Tuesday, December 28, 2004
White Christmas
On Thursday I became a Bloke On A Train.
I joined Girlfriend and her team for an evening in the pub. Leanne was also out with her team, but there wasn’t any fighting or anything.
Obviously everybody was excited to see me, and the girls in particular were very keen to come and sit on my knee and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. They told me their hopes and their dreams for the coming year, and bitched about what so-and-so was wearing, and everybody went away feeling warm and fuzzy and pre-Christmassy, me included when I could stand up.
Towards the end I found myself on more than one occasion downing shots at the bar with a lovely young canoeing instructor. She’s going to take me out there when it warms up a bit.
On the train into town my phone rang. I thought it would be Leanne checking in to report their current position, but it was my music publisher Dave.
“Merry Christmas Tim! Listen, I can’t talk for long, I’m at a really wild party!”
“Oh hi Dave. Bloody hell, it’s been ages. How’s things?”
“I just wanted to say that… Where are you? It sounds like you’re on a train.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You’re what? I can’t hear you.”
And that’s when I committed the cardinal sin. I really thought I would have known better.
“I’m on the train!” I yelled.
Everybody else on the carriage stared at me, then in unison slapped their palms against their foreheads and tutted in dismay. I felt deeply ashamed, and haven’t dared mention it to Girlfriend.
Anyway, me and Dave had a pleasant chat for ten minutes. He said he’d lost a few clients just recently so next year he’ll be able to focus more of his energy blah blah blah, and I told him he was talking shit, but it wasn’t really his fault since he was after all only a figment of my imagination, and we had a bit of a banter about that - him in complete denial of his fictitious standing, and me trying but failing to persuade him otherwise - and that raised a few eyebrows amongst my fellow passengers, which he found amusing when I told him about it.
Christmas Day went well, thank you - and hey! I hope yours did too - and I’ve managed to wash most of my dinner out of my hair now, which is possibly a record.
For once it was a white Christmas, as the poet almost says, although in our case it was a hail storm rather than snow. Still, it was exciting enough for me to record this wintry little scene from my Attic Studio Complex window.
I’ve eaten enough chocolate to scuttle a submarine, and Girlfriend has invented a new board game, a hybrid of Monopoly and Risk where the objective is to occupy foreign territories and build hotels on them.
I joined Girlfriend and her team for an evening in the pub. Leanne was also out with her team, but there wasn’t any fighting or anything.
Obviously everybody was excited to see me, and the girls in particular were very keen to come and sit on my knee and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. They told me their hopes and their dreams for the coming year, and bitched about what so-and-so was wearing, and everybody went away feeling warm and fuzzy and pre-Christmassy, me included when I could stand up.
Towards the end I found myself on more than one occasion downing shots at the bar with a lovely young canoeing instructor. She’s going to take me out there when it warms up a bit.
On the train into town my phone rang. I thought it would be Leanne checking in to report their current position, but it was my music publisher Dave.
“Merry Christmas Tim! Listen, I can’t talk for long, I’m at a really wild party!”
“Oh hi Dave. Bloody hell, it’s been ages. How’s things?”
“I just wanted to say that… Where are you? It sounds like you’re on a train.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You’re what? I can’t hear you.”
And that’s when I committed the cardinal sin. I really thought I would have known better.
“I’m on the train!” I yelled.
Everybody else on the carriage stared at me, then in unison slapped their palms against their foreheads and tutted in dismay. I felt deeply ashamed, and haven’t dared mention it to Girlfriend.
Anyway, me and Dave had a pleasant chat for ten minutes. He said he’d lost a few clients just recently so next year he’ll be able to focus more of his energy blah blah blah, and I told him he was talking shit, but it wasn’t really his fault since he was after all only a figment of my imagination, and we had a bit of a banter about that - him in complete denial of his fictitious standing, and me trying but failing to persuade him otherwise - and that raised a few eyebrows amongst my fellow passengers, which he found amusing when I told him about it.
Christmas Day went well, thank you - and hey! I hope yours did too - and I’ve managed to wash most of my dinner out of my hair now, which is possibly a record.
For once it was a white Christmas, as the poet almost says, although in our case it was a hail storm rather than snow. Still, it was exciting enough for me to record this wintry little scene from my Attic Studio Complex window.
I’ve eaten enough chocolate to scuttle a submarine, and Girlfriend has invented a new board game, a hybrid of Monopoly and Risk where the objective is to occupy foreign territories and build hotels on them.
It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it. Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.
