Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Hey there,

Today is Saturday, it’s 20 minutes to 3, I am at my laptop in my room listening to The Thrills, drinking sweet coffee and outside the world, or at least this part of it, is currently experiencing an Indian summer. What a phrase that is: Indian summer. Whenever I hear it, and I can’t remember hearing it before this week although I must have done, I can’t help thinking that it is a very old saying and imagine two ladies sat in an immaculate garden under frilly brollies, drinking tea with Lemon and eating scones commenting to one another about the ‘Indian summer’ and memories of killing Tigers when they were last in the Punjab visiting Smith who has just been given a new position at the home of the Viceroy “don’t you know”. The large buggy that contains one of the Women’s children is running away from them down the path towards the steps leading to the beach. Why haven’t they noticed? The baby is crying and still they don’t notice as they fill their faces full of scone and laugh heartily whilst discussing Smith and his limp which is caused by his much shorter right leg. That’s pretty much exactly what I think when I hear the phrase Indian summer although I generally don’t get as far as the baby in the pram rolling away. Where does that even come from by the way?

This past week I have been reading over my previous ponderings. Ponderings which are still not live on a website I may or may not have previously mentioned. Pouring over my previous thoughts and notes I couldn’t help but notice a running theme. I am adding stuff to this little list of mine and not taking anything off, I mean I haven’t written a book, or hot air ballooned and so what on earth have I been doing with my time since I started writing these things of mine. Well the truth of the matter is, and mum always said that I should be an honest boy, that I have been generally fumbling my way forward since I began writing this a few months back. I do appear to have knocked the booze on the head which is good as I’ve had longer weekends to contemplate my not taking stuff off my list and I’m also still writing and so, not crossing stuff off the list aside, I can be pretty happy with myself at the moment. For that, I shall give myself a pat on the back. But wait, there’s more. I am also still working. Ok, it may be part time, here and there, but it’s still working and it is keeping me in chocolate, coffee and cigarettes and so another pat on the back for me thinks me. All this back patting may well be just a result of me listening to The Thrills summer sound at the moment but hey, erm, yes.

To round off a week of pondering quite nicely, whilst having coffee with a friend today and before I’d even had chance to have a sip I was asked  “What’s new with Andrew Beattie at the minute, how’s life?” It’s usually a question that I pose to myself and so I had to consider the answer for a moment whilst I took another sip of my coffee. Several silent moments passed. “Nothing” replied me several hours later, “nothing at all”. I’m still reading as usual, working part time, fumbling my way forward and so nothing is exactly ‘new’ but you know what I’m fucking well ecstatic with how life is at the moment even if it’s no different than life was last week or the week before that et cetera.

I took a while to consider this when I got home, obviously deeply concerned at the happiness and back slapping, and came up with the following possibilities to why I am currently deliriously happy:

1. I am actually very depressed and currently on the crest of a wave from which I will soon crash and burn severely. This is a possibility, albeit not a likely one, but I’m not totally ruling it out just yet.

2. I’m still writing. I’m writing this aren’t I? And I’m also attempting some fictional stuff on my own, in a darkened room, this darkened room to be precise, of an evening.

3. I’ve been given a new sense of perspective about life by some higher power. This is clearly utter bollocks.

4. I’m being drugged regularly through the day at meal times in an effort to stupefy me so that I can be held down with ease whilst my head is shaved. This is the most realistic possibility as far as I’m concerned.

5. I’m due to die shortly in a hilarious fashion. If this is true, I’d like it to be death by falling piano or death by funny joke however I have no wish to die just yet even if it is in a stampede of Donny Osmond fans.

6. I’ve still got no idea what the hell I’m doing but that’s actually ok.  

Unfortunately, shortly after writing this list Andrew Beattie was tragically killed in an unfortunate accident with a spud gun whilst on the toilet reading a vintage 1975 copy of Jackie, and wearing a dress. That didn’t really happen but I do have a copy of Jackie from 1975, and here’s why.

Browsing this week’s Guardian on Wednesday evening I noticed that, starting this very weekend, my buying of the Guardian would be rewarded, starting this very weekend, with a classic comic book. Now, the picture that accompanied this very caption showed, quite clearly, pictures of Beano’s, Dandy’s and other stuff that I remember enjoying immensely when I was a lad and subsequently fills me with sadness at my throwing it all away when I was an older lad, but still a lad. But on Wednesday my sadness turned to child like glee at the promise of a nostalgic weekend spent reading about the bash street kids in the heat of an Indian summer. You can only imagine my disappointment when, after tearing open the wrapper of today’s Guardian I was left clutching a copy of Jackie with a pin-up poster of David Essex inside. I mean for fucks sake Guardian, Jackie, really, is that it? Where’s the fucking Beano please? No Desperate Dan? Not even a little cow pie? I mean come on, at the risk of sounding like a broken record here, Jackie, really?

But alas, even this massive insult to my childhood couldn’t really darken my mood and so I’ll leave you now to happily skip outside into an Indian Summer, drink sweet coffee, listen to the Thrills, complete my ‘How romantic are you?’ quiz from yesteryear and try to avoid falling musical instruments.

Thank you, thank you, thank you,

With hazy summer love,

Andrew