Living in the sprawl, dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains

OK. I'll be honest. I'm typing this literally five minutes after I've gotten in from what can only be described as a fantastic and fanatical send off. Maybe not fanatical but fuck it, it sounds good. What I'm trying to drive at is that I am not sober. I wouldn't say I'm hammered, but drunk couldn't cover it.

I'm talky. Let's put it that way.

I've been listening to Arcade Fire's new album a lot recently. Technically that statement is true, yet a fairer description would be that I have been listening to Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) a lot. If you haven't heard it then do it now. It's like Kate Bush and The Knife made a musical baby and taught it to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs. I mention this because that song resonates with me. I don't know why, I have no reason to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs (Elburton is a pretty nice place to grow up - I should know, I grew up there), but even so, that song is catnip to me.

That sense of legging it from your past, the underlying desperation with the situation, just wanting something else. That song has it. And a pretty nice synth part. I don't feel those things, I don't want to leg it or feel a desperate need to get out, but maybe I should. I dunno, is that what's missing?

'Cos really, all night, all week, fuck, all year even, people have been saying that I will love this experience. Asking if I'm nervous. Asking me what I'm feeling.

The truth of the matter is that it's not yet really registered. Don't mistake me, it's unavoidable. Mum has been breaking her back to get me to this point, and will no doubt break it further to make sure I stay out in Houston. That said, I - me, this chap right here with the glasses, strangely gay hair cut, and lack of fashion sense, me! - don't feel it. It hasn't sunk in.:

Maybe it will when I get on the plane. Maybe when we leave for Heathrow. Maybe when I go to the pub on Monday. Maybe it'll never sink in.

Fucknuts, this is quite the stream on consciousness, isn't it? I had a point when I wanted to write this. Hang on it might come.

So, yeah, not sunk in. I dunno what I was expecting from this evening, but I know I got one thing from it, and it's this: I can legitimately call my friends some of the best people in the world.

They didn't have to make that effort. They were tired, they have work, they were working minutes before they came out. Fuck, two of them had no cash, found a way to our group and felt bad that they didn't get to see me for long enough. What the fuck? How did I get to a point where those people would feel duty bound to wave me off?

Fuck.

Just, fuck.


So, yeah. I say that a lot. While the 'going to Texas' part hasn't really hit me, the fact that I will be leaving behind some of the most - and I really can't think of any other word for this - beautiful people in my life, has.

To them I say thanks.

Fuck, that was emotional, wasn't it? I'll just keep the luvvie crap to a minimum in future. I really need to sleep. It's not healthy this lark.

Joy of joys, a new blog post!

That was a sarcastic title.

It's hardly a joy writing this stuff, primarily because I'm a pretty private person when it comes to lovely-dovey-touchy-feely-feelings, so when I write I have to mine my state of being and come up with an interesting read. We'll see what this post will be, though if previous efforts are indicative of what's about to follow then we're in for a disappointment, aren't we?

So, I've just come back from the pub, which fans will know is where the pub quiz goes down.

The original version of 'Starstrukk' is pretty dire, really.

I think that group of people is one of the things I'll miss the most. Obviously, my BESTESTESTESTEST BUDDIES!!!!! will be missed no questions asked, but when you add in people that I hardly even talk to or can be annoying as all fuck, there's just some kind of magic. Plus, a confined space with questions being shouted at you, I mean, c'mon!

I think the Katy Perry version is better because of the presence of those breasts. Honestly, did she apply for a licence for those puppies?

I actually have to ponder if that kind of rapport, or anything close to it, would emerge in Houston. Let's face it, I'm not really a friendly person, nor am I likely to establish in any meaningful sense a friendship close to what I have with my dearest friends.

That said, I'm witty. Right? That can work in my favour. I'll just say something uniquely British, dry, charming and probably profane and then BOOM!

Nah. That won't happen.

But yeah, the pub quiz on a Monday. It's one of the things that defines my friendships. It's not the most exciting thing, but it's the hub where the people I actually want to talk to will be. Where the week starts.

Fuck, the free food will be missed, never mind the people.

So yeah. Give me pool, give me a quiz and a quiz machine. Give me a jukebox and the songs that make up the pub playlist. Give me a pint of Guinness. We'll go from there.