Hitler Moustache at the Horsebridge Arts Centre, Whitstable last Saturday. Another fine 90 minutes of stand-up. Always an interesting mix of people there too. People like Richard Herring always manage to bring fans out of the woodwork I notice.

Stay off the drink and drugs, kids.