I received a call from my bank today who were wondering if there was something wrong with my account, by which they meant that I hadn’t put any money in it for the last month. I assured them that all was well, and that it was simply because I don’t have any gigs in January. I tried to ease her mind by letting her know that we have a few things on in February, an Australian tour in March, and a UK tour in April. I do feel a bit concerned for her though, as she might be relying on my wages to feed her family. So, please, buy tickets to come and see us in April. Don’t do it for me or my fellow Young’uns, do it for this poor banker. It’s a worthy cause. There. That should help boost ticket sales.
We’ve covered many subjects on this blog so far: God, Richard Dawkins, erotic fiction, killer machines … but the subject that’s got Gary all hot under the collar is sandwiches. He sent me a lengthy passionate rant on the subject after he read yesterday’s Dollop. Gary is unable to eat wheat, and therefore became riled by my flagrant boasting about eating lots of free sandwiches yesterday. I sympathise with Gary’s plight, and have therefore decided that this blog, from now on, will be a sandwich free zone.
Gary is surrounded by constant reminders of his affliction. He lives near a bakery, and wakes each day to the smell of fresh bread. He sees people on his bus commute to work happily munching their way through sandwiches. At lunch time, his colleagues are all eating sandwiches. He cannot escape sandwiches. Finally, after a long hard day’s work he returns home, shuts himself in his house, puts on his nose plugs to block out the smell of bread from the bakery, and goes online to read my daily blog. It’s the one thing he’s been looking forward to all day. It’s his safe haven from the unrelenting sandwich assault. He’s already starting to relax as he wonders what the subject of today’s blog post will be. And then he sees it, flashing up on his screen, and the words cut like a knife. This was one of the few places left where he could feel safe and protected against the reminder of his sandwich troubles, and now even I was writing about the sodding things.
Well, rest assured Gary that from this moment on, I will never mention sandwiches in this blog ever again. Even if I have the most amazing sandwich related anecdote, and it’s the only interesting thing that happened to me all that day, I promise that I will respect your adversity and never mention the things again. I want you to feel that this is a safe place for you Gary, and from now on it will be. I would also appreciate it if you people reading and listening to these Dollops could refrain from mentioning sandwiches in any comments you may leave on these blogs.
The funeral service was really nice. It’s interesting what stories people choose to talk about in the person’s eulogy. It often seems to be the little things that people remember, things that might not seem special or significant at the time but then take on a new and special pertinence and are cherished after the person’s life. The man performing the service told a story about how Les (who’s funeral it was) would never use a map or a satnav, and insisted on working out the route on his own volition. The family fondly recounted that he would be so stubborn about this, despite the fact that they were hopelessly lost. I imagine that at the time this personality trait was not so appreciated by the people in the car. It probably caused arguments. But now, with the benefit of hindsight and because that person is no longer with us, we see the situation in a different light, and remember it with fondness. So it’s interesting that people choose these kinds of stories to fondly remember someone. Death suddenly offers fresh perspective, and we find ourselves celebrating everything about a person. We laugh and smile at their shortcomings, as well as celebrating their achievements. The person is aggrandised. And I don’t mean to suggest that this is in anyway insincere or untrue, but rather that the death of a loved one makes us fully appreciate everything about the person.
I am currently in the car with Sean. He may be feeling a bit put out that I’ve completely ignored him for the entire journey to and from the funeral. But when I’m dead, perhaps he’ll look back on my antisocial ways with fondness, and he’ll recount this journey where I completely ignored him at my eulogy. Although, if that’s the best example he can think of to illustrate what an amazing person I was, then, quite frankly, he should be ashamed of himself. I’d rather they just read a selection of highlights from my Dollops. I wouldn’t recommend using this one. I’ve found it very difficult to concentrate, as the roads are very winding and I feel sick. It’s going to be interesting to see how I manage to cope with this project when I’m on tour. I hope my on-tour Dollops will be more entertaining than this one, but it’s difficult to concentrate on writing when you are being shaken about in a car, and feeling sick. Perhaps if you listen or read this blog post while zooming along a pothole ridden winding road, you will gain an extra level of respect for my abilities. But don’t abandon me on the basis of this substandard Dollop. One day I will be dead and you’ll be looking back at this post with tears in your eyes, wishing that you’d appreciated me more.
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