Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Andrew Calling, Andrew Calling….Andrew Calling.

Hello again, passersby. The date is Wednesday 29^th of July and the time 9:15pm and I, Andrew Beattie, have been in work. Yes, you heard me correct, work. I, in fact have been in work all week this week although I must point out to anyone that has followed my ramblings so far that I don’t have a new job as yet, I have been working this week for my previous employer, filling in, as only I know how. But it is work none the less and so a forward step it most certainly is. As such, I am looking forward to receiving some cash money for my work which I will squander on new books, beer, night time events that I can write about and, of course, cheap hookers.

In the time since I last took up far too much of your time I have been fulfilling the task set before me in my list, a task set by me, and heading out of an evening, on other peoples generosity of course as I have no cash, at all. I haven’t exactly been painting the town red, or painting it any other colour for that matter. Incidentally, who paints a town by the way, aside from painters? Why is going for a few beers with some pals, getting a little drunk, getting a little more drunk, getting your photograph taken with a policeman, getting more drunk until you can’t speak properly and ultimately going home alone, again, at the early hours of the morning to a pot noodle and loneliness, called painting the town red? Does it refer to vomiting? If so, why do so many people look forward to ‘painting the town’, I mean, I fucking well hate vomiting, particularly when drunk and so it hardly something I would look forward to or even plan for. And why do they plan to do it again, over and over, particularly when you consider that their vomit is red? What the fuck have these people been drinking? Jesus, I hope it’s not bloody vomit; I may never go out again. Or does it refer I wonder, to the nights out of graffiti or student artists. If so, with so many people going out painting the town of a weekend evening with red gang signs it’s a wonder the police can keep up.

Right, where was I? Vomit. No, that’s not it. Ah yes, my nights out. On Friday evening, after my first night back at this, my 6^th stint at work, I went to a restaurant in Liverpool. This wasn’t just any restaurant though; this was the remade version of my favourite childhood restaurant, What’s Cooking? at the Albert Dock, home of the best ribs in Liverpool. I swore to myself on the ten minute walk over to meet David and my Dad that I would order the ribs I have yearned for since the restaurant closed many years ago, and wallow in nostalgic sticky tangy happiness but upon entering totally forgot and ordered a fucking burger. I did however get to smell the sweet aroma of the ribs just as my meal arrived. The couple sat in the booth behind me clearly also yearned for the ribs that I crave even now as I sit here and they were kind enough to order so that their ribs arrived just before my burger, which despite being damn tasty, just wasn’t barbeque ribs. It’s a common fault amongst all burgers.

I have also been, twice this week, to see my cousins after work at rather cool establishment called Brew tea bar which is just off old hall street in the business district of Liverpool, for a pot of what is frankly the best earl grey, in the world, ever, in the world (so much so that the website has earned a spot in my links section, it’s that good) and a spot of reminiscing, taking in a wide range of subjects from Vikings to Cheese and even to Scottish Country Dancing. For those of you who don’t know, Scottish Country Dancing is the dance perfected by my dearest mother and involves kicking your right leg forward and upon this landing back to the ground, bending your other leg behind you in a bent kicking fashion. My mother professes to having been a national champion of this much maligned sport of Scottish greatness when she was seven, or nine, despite my Wee Granny’s protests that it is in fact total bollocks. It’s ok though Mum, if you’re reading this, which your clearly not, I believe you. I could go on and further dissect the conversation into smaller stories which although I would enjoy writing and reading them will only leave me saying, you had to be there, you ignorant bastard. Now the point of me telling you all of this rather drawn out chain of events, is to show you that I have been getting myself out, as the list said I ought to and yes before you say it, going for tea after work does fucking count as a night out, particularly for someone who didn’t leave the house more than 5 times in the preceding month.

Now, that’s just about enough of that. You may also notice, as you are a keen internet surfer of the highest order, that I have added a small wordy effort to my articles section. It’s the first chapter of a book that I’ll never write and if you haven’t already you should go and read it immediately, after I’ve finished with you here. My saying that this has just gone into the website is of course totally preposterous as my site, as I write this, isn’t live yet and so as usual I am really writing to myself. I’ll be interested to know what people think of the writing I have mustered so far in this rather empty section of one item as it’s my first effort and so lavish praise will be appreciated and expected and criticism, even of the positive variety, ignored.

I’ve rambled for far too long this evening and I’m tiring rapidly and so I’m off to dream of ribs and fall into a poor night’s sleep to prepare me mentally and physically for a day at a desk dreaming of Tallulah, the one that got away. Thank you for returning and please, please come back; my self esteem depends on it.

Goodbye,

Andrew

Dearest You,

Thank you for checking back in you although I’m not exactly sure who you are, you may well be a friend but more than likely you are a stranger to me. This is always assuming that there is indeed a you reading this otherwise I am again referring to me, as you, as I have on my previous entries to this thing that I am writing currently on my laptop, in my front room, or to be more precise my parents front room on a Wednesday afternoon in July at precisely 13:55.

As this is a little update and musing I’ll start with a little update of what I have been doing since last I sat here, which without checking was at roughly the same time last week, followed by a musing, or rant, or whatever I end up writing to you, or me. In the week since I last sat here writing to you I have looked daily, hourly at my list wishing to tick things off but stuck on the point of getting a job. The whole job searching front has been going at a slow pace if the truth be known, I have applied for several jobs that I want, and chased up my application to ultimately not hear anything back and then have been chased for jobs that I don’t want for various reasons only to not follow them back up and ultimately hear nothing of them again. It all leads to me the same conclusion either way. Now, I could be very downbeat about this scenario playing itself out over and over again but I’m not and so as someone who is learning the art of not dwelling on these matters, I won’t.

Moving on from morose rambling, I have done little but also a lot since I last wrote. My major achievement of the past week, if I can indeed call it an achievement, was going to see the latest Harry Potter film, the half blood price at the cinema with my Dad, Paul Beattie. To most eyes, when squinting, it is hard to determine any difference between me and my Dad and I’m sure he will feature heavily in any future writing, but the trained eye will note that he has a goatee and due to the fact that he is a hair donor, is thinning slightly on top, whilst I, Andrew Beattie, have a full head of hair in need of a trim and a full beard, in need of a trim. Now that I have cleared up the confusion of the untrained eyes I’ll go on with my Cinema Story. Now, for anyone who likes the previous films and the books and generally revels in that genre, the film is, as usual, full of spells, potions and first rate wizardry and is generally bloody marvellous. Now, I must say that it’s the worst of the Harry Potter films thus far, despite it being possibly my favourite book, but it was extremely enjoyable none the less and the bar is set very high and so it still ultimately left me wishing that I was a wizard, yet again. Those of you, who have chosen not to read the books but instead go to the cinema to see the films, or even wait for the DVD, will be shocked at the end of the film when Dumbledore is killed by Professor Snape. As will you be shocked when one of the Weasley twins die amongst other characters, including Mad Eye Moody and Professor Lupin, in the next films. And that Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls, is what you get for not reading the books.  The film did leave me wondering how I will feel when it is all over. The films I mean, not life, I leave that pondering for me and alcohol and rarely on a Wednesday afternoon.  I remember vividly finishing the last book, on holiday with my ex girlfriend in the Caribbean, and despite being delighted with the conclusion, I was left feeling a little empty in side and wondering if I would ever want to be a wizard again but then I quickly pulled myself together and remembered that I had the films to look forward to. But what happens when they finish, hey, what the fuck happens they hey J.K? I’ll tell you what will happen, the whole world will be different, and I’m not even sure in a good way. I might very well just put it off, not go to the cinema and save the DVD, or I could just get a life, and grow up. Not likely.

I’ve also had an idea for a book, a real one this time. Well it’s not so much a book as a first chapter; I have the first chapter of a book, written firmly in my mind and have no idea what the rest of the book will be or even who the characters will be. I wonder if that happens to proper writers and novelists. I’m going to start writing it this afternoon and I’ll post it once it’s done so that you or I can read it. I’ve another idea also which I’m trying to piece together but it’s impossibly complicated at the moment but I’ll have a crack at it anyway just to see what happens, which more than likely will probably be nothing but one will never know unless I actually try to write it. A book idea, take that list.

Now, if I had planned this week’s writing more carefully, or even I had followed my list a little better, then I would have some witty musings to make, or even a little story to tell at this point, but I haven’t, sorry and so I’ll take this opportunity to bid you farewell for now as I’m off to write the first chapter to a book I’ll never finish. This week I plan to leave the house more than twice and so may well have a story or two to tell or maybe not but if you don’t check back you’ll never know and so in the time between now and then,

Don’t get mashed or crushed.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew

Aloha Good People of Cyber Space-Ville,

I hope you are well, really god damn well, with your jobs, and your money. Its currently 1:50pm on a Wednesday afternoon and I’m sat at my computer, in the front room, listening to the 2009 All Star MLB game repeat on the TV and drinking tea. That is how well my Job Hunting is going at the moment, baseball, on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s safe to say that I haven’t had a call from my previous interview from last week’s update, not that I have actually been told that I haven’t got the job but the chap at the recruitment agency hasn’t returned my call. His name his Charles, and at present I think Charles is a bit of a twat. Now, I know that the chances of me getting the job were pretty slim after the interview but a quick call to advise me that they are looking elsewhere would have been nice and so if you’re reading this Charles, with your job, and your money, thank you for stopping in. See, no sour grapes from me, twat.

Anyway, I said last time that I’d stick to the list and I have been. I have written a couple of letters for family on my crusty Portable Empire Typewriter and have continued on the job hunting front, not very hard, but plugging away gently as is my way. I have also finished a book which I enjoyed immensely, G.W. Dahlquist’s ‘Dark Volume’ about an unlikely trio of heroes set in the Victorian Period. It’s the Second in a series, the first being the ‘Glass book of the Dream Eaters’ which was also a ripping yarn and highly recommended. I’d write a review about them but I’ve just checked Amazon and they have a pretty good summary of the books on there, although the reviews of the book aren’t the best, which is very surprising. Got away with that didn’t I? After finishing the book I’m left in a position that I haven’t been in for a while, I’m out of books and so I’ll be going book shopping at the weekend. I’m not sure exactly what to buy, although I do have a big list and so I’ll almost certainly buy something that isn’t on the list and part of a collection or series, with the remainder going on my list. Maybe that could be my job, book reading. Is there a career in Book Reading? Bear with me a minute, I’ll Google it…5 minutes later…..back again. It would appear that there are jobs out there for people to read books, the only issue being you are likely to have to write a review on them afterwards. As I have displayed earlier in this very paragraph that just isn’t going to happen, well just yet at least. I’ll stick to reading for leisure for now, although leisure is kind of my full time job and so it would appear I have rounded that point off quite nicely after all. Now I just need paying for my job of leisure.

I’ve also had an idea for a book over the past week; well I’ve had a couple of Ideas but one bit the dirt straight away. Sat in bed reading, a couple of nights ago I had a light bulb moment of sorts that I just needed to get in my notebook. After falling over my phone charger and taking my arm out the bin I managed the write the following in my book “Meet every Andrew Beattie in the world, and have a pint with them”, what an idea that was I thought, sure to be a big hit and my drunk mind raced for the next 10 minutes until I passed out. On waking the next morning I wondered why I was using a book as a pillow and looked over to find my notebook in the bin which was now on my desk. Checking my notes I realised that I had possibly had the best idea ever and so stumbled downstairs to tell everyone in the house after first falling over my phone charger again, which happens at least 3 times a day. As everyone else in the house has a job I had to leave the idea in the pad until that evening when I had a meeting with my pal, Phil, who has created my site using his mind and metal, and brawn. I quickly skipped over everything else on our task list so that I could get straight to my point which was now being matured in my mind by Guinness and then my time came. “I’ve had the best idea ever, look at this” I mumbled, handing my pad to Phil. “That’s a really good idea, very similar to Are you Dave Gorman, but then he didn’t have a pint with them” Phil said, letting me down gently. So there that was, my first book idea, done already, and quite famously. I must have heard about it and thought it was a great idea at the time, putting it in the locker in my mind. Ah well, I at least have another idea which I’m sure hasn’t been done before, I mean who would travel around Ireland with a Fridge? Incidentally, if your name is Andrew Beattie and do you fancy a pint, please get in touch. We’ll show Dave Gorman, and Phil.

Anyway, I’m off to continue my job search, slightly more frantically but ever hopeful. The next time I write this site should be live which is weird as it means I have been writing to nobody so far and pretending that someone has been reading it, which you are now, but that’s in the future. Ah well, fuck it. Until next time,

Take care of one another and for fuck’s sake, give me a job.

Tally ho,

Andrew

P.S. My typewriter is running out of Ink Ribbon! If anyone knows where I can pick up any ink ribbons for a portable Empire Aristocrat typewriter please give me a shout as I couldn’t bear to put it back in the loft again.

P.P.S Right, I don’t usually add stuff to my blog entries after I’ve written stuff, well in the 5 times I have written anyway, but in this case I must. I owe Charles an apology, of sorts. I got the call explaining that I wasn’t suitable for the job shortly after I finished writing. Can’t drive and a more experienced candidate were the reasons. Ah well, back to Peep Show, I mean job hunting. Sorry Charles, it would appear that you are in fact, not a twat.

Aloha World,

I thought I would begin today’s small smattering of words to laptop to website to you, with a small apology for my previous ranting nonsense caused by a few days lack of writing and human contact. That’s what a shit load of beer will do to you apparently, and so I’ll be resisting any alcohol for at least the next 30 minutes or so. Incidentally, what is the exact measurement of a shit load? Is it more than a lot and despite it not being an exact measuring device have I used it in the wrong context? Who knows, and more importantly, who cares?

Since I last updated this blog of mine I have been doing as I said I would and following the list, to the letter. I mean I haven’t actually achieved anything of note, no books have been written whilst hot air ballooning after a night out with friends, but I have been looking for a job, just like I said I would. Easing my way into the list with small steps seems the best way to attack it for now and so not only do I have a list, but I also have a game plan. Take that world. With job hunting comes interviews and this week I have been on my first interview for four long years, the last being the interview for my former ’full time’ and current ‘part time’ job, which is currently so part time that my greetings upon entering the office are now “I thought you’d left, again” which, for me at least, clearly vindicates my decision to add job hunting to the list.  

On the morning of the interview, despite having an upset stomach and being genuinely concerned that I might shit myself midway through the awkward greetings, I cut a dashing figure in office type clothes and with last night’s preparation, which consisted of 5 minutes looking at the website, under my belt, I felt fairly confident about the interview. I had enlisted the help of my father to chauffer me to the interview at 2pm, primarily as I can’t drive myself but also because the location for the interview was at least 5 light years away from home and I’d have had to set off the previous evening to ensure I would be there on time. I should have really considered this before, accepting the interview but I couldn’t turn back now, the integrity of my list now depended on it.

Right from the off, I felt that the Interviewer and I had hit it off, let’s call her Donna so as to not make it obvious to her if now reading this that I am in fact the same Andrew Beattie with whom the following events occurred in her office. We both agreed, that without me having the ability to drive a car, that it was nigh on impossible for me to get there on a day to day basis, but ploughed on regardless  with the day’s proceedings pretending that I hadn’t turned up 40 minutes early and interrupted her lunch. I felt this was a good start to things and now that the pleasantries were out of the way, I thought it important to make Debra aware of how ambitious I was. I’m pretty sure I repeatedly said “I’m very, very ambitious” whilst answering every question so as to make it quite clear that I was in fact, very, very ambitious. Towards the end of the interview, I was decidedly upbeat and delighted, almost outwardly smug and certainly inwardly celebrating the fact that that it couldn’t be going any better, and then it dawned on me. I might as well have repeatedly said over and over again “Diane, I want to make it quite clear that as soon as you appoint me for this role, which let’s be honest is now a given, that I will come for your job and while I’m being honest let me also say that there is nothing you can damn well do about it, because I’m very, very ambitious, and your crap.”

 I regained my composure pretty quickly by assuring myself that I was clearly over thinking things at this point and the rest of the interview passed without any incident, allowing me time to forget that I had interrupted Diane’s lunch, couldn’t possibly get to the job I was being interviewed for and had came across like I was already looking out for managerial victims on my climb up the ladder in an interview, with my next victim. On the upside at least I didn’t say anything that would make me sound like a twat I thought as we walked to the gated entrance after the interview, my recent failings may well have gone unnoticed and as long as Deidre didn’t think I was a twat then this may well just be ok.  “So what do you think of the surroundings Andrew, certainly different from other office blocks hey” Diego asked harmlessly, looking around at the countryside. I was at the gate and only inches from freedom and so a polite “It’s lovely” would have clearly sufficed, but oh no, not for a lunch spoiling, non-driving, super ambitious individual like me. “I like fields; they are good for the soul aren’t they?” I replied. Hands were quickly shaken and not another word spoken and I was soon walking down the road, a twat, and light years from home.

Thank you for coming back to visit me and until we meet again,

Take care,

Andrew

P.S. I have also managed to find time in my extremely busy schedule to finish ‘Round Ireland with a Fridge’ by Tony Hawks. I cannot recommend this book highly enough; there are moments along the journey in which I literally had to put the book down for fear of passing out with laughter.

Dearest People who are reading this,

It’s been a while, well a week to be precise, since I last sat at this very spot in the front room of my house writing to you about what I am doing, trying to do, failing to do and of course my list. It would have certainly been written sooner, shaved a couple of days off at least, had I not been so intent on sticking to my list, going to the pub to meet friends, getting drunk and thus knocking me off my stride for a while. I’ve not been to the pub for a while, the thought of it fills me with terror if I’m being totally honest but I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the crowds, but it’s more likely because I get very drunk, very quickly and smoke almost nonstop for several hours, rendering me incapable of conversation with other human’s, including family, for several days and leaving me stuck in the house for a similar time period so as not to expose myself to direct sunlight. That’s probably it. In future, if I’m going to keep to the list, I must add another item so as to keep me moving in a general forward direction, zigzagging, but generally forward.

11. Leave the pub after 4 pints. Unless it’s a really good night of course, and then stay for a while longer, say for 1 more, at least.

Well here I am, back again, a week on and a little further along my path. When I left you last I was looking for work, still am, but I do have some interviews lined up and so yet again I score against my list. What can I say, I’m on a roll. Or am I? If at this point you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about then you should probably go and have a look at ‘my list of sorts, kind of, thing’ on my first blog entry, dated around a week ago from today, but longer if based on your current date, which will be sometime in the future. I now have no idea what I’m talking about. Oh yes I do, my list. You see the thing with lists is, (SEVERAL HOURS AND A PACKET OF CIGGARETTES LATER) that they are pretty fucking boring aren’t they? Sorry, I have typed and typed for hours about the stuff I’ve done over the last week to tick things off my list, only to delete it and you know what, I don’t really give a shit, and you won’t either and so I’ll just straight to the point I was trying to make and leave the god damn list for another day. There, much better.

The point I was aiming to get at, is that I have been pondering, shrouded in a veil of thought, since I last wrote to you, a week in which I have done various bits that I have spared you from reading, trying to answer a question that has been bugging me, a bit like a boil on my arse, but less boil like, and in my head, not on my arse. The question that has been giving me sleepless nights is a seemingly simple one: Am I a writer? I did say that it was a simple question, but it is a question that has lead to various other questions of a similar nature and well doing my bloody head in. I mean I like to write, or at least I certainly want to write, and I’m pretty sure I’ll write till I pop my clogs. Does what I’m doing now make me a writer, I mean I’m writing, but this is a blog isn’t it, and so surely I’m a blogger? Are blogger’s Writer’s? I asked a friend of mine at the pub, a chap who spent a large chunk of his early years writing, if he ever considered himself a writer. He never thought about it, was his answer. Maybe that is how I should think about it from now on, just stick to the list; keep on updating my website, writing and generally fumbling my way along. I suppose it’s for other people to say if I’m a writer or not, based on what I have written, which is not a lot as yet. But if I stick to my list… ah, maybe my list is important after all, sorry list.

Right, I’m now back on track, list in my top pocket, smile on my face and ready to get back on the path, clicking my heels as I go. I have an interview tomorrow and am working later this week and so I’m off to shave, drink tea, polish my shoes and brush up on my Klingon. I’ll write sooner next time I think and I’ll certainly have more to tell you about, stuff and bits. Until then please,

Keep safe and don’t neglect your list,

Goodbye,

Andrew

p.s. I am now reading a new book, Tony Hawks, Travelling Around Ireland with a Fridge, which has started very well although I was most upset to finish the first volume of Simon Gray’s Smoking Diaries which was marvellous, so good in fact that I’ll be ordering the next 3 volumes this week for when I’ve finished on my journey around Ireland, with a fridge.