Ticket to ride

Im looking down at the paper in my hand. I can't believe it. I've only gone and won £168m on the Euro Millions. Im spent the morning spending everything in my mind and loving it. Suddenly all my worries are lifted. I can afford my rent without fear f the council tax striking me down. My debts are all paid. I've walked into an estate agent in Bethnal Green and outright bought that town house I always wanted. 6 rooms 5 floors, 3 bathrooms and all the space I could ever want for my home studio and visiting friends. No more programming crappy drums on my 7 yr old computer. Real drums in a sound proofed room and fed directly into my brand new iMac. 

I think I'll open a savings account for my niece. 500k to her on her 18th birthday is a good start. plus this interest will bring that up to at least 750 in the next 16 years. I'm gonna buy my parents house off of them. It's worth a good few quid, so that'll give them the happy retirement they deserve. They'll live there for free of course. I'll even pay the council tax no worries. My brother can have a cool million too. Why not?! 

You know I can now open the bar I want to open. i mean I do love my current bar but then it would be MINE. No beer on tap. I'm talking good whiskey and bottles of cheap beer. I'll probably open it attached to a venue. Get in a load of gear so traveling bands don't have to stress about it. Maybe a few bunks in the loft for the tired and weary. I'm gonna call it the Den. Wait what??? What was that? I blinked. Where am I.

Im now looking down at the peace of paper in my hand. Take two, four times a day. Flu medicine. Its pouring with rain and I forgot my umbrella which doesn't help. The coffee in my other hand is being watered down as I stand under this rickety bus stand. Rents due in a few weeks and I'm broke. Can't even afford the bus, I'm just waiting for the rain to stop before I walk home. I feel bad for my lady. She deserves better than this. But it'll be okay, if i blink and squint hard enough I have the winning ticket in my hand.

How not to be Stopped in the Street

I saw a young fella on my way into work this morning sat on the bench outside Starbucks. He must have been about 20. Didn't look particularly rough so I wouldn't have pegged him for one of the local homeless. Also 10:30 am I wouldn't have assumed he was already on the mind altering materials. There was of course, like all of these incidences,  a little something that gave the game away to this gentlemans state of being. 

I walk out of the coffee shop, fresh brew in hand and ready to get on with my morning meetings. then over the airwaves, almost as if it was from a cartoon of a fresh pie resting on an open window sill, a smell that I will not any time soon forget. It was a mix of last nights curry, stomach acid and stale beer. I couldn't work out where this was coming from. I smelt my cup to see if the coffee was wrong. Nope not that. Had a look around to find the offence but I couldn't see anything that would explain it. Then my eye for some reason catches the previously mentioned young fella. As he stands up from his bench I notice that he has a hole in arse of his otherwise half decent suit trousers. And from this hole he had been for the last 15 minutes casually shitting on the bench which I then see has been dripping over the edge and onto the floor. He turns to inspect his work of art and then with no care for who was watching (at this point quite a few of us) he runs his finger thru the muck and marks his face like battle paint, pulls out a newspaper to cover his offence, then runs off into the distance singing Chumbawambas "Tubthumping". He will of course be left well alone for the rest of his travels today.

Bless his crazy face

The lack of drums in the A.M

It's been about 28 years since I've been able to look people in the eye without bursting out into either tears or laughter due to an annoyingly persistent nervous disposition in my childhood. It's also been 17 years since I've managed to speak in some sort of recogniseable format thanks to the remnant of the aforementioned affliction. So would I consider myself rid of all anxieties? Well let's break it down. My day will usually begin with a racing heart and headache brought on by the thought of leaving my bed. I'll  run through every conceivable conversation I'm likely to have in the first 4 hours of the day from the barista in Starbucks to the Guy in the fruit market in Stratford centre. This can be cured however by a pot of coffee and a few minutes peace having a morning shit and flicking through instagram. However, this in turn brings on the next problem. All these cool people out there. That burger looks pretty cool, I'll  try and make my own. That young skater kid is shredding, what happened to my own skating ability? All these bands I follow are awesome, why aren't I as good as that. Yeah so a morning shit takes 15 mins. 5 mins of business followed by 10 mins of self deprecation with my cock and balls dangling in the bowl wishing I could be as talented as these kids of instagram. But hey, that's over with fairly quickly and I drink another coffee and check the morning emails and kiss my lady goodbye before work. But now I'm IN work. It's Monday morning and something in my brain is telling me that I really don't need to open the bar today. I can just sit here and drink the fridge dry to calm down my racing heartbeat. But then I see the PA system screaming out to blast the latest Umlaut submissions (this morning was the unreleased Shark Party EP). Now I'm back to the instagram dilemma hearing awesome tunes and without a band currently to take out my angst on I'm a little lost for what to do. Turns out I've sat on the couch listening to this for 2 hours on loop without so much as scratching myself. Hearts racing again. Head hurts. Not something I can easily fix with painkillers (good after years of relying on them) or that be cured by alcohol (see previous humoured mention of a borederline drink problem birthed in my teens). I guess it's time to open the bar and talk to other humans. 

Passing the buck

Some of you may know that I run a bar in Stratford just 10 mins from my house and unofficial office of Umlaut Records. Sounds fun right? Well actually yeah, it is pretty damn fun 70% of the time, spending evenings sampling new booze lines and hanging off the end of the bar talking to all walks of life who enter the building. But 30% of the time, well fuck me that's just the most boring times of all. You can't leave to get lunch as you're maybe the only person in at this time of day (Wednesday daytimes are a ghost town) so instead I would endeavour to make lunches for myself. FAIL!!! I don't have time for that in the morning. No really all I end up doing is buying boxes of shortbread and eating this throughout the day. But then after a box or so, we'll your mouth starts to get pretty dry. So of course I reach for the soft drinks since it's the daytime and I am at work I probably shouldn't be drinking alcohol. But then now I've eaten a box or two of shortbread which is full of sugar and a glass of coke which is HELLA full of sugar. Too much stimulant at one time. So what could I possibly do to bring this all down while I'm alone in a bar?? You guessed it, and now what started off as a well intentioned way to eat healthily and consistently over the week has led to borderline alcoholism at the age of 33. Shortbread, like so many other delightfully packaged goods in the modern age is inevitably to blame for the downfall of civilised society, starting with a 30 something sat in bed at 2:30 in the afternoon writing garbage. God help us