Trying to find solace

 And it isn't easy. 

I've been lucky enough to be back outside on the bike, so that's helped. Overall, the past week or so has been fraught with many issues, but above all it's been a case of one issue just creating another. Logistics is like an ever-evolving fractal: it just keeps sub-dividing and expanding. 

One issue makes two more. Then those two make four. Sometimes the biggest test is not solving the eventual issues, but trying to maintain a thread back to wherever it was that started everything.  The album above, has certainly helped put my head into a better space, while the storm rages around me. 

 Meanwhile, It's the Coronation weekend, so I'm hoping for memories to be imprinted. I'm certainly no royalist, but I'm acutely aware of the fabric of our society, how it shifts, and the things which ground our values. Extraordinary days like this are a chance to see history unfurl - you don't have to like that history, or agree with it, or cleave to it in any way; but it's something that shapes your life. I may not be a participant, but I'm certainly a watcher. 

When all of the mania dies down

I'd like to do one thing, and one thing only. I'd give almost anything to be able to cycle up this road just after sunrise. To reach the Lighthouse and look back at the sinking ribbon of Tarmac. To see where I'd been, to know where I was going to go next. Cycling's like life, isn't it?

But seriously, must look at trying to get back. I can't describe the pure joy I felt, heading up that road. Doing it again would square a circle - but it would also quiet the storm. That's very tempting, right now.

Back to reality

 And back to the organisation, planning and plotting. Who knew that tours would be this draining - before they'd even started?

My soundtrack for today has been this:

Originally heard on Peel's show in 1981, I'm fairly sure I had to rely on Small Wonder to find a copy. It's an odd single in that it was reworked by Martin Hannett at one point - so that version should be the one which held my attention. Yet, it didn't. This original mix is far superior - Hannett's is too vague, too lacking in direction. A very rare misstep, that's for sure.

Today is all about rest, too. Managed to drop part of the oven on my foot, bruising it quite badly. Mind you, if you're going to knacker yourself before a tour, it's eminently sensible to get all of that out of the way before the fighting actually begins. 

This hit me like a ton of bricks

 It was such a huge moment for me - reading that. I just have to stand up, stand by my choices, and keep on standing there. Back it all up with my drive, passion and integrity. 

It's all too easy to be assailed by doubts when you're organising so many logistical things. But, if I listened to those doubts, I'd be in serious trouble. I'd get onto that stage, thinking, "Well, if only we'd played that other venue that someone on Twitter mentioned instead of this place. Maybe we'd have got a few more dozen people in the crowd". All it does is distract from the main goal - get out there and make everything work. Show everyone there how good you can be. In that place, at that time. Because you committed to the choice, to the venue, to the piece of merch, to the song, to the job, to the career, to the band, to the life you lead. 

I'm back, tentatively.

That was a brutal weekend. It took a while to dig myself out of that hole - and I still feel hollowed out and useless. Life's tough sometimes; it's not easy, it kicks you when you're down, and you don't feel like getting back into it again. But I have to start working. There are so many things at the moment which demand my full attention - there's a tour, a label deal, a publishing contract, voiceover work, and charity work. Ugh, even writing it all down is enough to throw me back down into the hole again.

But overall, I have to regain momentum. The key to that is the same thing it's always been. Self-belief. Once that takes hold, confidence rushes back in. Then, forward momentum is a given.

Turn it up. Make it work. 

 

Utterly empty.

I crashed hard. Today all of my lifeforce left, like the tide. I was just left behind, wondering where my soul, my energy and my drive had gone. I've put a lot into this week - there have been meetings, and endless phone calls. Logistics, schedules, organisation. I've been left with the burden of responsibility on my shoulders, and today those shoulders buckled. It was all I could do to stay upright and awake. I just wanted to sleep for days and days on end. 

I've felt like this before - when there's been a catastrophic failure of my abilities. To be frank, it's not great. Everything runs in slow motion; everything winds down. I'm hoping it passes soon. 

"Up to my knees now, do I wade, do I dive?
The sea has seen my like before, though it's my first and perhaps last time
Let's call me a baptist, call this a drowning of the past
She is there on the shoreline throwing stones at my back"
 

Time for me to start swimming. 

Life, in timelapse.

 I've loved this song since I first heard it in the early 1980s. It's amazing to think it's been that long: when I first saw the film, its central message seemed to encapsulate a world fraying at the edges. In retrospect, it was actually a golden time compared to the shitshow we're currently living through. Anyway, "The Grid" is the obvious highlight of the record, and its shifting sense of psychedelia has stayed with me ever since. 

Seeing the notation for the song, though, was the moment in which the real importance of the music hit me. It's an unerringly accurate representation of what it feels like inside my mind. Everything is ostinato, and the patterns constantly shift, repeating, jumping, and underlining the power and intensity of the voices within. More than that, the intervals which pulse through those patterns give the impression that the song is moving from half-time to double-time. In reality, of course, the music merely keeps its steady state, moving relentlessly forward. There's a deep sense of wonder to see the shifting components of the song move and fragment - then coalesce once again. It's a dance, and it's the heartbeat of my life. 

What do I ride?

So, I thought it might be good to take a snapshot of my cycling preferences. 

it's been almost three years of intense riding, or tweaking all of my setups, of learning what works for me. This, is all of it.

Shoes: Le Col, also Shimano S-Phyre RC902. 

Socks - Pongo.

Tights - Le Col Aqua zero

Bibs - Le Col lightweight, Le Col indoors, Le Col Pro. La Passione Pro. Wanyudo club kit (Miltag Pro fit)

Jerseys - as above

Helmet - S-Works Prevail II Vent

Computer - Wahoo Elemnt Bolt V.2

HRM - Wahoo Tickr

Trainer - Wahoo Kickr Axis, 2020

Bar Tape - Deda Elementi. Black.

Bars - Giant Contact SLR.

Stem - Giant Contact SL, Specialized S-works, Deda Zero, 110mm

Groupset - Dura Ace 9100, 9150.

Cranks - 50/34, and 52/36 - 170mm

Chain - KMC gold

Brakes - Dura Ace (rim) Ultegra (disc)

Cassette - 11-32

Tyres - Pirelli P-Zero Race, 28mm, also 26mm. Goodyear Eagle, for tubeless, 28mm.

Saddle - Selle San Marco Mantra - various iterations, comfort, Superleggera, Racing Dynamic. Always narrow fit, normally carbon rails. 

Pedals - Assioma Favero Duo power pedals, Look Keo on the trainer, for compatability.

If there's anything I've missed, I'll try and update this list!

 

Museum piece.

 This was a huge surprise - the little fanzine I made in 1985, will end up in a collection in the Museum at Manchester University. 

I really have no idea how this came about, but it feels so bizarre that I can't quite believe it. DWT was my first real attempt at a fanzine, very much inspired by "Groovy Black Shades" (made by Paul Groovy) and "Adventures in Bereznik" (by Simon Bereznik), 'zines which were handed out at gigs I went to, throughout 1984 and 1985. The whole culture of fanzines was very DIY, and inspiring - go out and make your own, get involved! 

So, in the late summer of 1985, when I returned to Lancaster Uni, I got down to business. First, I made collages and cut-outs, from magazines and other found media. Then,I typed out all of the articles, poems, jokes and content, reducing the type so it would fit. Then - painstakingly - it was all assembled and glued together, on two giant "master" pages. These were then photocopied again, so I could fold one huge sheet into a small fanzine. There was a definite plan for distribution, too. These weren't going to be for sale; it was very much a labour of love. I would get a plastic bag full of 'zines, take them to gigs, and give them to people who I hoped would enjoy them. That's why there's a "free?" on the cover. Looking back on my work, it's naive - sure, but it's absolutely in keeping with the way I feel about life and music. you're sharing a little bit of yourself, when you make something like this, and that's the best feeling. I'm gobsmacked that it ended up in a museum, but I'm also enormously proud. 

Bonus points for noticing that DWT ended up as the title of my MP3 blog, a couple of decades later. 

A little pause, for breath.

I had a few days when all of the pressure was really starting to get on top of me. So I withdrew. It kind of helps, but at the same time, it doesn't, if you know what I mean? All you're really doing is kicking that can down the road, but it's essential for your sanity. 

Anyway - back to it. Specifically, organising an American tour,m which is an enormous undertaking. Here's hoping it'll be a blinder.  

Georgie James have been helping me straighten myself out. This is pure comfort, for me. Always has been. 

Skateboarding unlocked my mind

 All these years later, I'm only now starting to understand how much of my life has been shaped by Skating, not just by Skating itself - but by reactions to it and how I looked for the same creativity everywhere. 

Skating taught me that talent wasn't everything - style was. Skills and tricks are fine, but there's an attitude and a flow, which only the greatest skaters have. They display that attitude, even when rolling along, not doing much at all. The video above, of Antwuan Dixon, is a case in point: it's amazing in terms of tricks - hammers, everywhere. But more than that, he is the epitome of a style and flow which is at once effortless yet completely breathtaking to watch. At around 55 seconds, he lays down a nose slide to 270. Every time I see it, I'm stopped in my tracks. It's like he's not even aware of what he's doing or how good he is. He is just....there, in the moment. 

Ever since I stepped on a board, I've been looking for those moments constantly. Not just in Skaters, either: in musicians, TV presenters, actors, friends, and lovers. Do they have that flow, that sense of being at ease, that creative grace? It's like a door you can open to let your true self shine out. 

Dreams, and their reasons.

 I dream of University years a lot. I did it last night. There doesn't ever seem to be an external impetus for dredging up these thoughts: it's something which has been internalised. My uni years were really a story in two parts. Firstly, the opportunities which I seized, which would come to define my life. i learned how to be a DJ, met all of the bands who passed through the colleges and clubs, and made friends and contacts throughout the musical community. Little by little, I was moving towards some sort of career where music would play a part. 

But also, it's a three-year period marked by academic underachievement and disappointment. I never worked, never stretched myself. I never applied my mind to my studies, and that's always a source of regret. Could it be that? Could it be those regrets that still bubble up and bother my subconscious?

Moonlight thoughts

 I love that shot - the moonlight pouring in through the patio window. The light really was like that; there were no filters. Around 10.30pm. 

There I was, looking out at this magical landscape, thinking about time again. I've been obsessed with the idea that time is cyclical (something I know I've referenced before in this blog), but a recent dip into a book about Zen has refined my thinking process. I've narrowed it down to the tension between duality and unity. The thought that the duality of our location in a simultaneous past and future can be anchored by the unity of a grounding in the present. The power of that sudden explosion of perfect stasis, an acceptance of one's current position. 

All of that whilst looking at moonlight on a rug. I love how (without being too tautological) that moment can be truly momentary, yet that's its greatest impact. 

And even more!

 Marmalade wasn't enough. 

Today I made Semolina. With jam. Bloody hell, it was great. 

I'm now listening to Aberfeldy, and I'm just a little overwhelmed at how wonderful they were. I love music when it does this to me; it fills me with a sense of wonder and thanks. Still, it's bewildering to think that I first heard them exactly twenty years ago. The same timespan as this blog. Life stretches out around me, I'm forever thankful for it's marvels. 

More nostalgia

I'm sitting here with memories flooding over me. The Met line was a massive part of my life when I lived in Hatch End. That's partly in terms of the sheer volume of journeys I made, but it's also about how those journeys opened the city up. The Metropolitan felt unique to me, a bridge from the suburbs to the centre of London. The carriages were different to other lines, as well. Because the journey time from places like Amersham or Rickmansworth could be over an hour (or more!), the seats were in transverse blocks. It gave the impression that you were embarking on an adventure, settling in to watch the countryside change from fields to houses to the cut-and-cover of the centre of town. It was in contrast to other lines, some of which you passed on your way to Baker Street. You would take the fast line from Wembley Park down to Finchley Road and pass Jubilee Line trains dawdling past Neasden or Dollis Hill. These looked and felt like city-centre tubes but out in the open. A series of stops in a constant, unbroken line. Whereas the Met line would be powering on, past it all. It felt like a way to unlock the city whilst maintaining your place far from it in a suburban Idyll.