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Apologies for the lack of blogging, but I've still got a mice problem in this blog. And what's more - they've started dancing. The council are now saying they'll have the music turned down by Friday, and the blog working well by the weekend.
Sorry for inconvenience, and have a mice day (see what I did there).
Most of you know Ben Terrett as 'that rude designer bloke off the internet'. But over the last 13 years I've got to know Ben pretty well. And while most of what I've found out has done nothing more than confirm him as 'that rude designer bloke off the internet', I have also got to know a good man, with a strong heart.
And it's for that reason that not only is Ben now in my top 63 friends (in the world), but that I've also chosen him to chair the first ever Deacon Blue Morning.
So tonight Matthew I'm going to be Ben Terrett. Here we go.
For me and Jonathan Rooney it was the first gig we'd ever been too. Deacon Blue at the Bournemouth International Centre.
Deacon Blue were a good live band, but that's mostly because they were a band. Bournemouth was about 50 miles from where we lived so my Dad drove us to the BIC and waited in the car until the gig ended.
Deacon Blue were the first band I liked on my own. Without the influence of my parents or my friends or my cool Uncle. It's odd when I look back now as they were highly political and almost all the lyrics went over my head. Even the really obvious lyrics went over my head. Take these simple lines from Fergus Sings The Blues;
homesick james
my biggest influence
tell my why
james and bobby purify
I'd always assumed that was about two fellows called James and Bobby who, err, purified things. It took around ten years for me to work out they were singing about the famous 60's R&B combo, James and Bobby Purify.
Likewise their most famous track Dignity was just a good song. Yet now I actually know people who've been "a worker" and have "been twenty years". People who've ""let me know a secret about the money" their "kitty". People who are "gonna buy a dinghy". There's a lot to be said for the money in your kitty. Funny how that stuff doesn't mean anything to you when you're 13.
The BIC isn't an impressive building. A classic post war architectural mess, it's a regular on the political conference circuit. It's no Astoria. Still, Deacon Blue were playing there and me and Rooney had tickets. We used to hang out "up the top" and there were a few Deacon Blue fans up there. "Make sure you say hello to Lorraine for me" they said. Lorraine. Lorraine McIntosh, female vocalist. Ahh Lorraine. Not what you might call classically good looking, she was enough to excite 13 year old boys.
Again, I missed this at the time; many people call Raintown a concept album. The album is about a dead end life in Glasgow. That's not a particularly interesting or unique concept. Many bands sing about their "dead end" home towns but they'd carried the theme through with the album artwork. They used the images of the great photographer Oscar Marzaroli, who took iconic shots of young Gorbals boys. That's a high concept for a simple band. And it makes more sense now that graphic design is my chosen profession.
I still remember the programme from the gig, with the photo of lush red velvet curtains on the cover. I still remember the audience surging forward for the encore. I still remember signing along with a crowd of people for the first time. I still remember my Dad waiting outside when the gig had finished.
I'm not going to pretend Deacon Blue were brilliant. They weren't. But for me, they were an average band made more important by being in the right place at the right time. Everyone has a band, an album or a song like that. Some artists make a career out of that. It's was Deacon Blue for me then, it was Oasis a bit later and time will tell who it is now.
I don't know what happened to Jonathan Rooney. We went our separate ways at 16. He doesn't appear to be on any social networks, but Rooney is a hard name to Google. I wonder if he still likes Deacon Blue.
Blue. All that time and I never wondered which blue they meant.
So that was Deacon Blue Morning, in the afternoon, by Ben. (Feel free to clap.)
You probably hadn't noticed, but it's been R.E.M week on Life in the middle; I wanted to celebrate the release of the deluxe edition of their first album, Murmur.
I know it's not that fashionable to like them, but I don't really care. Murmur is too important for that. Listening to it now still reminds that few bands better capture the fragility of human emotion, the pain of feeling what you can't say, and the raw optimism that's the only real approach to what life puts in front of us. And I love them for that.
So this week I was going to do something to acknowledge this new release.
But instead I got someone who hates R.E.M to tell a silly story. I guess sometimes you plan for one thing, but the reality is perhaps a little different. Ah well.
Anyway, put the children to bed, pop the cat into the garden, lower the lights, and make yourselves comfortable, for I give you Marcus Brown...
Monty Got A Raw Deal:
I’m not a big fan of R.E.M, actually I think they are rubbish. They did, however, provide the background music for a splendid event of which I was privy too. Many moons ago I was sat in the flat of a good friend who was a huge REM fan. Having bought a copy of “Automatic for the People” he had spent all day listening to it - which was a little bit boring. He had just separated from his girl friend and was feeling a little glum and all sorry for himself. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore of Mr. Stipe’s whining my friend’s ex-girl friend stormed into the flat and pushed him out of the window. His flat was on the first floor. She was very angry with him. So every time I hear “Monty got a raw deal” I think of my friend clinging to the window ledge pleading with me to pull him back in.
Yeah, thanks Marcus.
I think if Bill, Peter, Michael, and Mike had been asked, when they started the band, if they'd be happy to one day be the musical backdrop to such a moment, then they would have perhaps thought that was a dream too far.
But they did it, and thank God for that.
Before she's sets off again overseas, I spent one last day with the tankard. We set off holding hands and headed through the market.
Once on London Bridge she asked for a portrait to be taken, a reminder of home for when she is away. It was rainy and a bit glum, but home is home.
On the way she also wanted to make her views clear to the banks, and let them know that as far she was concerned they've got a long way to go to make up for the way they've behaved in recent months. So we went down to RBS, and hung around for a bit. Then left, our point made.
Then it was time for the business of building brands.
As ever the tankard was an instant hit. Ronny (front of house) seemed chuffed to bits by her presence.
Emma genuinely seemed enchanted.
Doug E Fresh kept things formal, and waited for a proper introduction.
Katherine and Danny on the other hand played it cool, and simply involved the tankard in spreadsheets, and the usual nonsense of advertising.
Laura gave a little too much deference.
Sophie struck a pose we've never seen before.
Nic showed her his beard.
Simon wore her, sort of.
Matt didn't give a flying fuck about her.
Alex couldn't have been happier - they seemed to really hit it off.
Finally, before the day was out, I took her to see our MD, Neil (and the author of our blog). I introduced them, and soon Neil's natural extroverted personality came out and he hoisted her on to the top of his famously good hair.
Quite a day, and one the agency won't be forgetting in a hurry.
Before the day was out I said my own goodbye as she was handed over to someone new, for her next adventure to begin.
Goodbye friend, and take care out there.
Finding the will to step back into training, despite the fear, the weakness, and the doubt.
For hanging with family over food, drink, and digital photographic editing in camera.
And for introducing friends to one another. (While at first they might have found it difficult to establish common ground, they were soon engaged in pointless staring.)
So, that's what it was for, but now it's done, and all I have left are the photos (the ones that didn't get edited in camera that is).
Not only is he just hanging out in a coffee shop in the middle of the afternoon, having an easy one, rather than stressing about the ups and downs of everyday life. But he's also a reader, a man of books, a lover of imagination and knowledge. And best of all, he's not someone to deny a wave of tiredness the chance to wash over him, he doesn't fight it, nope, he goes with it and gets his head down for forty winks as required. Even if it is the middle of the day, and he's sitting with strangers.
Nice sleeping in public action, student-looking man, Life in the middle (or whatever it's called) salutes you.
What's that?
Me?
I'm just minding my own business, chucking some tin around in the gym. It's what I have to do to stay in shape. Bodies and blogs like this don't don't just happen by accident you know.
Say no to steroids, kids.
Good news, I've found the Tankard (that's me with it above, I'm the one in the sunglasses).
Some time ago we were trying to send it to Nigeria, for no reason what so ever, but then I lost it. Turns out that it was in storage all along. So if people are up for it I'm happy to start sending it on again, as we never did get the thing to Nigeria.
So far it's been to Dan (who is co-owner of the project, sort of, before he had a beard).
It's been to Munich, with Marcus (before he looked like a madman).
It went drinking in Paris, with Kirsty (before she had a face).
It did some cultural stuff in Spain, with Javier (before he got his second arm).
Then it went skiing for Christmas (everyone needs a break).
Then it broke.
But went back together, with the help of some glue.
So who would like it next?
All you have to do is do something fun with it while you have it (a movie, or perhaps a meal), and then pass it on to the next person. It's pretty fragile these days, so you also have to promise to be gentle.
Leave details in the comments and I'll work out a schedule.
Things are looking up, good afternoon.
It was a strange day to be working near the City of London, given the protests that were predicted. I walked in to work over London Bridge, which is normally packed solid with commuters, but today it was eerily quiet, and not a suit in sight.
After a hard day's work I decided to end the day by walking home past the banks where many of the protests were taking place. Approaching them was weird. Roads deserted. People absent. And yet the distinct feeling that something was going on.
As I got closer the signs were clear that trouble was a possibility.
On the whole people just seemed to be sitting around.
But as I kept walking it was clear that some lines had been drawn. There was shouting and taunting on both sides, and a far nastier tone altogether. The police batons and shields were out, and looked like they'd seen action.
I slipped down a side road, turned a corner, and it soon felt like all this rioting business was nothing more than a bit of a dream. And I was soon able to turn my attention to the biding farewell to the day, enjoying the view, and pondering what the evening might hold.
The evening was okay, haddock for dinner, The Apprentice on the telly, and now time for a bath.
More protests tomorrow apparently - be well.
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