080510 – 36. what, where, how, when and, Who?
Hello there,
I hope you are extremely well, in the extreme.
Its Saturday morning and whilst pondering my life over a cup of coffee and listening to a bit of morning Parisian Swing, in Crosby and in bed, it dawned on me that my life seems as uncertain as the current state of British politics, hung, and unfortunately not hung in the sense that I’d hoped. My life then is a hung life?
You see in my usual manner I have been pondering, pondering what to write on here, pondering why I write on here, pondering what path my life is taking and pondering if I’ll ever do the stuff I set out to do, pondering the cost of living the life I want to live, which is just life, or so I’ve pondered.
Take this website for instance, who is Andrew Beattie? What was I hoping to achieve by it? I mean I charged myself with writing little snippets from my life, an online diary, revealing my inner most thoughts to the world, or at least a small corner of it, but to what effect? I’ve been doing it for nearly a year now and I’d kind of hoped that by writing this kind of shit down I could stop, for a moment, the million thoughts of Rocket Ships, Time Travelling Men with old dusty arm chairs and Love stories, usually involving me and any female I come into contact with at any given moment even the ones I don’t speak to which is most of them, all racing through my mind at the speed of light or much much faster and colliding a million million times a second, and allow myself a moment to get stuff done, live a life.
I don’t feel that I’ve achieved this, not in the slightest. For a start I don’t come here to write enough, there are large gaps where I allow the thoughts to race and even larger gaps in my little rambling updates where I miss out the things that I have done. As such I have left a really shitty patchwork blanket effect of experiences over the year with large gaping holes and worst of all I still have no idea who the hell Andrew Beattie is which is rather troubling considering I’m him, he is me and we are one.
So, taking this website of mine and piecing together its fragments and snippets of me I am left with several pieces key of insight. Like a really crappy detective I have pieced these together with a little sellotape and I can now say for certain that I am pretty sure Andrew Beattie, at this present moment, is:
1. A list maker
I see two clear lists here involving things that I hope to do. I will either forget these lists ever exist shortly after making them or in most cases I will beat myself up, both literally and metaphorically, for not doing the things on the lists that I have made to try and make some sense and add some direction, any direction, to my life. See Writing and Travelling.
2. A writer who does not write, except very occasionally
This could have easily been ‘the chief procrastinator’ as that in reality is the reason I write so infrequently. I dream of writing, I long to write, I long for the days when I can sit and just write, all day, about things that I have entirely made up, I long for that day to be today and whilst doing this longing and dreaming I never actually write. This, in terms of being a writer, or an aspiring writer, is a problem, albeit a pretty simple one to overcome, which I won’t, but I must as I fully intend to….what?
The first chapter of a book I’ll never write
3. A traveller, who has travelled but once
I long, there’s that word again, to travel, and I’ve almost certainly mentioned this. I long to take myself off with a little bag, a pad and a pen, a camera, which I won’t use, and wander around this planet we call home to meet, eat, see, smell, feel and ponder. It’s a dream, a wonderful, wonderful dream of unparalleled happiness. In terms of making and breaking plans it would appear that this is pretty high up the list. Will I ever wander?
Sober and in need of adventure
4. Lonely
It would appear as I look back through the depths of a year that I am, or at least feel, quite alone. It’s clearly not the case, I am very rarely actually alone although I do my best to be, but I do feel in a sense, and every waking hour, that I’m missing out on the biggest prize that life can offer, the L word. Like everything, my constant pondering often leaves me, well pondering, whilst missing the living part, the travelling part, the life part, that allows this prize to be given, earned and won. A pattern is emerging.
Love and a small moment for reflection and a lonely hearts ad
5. Quite possibly an alcoholic
Or, almost certainly, quite definitely and without doubt an alcoholic. See, a huge gap where December should have been and the following:
6. Panicking
I have no wish to tempt fate with this one as I haven’t had a massive, hospitalising massive, panic attack for a while. The evidence of this in just one year of writing is startling.
The two week panic attack of the morris dancers
7. A dreamer
See, “the million thoughts of Rocket Ships, Time Travelling Men with old dusty arm chairs and Love stories, usually involving me and any female I come into contact with at any given moment even the ones I don’t speak to which is most of them” and just about every other possible scenario and situation possible, impossible, unfathomable and downright ludicrous. See also, writing to aliens.
Happy thoughts from an Indian Summer
If there are any conclusions to be drawn from this it’s that, there aren’t any conclusions. You see, the one key issue here is that whilst I ponder the stuff I want, aspire and long to do, I never actually bloody go and do them. I wonder why I should do them, I ponder how I should do them and I consider when I should do them. The answers are simple: that I should do them because I’ve set out to do them in the first place, that I should just bloody well do them and that I should fucking well just go and do them right bloody now, this instance and without another moments delay.
There it is, there it bloody well is, its part of the answer, it’s the key to it all. It is isn’t it?
On that rather pondering note, I’ll be off now to go and visit some friends for lunch and then go to a party in Liverpool in which she could be there and they almost certainly will. Why am I doing this, because…why I am I doing this?
Thank you for your infinite patience and until next time,
Be great.
Tally Ho,
Andrew Beattie
020510 – 35. Politics, liars, fools and me
Hello Reader,
Thank you.
It’s almost half past seven on a bank holiday Sunday weekend and it’s taken me this long to write again, precisely the amount of time between the last time I wrote to you and now, whatever period of time that is, exactly. I’ve been putting it off all weekend to be totally honest, inventing small tasks like making tea, drinking tea, smoking and moving items around my desk, so as to avoid sitting down to write to you about something or other. This however is neither here nor there as here I am and on I’ll go.
I’m growing to hate politics. I’ve never actually liked politics, it’s not my cup of tea at all, but up until around two weeks ago I had lived my life with complete indifference to politics, politicians and their policies. It was a wonderful arrangement that politics and I had and in return for my indifference I asked or wanted for nothing.
I was however totally aware that they, politicians, were and still are massive liars. I was also aware that they, the current lot in charge, were also guilty of murder on a large scale and that they were all, the lot of them, thieves. A great big load of villains, all of them, without exception, except for the good ones, who I’m not sure exist. So I was totally aware of the villainy then, but still totally indifferent. Shame on me.
I didn’t like the fact that these people with whom we freely give power are all villains but then for the most part they never impacted on my life in any way whatsoever, that I was openly aware of anyhow. They didn’t influence my choices, they didn’t change the way I thought, and they most certainly did not shape the path of my life. So why then should I have been anything other than indifferent. Well I shouldn’t should I?
Why is it then that a once totally politically indifferent person like me should be in any way hateful of a subject that I care to know so little about? Well its election time at present (I write in this manner so that my future politically active self can read this back and chortle with a little perspective on what is happening right around now) here in the UK, a time when we pick the latest lot of liars to lead our country into the next major conflict in the middle or far east and take us valiantly, waving flags as we go, into a huge implosion of the European markets, another matter of which I am proudly indifferent, and for at least the next four years. As such I cannot read the newspapers, watch the TV or live a normal human life without seeing Gordon Brown and Nick Clegg’s face and David Cameron’s ‘face’ and hear their shallow promises about health reform and nonsense regarding immigration, which in my opinion isn’t an issue at all, in the UK and worst of all I have to suffer as people that I have come to love and respect also talk about these very same ‘issues’ whilst guarding themselves from my limited respect.
What is usually a massive lot of bollocks then has now been reduced to a massive lot of bollocks in which 3 grown adult men call each other and everyone else nasty names in front of the world via the media. They are hair pulling and happy slapping away from being the type of twat I hate the most in the world although I suspect at least one of them will make it into the higher echelons of this list within hours, possibly even before I finish writing.
But why do I care? Why, for the love of all that is sacred to me, do I give a flying fuck? Well you see I feel that I have to vote now and I can’t think who I should vote for and why the fuck they deserve a) my vote and more importantly, b) the time it will take me to vote. There is only one reason I’m even considering voting, but it is a biggie.
The BNP, what a massive bunch of cunts those guys are. For those of you who are not aware the BNP, or British National Party, are a band of politically charged racist thugs who because of the complete stupidity and endless ignorance of a selection of the UK’s population have received the slightest power in the UK and Europe. In some people’s eyes they are presently a credible political force. PAUSE FOR LAUGHTER. I use the word people loosely here as the only people who feel this way are clearly complete fucking fruit loops or/and inbred to within an inch of their cousins. These guys are Nazi’s by the way, I shouldn’t really have forgot to mention that, although they systematically deny it much in the same way I suspect that they would systematically have invaded Poland and so on and so forth had they been in power in Germany in the 1930’s. They are however in my opinion extremely dangerous, Nazi’s are dangerous, history has shown us this, and for that reason a vote for anyone else is a vote against the potential ramifications of giving these horrible bastards anything more than their currently limited power.
I probably should have taken a more active interest in politics, I am aware of this now. At present I have not a fucking clue who to vote for, or despite what I’ve written above whether or not I should vote at all. Maybe indifference was the answer after all.
So, who is it going to be? Well I’ll have to leave you in suspense good citizens of the world because I have no idea. I’d really rather hoped to have fitted in a little today about literature, what I have been up to, and what really happened that time I was at the circus. Next time maybe. Until then,
Look left, and right.
Cheerio,
Andrew Beattie
P.S. If it appears that I never found a reasonable conclusion with this week’s little rambling effort then you should really remember two things;
a) With politics and elections there is no reasonable conclusion
b) I never, ever, reach a reasonable conclusion, with anything
Earth Calling – Earth Calling, Earth Calling….Come in Space, come in space….
Earth Calling, Earth Calling………Come in Space, come in space…………….
Hello, Nanu Nanu, and warm earthly greetings,
Thank you for patiently watching, and waiting.
Homo sapiens: the specific name of modern man; the only extant species of the genus Homo. This species also includes extinct types of primitive man such as Cro-Magnon man
[New Latin, from Latin homo man + sapiens wise]
There are two distinct categories of Homo sapiens, the species to which I belong, worth noting in your earth logs from this point forward. There are those that at every opportunity look up to the sky, more often than not the night sky, past the clouds, past the large metal objects that transport other homo sapiens from one region of the planet to the other, through the atmosphere that surrounds and indeed makes possible life on our planet, gazing at a sky full of stars, and looking, watching, always imagining life other than our own in the farthest reaches of infinity, and there are those that don’t. My name is Andrew Beattie and I look up.
I’m not sure why I’ve decided to write to you, or even what I’m going to say for the most part, but here I am, a self elected representative for those that look up, gazing and longing, and for the most part, looking for you. You see I know that you’re intelligent and I know that you are watching, probably from the dark side of the moon, and as I’m certain that you’ve been watching for a while. I’m also pretty certain that you are aware of the modern phenomenon we call the internet. As such you’ll know all about us, or will you?
You see, us Homo sapiens are indescribably complicated as a species. We have throughout history developed society, class, invented religions, continually killed ourselves in wars often to do with the religions we invented, polluted our planet and created beautiful art to name but a few of our ‘achievements’ and yet as a species we are never satisfied, we continue to move on and invent, create and destroy and we are the only species, on this planet at least, that continues to ask; why?
It’s not just why though; How? When? Who? What? are all amongst the questions that you will have observed Homo sapiens asking over and over and in some cases seemingly asking you directly on the dark side of the moon. You did right not to answer in 99.99% of cases. I’ll explain why another time.
Another time as I plan to write you a series of letters, say 10, to start and then we’ll see how we are getting on. I don’t require a response from you as yet but the time will come when I know you’ll respond anyhow, even if it is just to say you’ve had enough, are packing up all the cheese and crackers, taking the Penguins back and leaving the Milky Way for good. I hope you’ll stay long enough for me to tell you about Politics, it’s a hoot, but you really mustn’t leave without me at least having told you about, Religion. You simply won’t believe it, or will you?
In case you do ever decide to write back I have a number of questions that I’d like to ask. I’ll ask them now, at this starting point of such, to give you ample time to consider the answers, or find them if you don’t know them already. In return for answering these questions I’ll let you take me with you when you go as an example of Homo sapiens in your collection. I’ll also tell you about war and sport at some point and you won’t want to miss that one. So, some questions:
Is there an answer to the ultimate question? Is there an ultimate question? Is it all worth knowing anyway even if there is an answer to the ultimate question or even an ultimate question to begin with? Can we possibly save our planet for complete destruction by our own hands? Will we destroy it before time and supernova? And finally, why did the chicken cross the road?
So, there are my questions for you. In return I shall regale you with tales of earthly wonderment and possibly even help to answer some of the questions that you have about our little planet Earth. That is assuming that you have questions at all, which I’m quietly confident you do.
I’ll leave it there for this week, hopefully leaving you hanging onto the very edge of your space table, how I long to see what your space table looks like, and when I return I’ll do so with a story about Homo sapiens and our relationship with our planet. Until then,
Keep watching.
Yours and still gazing upwards,
Andrew Beattie
Footnote for Earth:
Well it’s a start isn’t it? Yes, that was clearly a start of sorts. Did I miss anything out star gazers? Is there anything you’d particularly like me to ask our Intergalactic Travelling Space Alien Friends? You know there is, so tell me already….
210410 – 35. My name is Andrew Beattie and I’m not smart casual
Dearest wonderful you,
Have some good tidings and I absolutely insist that you take them all.
So here I is on a bright and breezy Wednesday afternoon, back at my laptop, and void of any ideas whatsoever on how I should start today’s little update so I’ll just take off all my clothes and jump straight into the naked jelly wrestling.
I’ve found myself in a bit of a quandary recently which isn’t that huge a surprise as I spend most of my waking life in one quandary or another but this one is most odd and snuck up on me in the dead of night like a giant praying mantis. It suddenly dawned on me last week that I need to buy some new clothes. A lot of new clothes.
I’m aware that for any normal person this wouldn’t be a huge issue or even an issue at all but then I am not that normal a person, I came to terms with this a long time ago and I suggest that you do to, it’s much easier this way. Before I go on with the very moment that this moment of fashion conscience struck me I’ll tell you exactly how I feel about clothes.
Nothing, nothing at all.
For me, clothes are not a good investment and in fact I’m almost certain that they are a terrible, terrible investment. Clothes wear out, it’s absolutely unavoidable and so given a choice between some new books which I can potentially read forever or that must have pair of skinny jeans and tie-dye T-Shirt I will absolutely pick the books – Sorry Paul Smith, but you’re no Jules Verne.
I do however have lots of ‘casual’ clothes, jeans, t-shirts, trainers, jumpers et cetera but then that’s purely because they are comfortable and when you have the kind of lifestyle that I have, which is to say not much of a lifestyle at all, comfort is king. As such I pick clothes that look comfortable, and for that reason alone. If I do cobble together something that matches, or heaven forbid looks in any way ‘stylish’, it is purely by some hugely freak event that happened as I was stood in towel deciding which mode of comfort suited best my impending day.
So why then should I be at all bothered by clothes and why the need to rush out and buy some new ones? Well it happened exactly like this:
I was asked by a friend recently if I wouldn’t mind attending an event that he was going somewhere or other one evening after work. I immediately said yes before my brain registered what I had in fact committed to do and so there I was suddenly going to an event with a friend somewhere or other one evening after work. No huge problem so far. The day before this particular event I thought that I should ask out of politeness what the dress code for the evening was to be so that I could pick out the most appropriate ‘style’ of extreme comfort clothing to pass me through the evening with the right amount of ‘god damn it I’m comfortable’ and general good feeling, to which my friend replied, “The dress code is ‘Smart Casual’ Andy”.
What the fuck is Smart Casual? I thought. Is it even possible to be both smart and casual at the same time? Mused I. Have I entirely missed a whole genre of fashion that has somehow managed to combine Jeans, T-Shirts and Trainers with the suit? Considered Andrew? These were just a small selection of the questions that I posed myself afterwards before I realised that I was entirely the wrong person to be asking in the first place for reasons that I’ve already discussed.
I then decided to stop worrying immediately about this and decided that I would be absolutely fine at this event if I just wore what I wear to work, everyone is a little smart for work, and then followed at least 5 minutes of blissful peace; wonderful, blissful, peace. I needed only to look down to wreck this most tranquil moment and that is because I was in fact sat in work wearing what I wear every day for work which not at all smart, not in the slightest and is in fact, 2 year old chinos, hugely comfortable, an old school type jumper with one of two un-ironed shirts underneath, relatively comfortable, and a pair slip on trainers, once very comfortable now falling apart. Cue mass hysteria.
And so there it was, my moment of fashion reckoning, and I was suddenly in need of some new clothes, a great deal of new clothes at that, a great deal of new smart casual clothes. I’m really banking on this smart casual clothing being clearly identifiable in the first men’s clothes shop I happen to pass when I can finally muster the energy to go and buy them. If all else fails I’ll go for comfort, leave my job and never go to another ‘Smart Casual’ event ever again.
I will add that the evening passed without incident or massive embarrassment due to my lack of suitable clothing and despite the fact that upon entering the event with my friend, who was wearing a suit, I noticed that the invitation advised that the appropriate dress was ‘Lounge suits’. I don’t even know where to begin with that one.
Right, I’ll be off now to carefully consider the future wardrobe of my life and Google ‘Smart Casual’ before bed. The next time I write I may well be the Smartest Casual person you’ve never laid your eyes on but I very much doubt it. Until then,
Stay casual,
With love,
Andrew Beattie
Earth Calling – Letters from me to space
Are we alone in this universe? You know, us, earthlings, we, are we alone? In what is effectively an infinite universe containing millions upon millions of solar systems that science, and therefore we, still have not got the foggiest about, is it just us alone on this little rock we call home?
You know what? I hope not, and I’ve a sneaking suspicion I may not be the only earthling that feels this way.
I’d really like to believe that there is life out there in the infinite universe. I’d also like to believe that this life has the ability to fly large space ships across, well space, and visit whenever they finally feel the urge to say hello, in whatever form another being that we are not aware of says hello. I’d also like to believe that, like many popular sci-fi books, films, shows and myths, that these aliens have big green heads, fly red rocket ships and shoot ray guns that can instantly disintegrate an earthling at 50 paces, but then that’s just me. Some people I know would prefer Klingons, maybe the odd Dalek thrown in for good measure and Christ even I’d like a Time Lord but when it comes to the infinite possibilities of life other than our own in the universe it is quite literally each to their own, we’d probably all be wrong.
No matter what form this life could potentially take the undoubted sheer awesomeness of the questions still burns brightly and so it’s no surprise that throughout history us earthlings have made repeated attempts to contact the life that we are not sure is out there using various methods, some crazy, in fact all of them crazy.
I have also been touched by this intergalactic communication bug and whilst reading Jules Verne’s’ From the Earth to the Moon recently I had a light bulb moment of sorts, a real moment of true earthling inspiration; I’m going to write a series of letters to my little green giant head aliens with the big red rocket ships and ray guns that can instantly disintegrate an earthling at 50 paces.
But how would I get these letters to them? I mean I certainly couldn’t afford the postage to the edge of the universe. I decided then, and pretty quickly, to make an assumption about my little green aliens with the big red rocket ships and so on and so forth and that is they have been quietly casing the joint, watching and studying us earthlings for many years waiting for someone, just one bloody person, from Liverpool, to take one giant leap for mankind and write them a letter, in English. Its actually several assumptions but all along the same lines.
I also assumed that if these little green aliens with all the stuff I want them to have, have been watching quietly, most probably from the dark side of the moon, that they have cottoned on to this internet thing of ours and that due to the fact that almost everything is now accessible through the internet that they have enough knowledge of everything earthly to understand perfect English, and not so perfect English, and instead of patronising these potential intergalactic visitors by explaining everything about everything about everything, I won’t because I won’t have to. It’s a great plan but then they probably planned it that way already, these are some smart aliens you know.
Having kindly made the decision to represent the planet in this matter I now have to decide what to write, weekly, in these little messages into the infinity, or the dark side of the moon. As such I’ll be writing my first one next week at some point and then weekly from there until a) You or I get bored with it, b) The aliens arrive in time for afternoon tea, converse with my cat in perfect feline, and zap me into oblivion with a little ray gun at 50 paces or c) I am taken by the American government to Area 51 in Air Force 1 with a bag over my head and then shown some serious top level shit by Professor Brian Cox, before being killed, by an early example Alien ray gun found in Sweden and shot by a laughing Sir Patrick Moore. I’d also really like to know what you’d like to say, or like me to say, and so please feel free to send your comments and suggestions to me or even a whole letter that I can send off on your behalf.
Right, so it’s decided then, this time-ish next week I’ll be sending my first letter into space, kind of, via this very website, which for reasons I’ve already explained makes perfect sense. I leave you then this time round a mere man, mortal and earthling but know this fellow earthlings, mice and dolphins, when I return I shall still be a mere man, mortal and earthling, but I’ll also be an official Earth representative to life other than ours in the universe. Cool hey?
14th April 2010
Andrew ‘Barbicane’ Beattie
110410 – 34. A Birthday, One Twestival and the Cheltenham-London Express
Hello You,
I hope you are flying pretty fucking high.
So, I promised I’d be back and I suppose I owe you a bit of an update now, like a 3 week update, whoops. I’ll not make an excuse although I did prepare several on a small list that included one cracker, even by my very high excuse making standards, just in case you demanded one. I’ll not make it though, I am just rubbish and the weeks have flown by on me, but I will say that this particular excuse included Japan, Lady GaGa, a fast car, a dragon and the biggest firework in the world. It was also a lie.
But I am back and so here is a list, with notes, of the major events that have happened over the past 3 weeks. I must warn you. I must always warn you.
1. Liverpool Twestival
What do you get when you put a load of social media type people, twitter users, a group of Doctor Who fans, Liverpool Echo and Daily Post workers, one aspiring politician, a very loud band and me in a very expensive bar in Liverpool’s Albert Dock? Well I’ve already given you the answer; it’s in the fucking title, Christ, if you got that wrong? It was a great evening spent in the company of like minded people of all ages and whilst I usually hate any gatherings of people of any sort they stocked a great bar and after an hour or so I was pissed enough to hold conversations with people that I didn’t know with relative ease. That’s the beauty of alcohol. If the truth be known I’d not have needed it anyway as the attendees where a great bunch. I just wish someone would have told me that before I spent 12.32 weeks wages on a round of rums.
2. My Birthday, the big 26
I’m 26 and that is all I really have to say about that. In reality I have my little plan to stick to with my writing et cetera and the last few months of my 25th year were all bloody marvellous. If I stick to it, and write a screenplay, in my 26th as well as the other stuff that’ll happen along the way, I’ll be as happy as a pig in shit.
3. The Cheltenham-London Weekend Express trip and festival of aceness
Ah ha! Travelling! It was on the list of stuff I needed to do and I’ve done it so fuck you world, take that. It all started on a Friday morning on the 8:30am train to Cheltenham and finished at 11:30pm the following Monday, 4 days, 2 towns, and one fat guy, me, with a bag, a pen and a pad, and a sense of adventure, the likes of which the world may never see again. The pen and pad remained largely unused and the book unread and as a result, this is all mainly from memory. Good job it was only a week ago hey.
Cheltenham is most lovely and I arrived to be greeted by my cousin, Julia, just as the heavens opened. Despite the rain and heavy grey skies Cheltenham looked beautiful, a little too beautiful for me I seem to remember thinking, as we drove through on a mini tour of the town before heading to my cousin’s lovely new house. Another thing worth mentioning is the French architecture, it’s all over the fucking place on account of some bloke called Montpellier who built a load of buildings there shortly after they realised they had a shit load of fresh water. The next thing to note is that I got really pissed on my first evening there and effectively cut a 3 day stay down by half. I’d have much more to tell but I don’t. An evening of Rum drinking took this away from me. It was days before I forgave it. So to sum up, Cheltenham is beautiful, very leafy and if I hadn’t have been so fucking catastrophically drunk, as in going for a walk at 5:30 in the morning drunk, I’d have much more to tell you, like a day out in the Cotswolds, which I missed.
London has always had kind of a pull on me in that I’ve only been there a handful of times but every time I go it seems strangely familiar, homely and wonderful, like a good pair of boxer shorts or Fern Britton’s face. 24 hours is also not enough time to see London, even if like me, you decide to get the best view in town from the London Eye.
For those who are massively ignorant, the London Eye is a big fuck-off wheel, right next to the Thames in London. I’d say that it was a Ferris wheel but that really wouldn’t be doing this thing justice, it is fucking colossal. I am terrified of heights, suffering permanently from extreme vertigo, and so to say that my arse was twitching slightly on the slow walk up to the mega spinning death wheel right next to a huge body of water, is a bit of an understatement. That being said, once I was up there, and glued to the seat in the middle of the shared stranger pod the views across London just blew me away. Whilst in London I also did an immense amount of walking and visited the Southbank book market, visit old Liz in her palace, chilled in Trafalgar square with my Cousin, walked by the corridors of power and refused to pay £25 to go around on a bus, I hate the bus, and just about got the hang of the tube system and all in time to be on the last train home to Liverpool wishing.
Wishing that I’d have taken a camera to snap some pictures for you. Wishing that I’d have made some notes about the sights and smells of Cheltenham and London, the little things that I noticed along the way, the conversations that I overheard on the tube, the people, and the moments my family made me laugh. Wishing that I could do it for a living but mostly wishing that you could have been there man, it was bloody super.
But now I’m back in business, the post holiday blues have subsided, and I am finally refreshed and ready to resume life, my life to be precise, and crack on with that bloody list of mine, a screenplay and all the other shit I have to do in between. Thanks for coming back once again and until next time peeps,
Be happy,
With peace and love,
Andrew Beattie
p.s. You will have noticed that I mentioned that I am drinking again. That is all I have to say about that for now.
090410 – 33. The films that I’ve loved along the road
“Hello Again” Andrew said sheepishly, attempting to avert his eyes from the many staring faces,
I hope you are all super cool and ace.
So, I’m back and in an attempt to hide my complete guilt for taking almost 3 weeks to write to you I will move straight on to today’s feature presentation: The films that sex my senses. It’s a spurious title to say the least but I’m going to stick with it as it’s a) relevant to what I’m about to write about and b) much better than my only other title option: Films that I do like. So go and grab some popcorn, hold on to your hotdogs, slurp from that vat of pop, salsa up them there nachos and please, for the love of god, turn your fucking mobiles off, Jesus.
I love films, there, said it. I love good films, I love poor films, God damn it I just love all them bloody films from vomit inducing rom coms to gritty tear jerking war epics, Harry Potter to man eating sharks, Swaggering aliens to big scary Cowboys, Tarantino to Holly Golightly, I love them them all, but not equally. If I loved them all equally I’d not be able to do what I’m about to do which is pick a list of my favourite films and then I’d really be in the shit wouldn’t I?
Well I still may be in the shit guys; I’ll leave you in suspense. I will reveal one massive spoiler (Spoiler Alert) and that is, at present, I still haven’t picked my list, whoops. I do have a list, but it has around 30 films on it, and I’m picking five, my five favourite. I’m like the directors of Lost, and just like the viewers, I have no fucking clue what comes next. I’ll just get on with it then shall I? Roll film:
The following feature presentation has been rated ‘B’ for ‘Bollocks’ and may contain words, phrases, sentences and paragraphs that most readers will find grammatically offensive.
1. Rio Bravo – 1959 – John Wayne, Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson
I’m certainly not the biggest fan of Westerns as a genre. I mean I like them and when they are on, I’ll watch them, and gladly, but only after searching through the channels for alternative flicks. Rio Bravo is the exception to this rule, and a big exception at that; there is not another film that I’d turn it off for, not one. It may be the swaggering sheriff played by John Wayne or the drunk deputy played by Dean Martin. It’s not however; it’s all of it, every character and every scene. As for that little song routine Ricky and Dean, a guitar and a harmonica, that Sweet County sound, yes siree. Don’t just take my word for it however, watch this:
Just beautiful.
2. Jaws – 1975 – Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw, Richard Dreyfuss
I love sharks. Sharks scare me to within 4.5mm of my life. I also like the 1970’s American small town beach type scene. I love the film poster for Jaws; it sits proudly on my wall. I Love Chief Martin Brody, his booze and his shitty old pickup truck. I Love Matt Hooper, he knows sharks. I Love Sam Quint, he hunts sharks. I could have told them all that they would need a bigger boat but they’d have not listened and anyway if they had I’d have never heard my most favourite of all film lines: “Smile you son of a…”
Show me the way to go home indeed.
3. Forrest Gump – 1994 – Tom Hanks, Robin Wright Penn, Gary Sinise
The fact that this film covers so many different periods of history, famous companies, famous people, includes a war, Elvis, Cool Nike Trainers, a love story, American football and Tom Hanks, makes it quite astonishing. I mean it is isn’t it? It just keeps romping from one major event and key period in history to the next and all with a central character that is just about as loveable as a character can get. Life is like a box of chocolates and if this film was a chocolate it’d be the one’s I eat first and quickly before my mother eat them and ruins the whole fucking box for me every time by leaving me the Strawberry Creams and Turkish Delight which represent ‘Are we there yet’ and ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ et al.
See also the Forrest Gump Soundtrack as it’s equally astonishing.
4. Back to the Future – 1985 – Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, Lea Thompson
As a concept there is no better than a teenager befriending a mad scientist who owns a time travelling Delorian and a dog named Einstein. The unlikely pair then travel back to the past, the teenager gets stuck, shit, and we all know what happens from here. You do know what happens from here right? Christ, this film is fucking awesome and the box set is quite simply a must have in any DVD collection and if you haven’t got a collection already then start it with this.
Time Travelling is awesome; time travelling to the ‘Power of Love’ by Huey Lewis and the News is fucking spectacular.
5. Notting Hill – 1999 – Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant, Richard McCabe
I have a soft spot for the characters that Hugh Grant plays; that lovable twat, a bumbling British idiot, with floppy hair who always gets the good looking leading lady, and Renee Zellweger. But Julia Fucking Roberts? Christ. For me this film is wonderful and more so for having the idiot Welsh housemate of Grant, Spike, played by Rhys Ifans who delivers one of my favourite film lines in a way that never fails to make my ‘balls shrink to the size of raisins’ (another great spike quote): “I knew a girl at school called Pandora. Never got to see her box, though.”
Notting Hill: Great British comedy, instantly watchable and endlessly endearing.
Those that never made it but came damn close: Dr. No, Life of Brian, The Godfather, Indiana Jones, Love Happy, Duck Soup, Space Jam, Toy Story, Once Upon a Time in America, Nightmare before Christmas, Full Metal Jacket and The Hudsucker Proxy.
THE END
So there it is film fans. I’m actually quite happy with how my list turned out there considering I chose as I wrote but it seems to make sense to me now, they are my go to films of choice when nothing else will do. A strong conclusion there then without a cliffhanger in sight, sequels are almost always a disappointment anyhow.
On that Zombie bloodbath guys I’ll be off now so you can take off the 3D specs and file out over half chewed popcorn into the cold light of day. I’ll be back before the weekends out to tell you a tale of Birthdays, Twitter gatherings, London, Cheltenham and 3 back to booze weeks in my life. Until then,
This is Andrew Beattie’s life: Take 26.
Cheerio,
Andrew Beattie
190310 – 32. I’ve gone and bloody dreamed a dream
Dearest her, the one that got away,
And the rest of you,
I hope all is truly spectacular.
It’s Friday evening and I’m at my little desk, in my little room, listening to the very soothing Dan in Real Life soundtrack and about to write a smattering of words about dreams, my dreams, and the things that happen between my ears and behind my glazed eyes when I’m talking, talking to you, but mostly to them. Here goes.
Someone I know called me a ‘dreamer’ recently. Before this incident I’d always imagined, or rather dreamt, that I’d be extremely impressed if faced with this almighty compliment, like my life’s work was finally being recognised, almost like winning a Nobel Peace Prize but without the cheque or anything relating to a prize, except in my mind. It wasn’t though. It wasn’t meant as a compliment at all. No recognition, no cheque, no peace, no mind prize, just a massive fat reality slap to the kisser for dreamers everywhere.
But is it such a bad thing to dream? I mean Martin Luther King Jr had a dream didn’t he? And Supertramp, they dedicated a whole song to one particular dreamer, surely a first rate dreamer. Shit, Mama Cass wanted me to Dream a little Dream of her for fucks sake, and that’s Mama Cass. With so much good dreaming in the world how could being called a ‘Dreamer’ possibly be a bad thing?
You see, it’s hard for me not to dream. I spend most of my waking hours off in Fiji, killing zombie’s in the last great Liverpool resistance, zapping big green aliens with my trusty ray gun or smoking a cigarette at the bar next to some dusky maiden, who is also a Russian spy. The bitch, and she doesn’t think I’m on to her, ah ha!
Alright so none of the above is strictly true. What I do dream about is my future, scenarios that haven’t happened yet, acted out in my mind with the characters from my life that are likely to be there at the time of these imaginary scenarios. I guess you could say that I spend most of my life living in an imaginary future in my mind. Shit, that is a little weird isn’t it?
Well no. It isn’t weird at all. I like to day dream, it makes reality bearable. Ok, so maybe I could apply myself a little more to tasks that matter in the present but I’ll always have a little day-dream as I’m doing it. Asking me not to day-dream is after all, asking me not to think, at all, and if I didn’t think at all, I’d never be a pirate ever again.
I mean it’s not like I’m totally fucking oblivious to the things that happen around me on a daily basis and I’m not in a permanent psychosis as I suspect Derren Brown’s wife is. I know for instance that the world that I make up in my mind, although very similar in many respects to the one I live in, is a damn site better. Where I live, there is no need to label anyone a ‘dreamer’, or label anyone anything for that matter. Where I live its ok for me, and you, to just sit and read of an evening and not be in the local boozer trying desperately to get balls deep in someone or other because that’s what men my age do. Where I live, money doesn’t really matter, or at least not as much as say, anything else. Where I live, it’s ok to think, even if like me, ‘You’re not paid to think’. In my world, it’s acceptable to say a big ‘fuck off’ to reality and dream of a better one.
I also know for instance that I really, really want to be a proper writer, and I’m fully aware that if I don’t just get on with it, keep dreaming, ignore the labels, and make it happen, I risk being called a ‘dreamer’ for the rest of my life, and not in the good way of my world.
With that in mind I’ve decided to reach far into the future world my mind has created and write the following Oscar acceptance speech for my successful screen play project which I’m yet to write. It’s much more fun in my world. Right, Oscars, me winning, surprised face, hugs and high fives, up to the stand to collect my Oscar, a wave, a small pretend trip up the stairs, laughter and applause, a funny with a long roll of paper after I mention that “I really didn’t prepare a speech”, and then:
I really didn’t expect this. Pause for laughter as I look down at the pretend 20 foot roll of pretend speech again. So, who to thank? Who to bloody thank. Well I’ll start with my parents, and brother, and family, and friends, and cat, and all the authors that write books of any sort, and musicians who make any music, and artists, and film-makers, and poets, and playwrights, and actors, and everyone else. I’d particularly like to thank that bloke who called me a ‘dreamer’ for making me realise that my reality is better that any other reality because its mine. Pause for laughter as my trousers fall down and I trip over them trying to pick them up. Note to self: don’t wear belt but please for the love of god wear underwear. Pretend to be embarrassed. Run of stage pretend crying. Run back on to pick up Oscar. ENDS.
Right, on that dreamy note folks I’ll be off now to do a little dream, have a read, listen to some more dreamy music and enjoy what’s left of my Friday evening before a weekend of screenplay research, more reading, more dreaming and more dreamy music. I’ll return soon with a list of the films that made the me. Until then, thanks for stopping by to visit and remember,
Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, wished to come true.
Take the good care,
Andrew Beattie
120310 – 31. The music that rocks the me
To you who is right there,
I hope you, specifically you, are mighty fine, comfortable and ready to read with vigour and diligence. You are after all, nothing if not vigorous and diligent. I have always said this about you.
And so, why the hell am I here? Well I decided last week after writing about the good books of my life, which you have surely perused, that I should really follow up with a little piece about music and more specifically, the music that I love.
Music is my chief aid during a good writing session. Take tonight for example, I am currently writing these very words, at 8:30 on a Friday evening at my desk, whilst singing along to Rocky Racoon. It’s a pretty poor example as I’ll not be able to concentrate in around 5 seconds. And there it is guys, a jaunty little bar room piano piece. Hang on a minute. Right, that’s much better, a little pleasant background noise provided by The Mamas and Papas, wonderful. Now where was I?
There are times when I can’t bear to listen to music as I actually write/type the words, those infrequent moments do exist. I’ll always have music on standby though because once I totally lose my trail of thought, become extremely frustrated and need to smoke, I’ll usually take 5 to relax with a little happy song by, well Mamas and Papas or similar, then I’m right back at it and the endless bullshit just flows and flows.
I’ll stop now before I describe every song that I’ve ever listened to and you leave me here talking to myself and instead write you a little list of my go to music, a selection of albums that I love above all others and the music that when all else fails, no other music excites me and I am ready for the proverbial crack pipe of life, I can reach out to safe in the knowledge that it will either a) sooth my weary soul and mind or b) pick me up and shake me back into some form of life. Ready? Onwards then to the list:
1. James Taylor Greatest Hits Volume 1 – James Taylor
It’s not difficult for me to see how my Dad could have fallen in Love whilst listening to the songs on this album. The soft guitar picking, James Taylor’s gentle and subtle tones, some quite astonishing lyrics and effortless delivery in the likes of ‘Something in the Way She Moves’ and ‘Fire and Rain’ are quite simply unbelievable. There are words to describe how I feel about this album, I just can’t think of any good enough. Love will have to suffice.
2. All Things Must Pass – George Harrison
As far as I’m concerned All Things Must Pass is one of the greatest albums ever written. There I’ve said it. I’ll also say, just because I’m here and you’re listening, that I firmly believe George Harrison to be the best melody writer of all time and I await your comments on that one with interest. There isn’t a song that I don’t like on this double album but ‘All Things Must Pass’, ‘What is Life’ and ‘Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp’ stand out as my favourites. I’ll listen to this in the morning with a cup of tea and a cigarette in the Garden whilst I contemplate life. Let it roll.
3. Djangology – Django Reinhardt
My go to album when I need inspiration and nothing else. I have been but a husk before listening to this double album of genius at times only to be transported into the corner booth at a smoky Parisian nightclub on a balmy summer night in the early 1930’s, in my mind of course, by the incredible dancing Guitar of Reinhardt and irresistible Violin of Stéphane Grappelli and I always come out the other side with my mind refreshed and with a head dancing with ideas and thoughts – Wonderful music, wonderful artists, wonderful album.
4. Dylan – Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan: Wilbury, Poet, Wordsmith and Genius. Anyone who doesn’t like or rate Bob Dylan, in my opinion, is a fool. I’ll not go into detail as to why this 3-CD, self named, collection of his greatest works is, well a collection of Great Works as I’d not do it justice. Instead I’ll listen to ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’ and then possibly ‘Hurricane’, smug in the knowledge that I am right whilst I wonder again if it’s actually possible for one man to write lyrics like this – Bob Dylan: Force of Nature.
5. Rumours – Fleetwood Mac
A faultless album from start to finish and the album I’ll generally listen to in bed as I arise on Sunday morning with a cup of tea, watching the light creep into my room gradually through the blinds, wishing that every morning could be like this. I actually think this way as I listen to this album, Fleetwood Mac will do that to a man, and I’m glad of it. Don’t stop.
6. Aerial Pandemonium Ballet – Harry Nilsson
I’m a big fan of Harry Nilsson’s work and there is very little that he ever recorded that I don’t like. I think it’s the fact that the songs of this album swing so drastically from the random crazy lyrics and upbeat big-top circus type music of ‘Daddy’s Song’ into the classic ‘Everybody’s Talkin’’ with twists and turns around every corner that makes this one stand out for me. None of the songs match but the albums seen to flow perfectly, and all of them are like this – its crazy happy brilliantness and one is the loneliest number.
Those that never made it but came damn close: Abbey Road – The Beatles, Buena Vista Social Club – Buena Vista Social Club, Travelling Wilburys – The Travelling Wilburys, The Jim Croce Collection – Jim Croce, Forrest Gump Soundtrack – Various, Déjà Vu – Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
It’s a very difficult task to pick just albums and one of my key selection criteria and yes, I did have selection criteria, was that I had to be able to listen to the albums from start to finish on a regular basis, which is tough on some of the other nearly men and women that will no doubt be horrified to have missed out on the list. There are literally hundreds of songs that I love from albums that never made the list and hundreds of artists that I listen to regularly who are also absent from the big-bad 6. Paul Simon for example is absolutely nowhere to be fucking seen despite me now listening to, and enjoying immeasurably, ‘Me and Julio down by the school yard’ from the impressive Negotiations and Love Songs. The problem is that I’ll almost certainly turn over before the next song and am just as likely to put on some tracks from the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack as I am to listen to Louis Armstrong or De La Soul next time round. At some point this weekend though, I will listen to one of my top 6 picks from beginning to end and that Ladies and Gentlemen stands them head and shoulders above the rest.
I’m eternally grateful every day that I have music. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t kneel by my bed at night in my Green Day Pyjamas throwing up a small prayer to the Gods of Rock and Goddesses of Roll, for my ears. On that Leona Lewis-esque high note I’m off to listen to the albums and songs from artists that never made it so that I can torture my sleep with ‘I can’t believe that never made it’ dreams in which I am beaten to death by Ray Charles, Ravi Shankar, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly and The Beach Boys. Until next time,
Remember ‘Dream’ for me, I’ll mention why when I return.
Stay lucky,
Andrew Beattie
080310 – 30. De-cluttering behind my face
Hello you.
I assume that’s you anyway or else shit, this could get a tad awkward. Oh it is you, thank Christ for that. He gets thanked for a lot Christ doesn’t he? The big question is though, does he really deserve it? Please leave any comments regarding my eternal damnation at the bottom.
So, I’d best start with an apology and not for what I’m about to write, there is plenty of time for that. It’s an apology for not writing to you again yesterday as I said I would. The 4 visitors to my blog yesterday, of which you are no doubt one, deserve better. Good luck with that.
It’s high time I did a little clear out. I’d been pondering this all weekend as I flitted from one meaningless task to another and so I decided yesterday afternoon that I’d have a life de-clutter so that I can move forward, sideways, or whatever way one goes when he is without a map, with a spring in my step and as little baggage as possible. Purely metaphorical baggage of course, I carry all I need in a black leather satchel and I rarely require anything bigger than this to carry half a pack of cigarettes, 1 little smug filofax, a weeping diary and a bankrupt wallet. What I’m actually talking about then is. What I mean is. You know I have no idea. Right, into the mind we go.
Well I think I’ve taken too much on for a start this year; little writing projects, planned holidays et cetera, et cetera, and it is starting to burden heavy on me. I spend all my time at work trying to decide what I need to do, or want to do, after work only to be lodged firmly between two tasks stuffing my face full of mints and trying not to look my goading filofax in the eye. There is this one little project which excites a great deal though so maybe I should crack on with that but then what about the other projects, what will they think when I don’t strike them off my list. I could always burn the fucking list but then I’d forget what was on there and what if someone else does them because I’d forgotten to? I don’t want anyone else doing the stuff that I wanted to do but never did because I couldn’t think what of the stuff I wanted to, I wanted to do the most. So that makes me selfish. This has not worked out well so far.
You’ll have to also excuse my talking in strange tongues about the things that I have planned. It’s not that I don’t trust you with my little ideas and thoughts, it’s just that if I fully disclose ideas on here then I’m putting further pressure on myself to do them and in de-cluttering terms that would little use. And I don’t trust you. I will say that the thing I think I want to do the most is a screenplay and I’m co-writing it with a friend, it’s historical, and it’s not about Jesus, or his brother Julio. So it’s decided then, that’s the one I’ll do. The rest of the resolutions remain the same but in terms of my writing, this is a real breakthrough – blogging and a screenplay, that’ll do fucking nicely.
Right, I have nothing more to add to this as writing aside; everything has been going pretty much ok of late. I appear in some strange way to be moving ever so slowly forward and considering I’m coming off the back of a few years of work, life and personal regression I can’t really complain much. Cheers for popping by again. You must insist that next time round I tell you about my planned trip to visit family in Cheltenham and London at the start of next month and also explain what happened that time on the Orient Express in the Summer of Love. Until then,
Be kind.
Cheerio,
Andrew Beattie