Typical glastonbury weather...

Now, when I say ‘typical Glastonbury weather’, you probably think I’m talking about wet, miserably windy weather that leaves you cold to the bone, and wandering back to your tent thinking ‘why do I do this to myself?’ And normally, that’s what I’d probably mean. Only this year, I’m not going, so, in typical fashion, the weather for the coming week looks to be mostly sunny, cloud free, and quite perfect for 5 days stuck in a Pilton field. Oh well, there’s always next year.

I woke up yesterday morning and thought let’s make up for my absence this year. So, I took some drugs and off I went to my local summer festival, Gladstonbury. It’s a music and arts festival that takes place in Gladstone Park one Sunday every summer. You can see what they’ve done there, can’t you.


I got there about 2pm (you know, having spent the morning 'asleep in my tent'), it’s a beautiful sunny day, there must have been a couple of thousand people milling around the park, lots of little stalls with random bits and bobs, the odd Community Police Officer, lots of kids kicking a ball about, lots of mums and dads pushing prams around, and lots and lots of grass (there’s a double-entendre there). I found a nice patch of grass (to sit on) and spent about 2 hours taking in the sunshine and listening to the various styles of music (ranging from Irish Rock to Lounge Jazz and Senegalese Drumming), the highlight of which had to be, yes, you guessed it…The Rolling Gladstones, throwing in an array of covers and original songs. Hmmm, when I say highlight, I don’t think that's what I really mean. All in all, as I strolled back home to a cooked dinner and clean shower, I don't feel so bad that i'm not going to Glastonbury. Infact, the only thing that would have brought the experience closer to the real thing would have been to have Jay Z on the bill. Oh, and for the record, the drugs I took, they were Cetirizine Hydrochloride. For hayfever. They worked a treat…

Once upon an unfortunate time...

the following passage is by the late great Spike Milligan:

'Once upon an unfortunate time, there was a hairy thing called man. Along with him was a hairier thing called animal. Man had a larger brain which made him think he was superior to animals.

Some men thought they were superior to men. They became leader men. Leader men said "We have no need to work, we will kill animals to eat." So they did.

Man increased, animals decreased. Eventually leader men said "There are not enough animals left to eat. We must grow our own food." So man grew food.

Now, the only animals man had not destroyed were tiny ones, like rabbits and mices, and these little animals were caught eating some of man's crops. "These animals are a menace. They must die."

In China they killed all the sparrows. In Australia they killed all the rabbits. Everywhere man killed all wild life. Soon there was none, and all the birds were poisoned. Leader man said "At last! We are free of pests."

Man's numbers increased. The world became crowded with men. They all had to sleep standing up. One day a leader man saw a new creature eating his crops. This creature's name was starving people.

"This creature is a menace!" said leader man...'

Spike Milligan, The Little Pot Boiler (1963)

Marks out of tinnitus?

So, a lot can happen in a few weeks, and I’ve just had one of those ‘few weeks’. Where shall I begin? Well, on Wednesday 15^th May I decided to go swimming, I mean, it can’t do me any harm can it? Well, two hours later, and I can’t hear out of my left ear. Twenty four hours later, I still can’t hear out my left ear. Forty-eight hours later, I still can’t hear out my left ear, and I’m in Brighton, playing at the Great Escape Festival. And I’ve just come off stage. And I have a high pitch ringing in that same left ear. Hmm, shit, what does this mean? Well, what it meant was, anything outside my ear couldn’t get in, and the ringing inside my ear, well, it certainly wasn’t getting out. Add to this the fact that I am now due to be away from home for about 14 days, I’m a little concerned. I phone my doctor and arrange to visit the nurse some two weeks later who will attempt to syringe my ear and at least clear the blockage.

So, forward yourself, or myself, two weeks, and I’m at the doctors. I tell them I’m there for the 4:40pm appointment. What do you mean I don’t have one? I had it last Thursday? No, I wasn’t in London last Thursday; I made it very clear it was for this Thursday. I storm out. I storm back in. I insist I be seen. I have to wait until 6pm but I get seen. I go in to see the nurse. She’s preparing all the stuff; the syringe, warm water, little bowl to catch whatever secretes from my ear. I happen to mention this ringing in my ear, and how I hope that will clear up too. She puts the syringe down. Pulls one of those ‘hmmm’ faces. She brings in another doctor. They discuss something. What? What’s the matter? You can’t syringe my ear? Because I have tinnitus? Right. Shit. Ok. So, back to the drawing board. Or my house. Next morning I phone a specialist ear man, who can see me the following Wednesday. That’s nearly three weeks after it all started.

My sleeping pattern has gone to pieces. The days are filled with made up noises, thinking I’m being spoken to and cancelled gigs, the nights are filled with, well, a constant fucking ringing in my ear and a distinct lack of sleep, generally nodding off at about 5am, then waking up at 8am with my alarm ringing. Only, it wasn’t my alarm, it was my fucking left ear, in my fucking head, and I can’t switch it off. So, I see Mr ear man, he asks me lots of questions like do I smoke, how much do I drink, have I had any operations, any history of head problems in my family, then he puts a long metal tube down my ears causing a sound level equivalent to 110db (a plane taking off is 140db), and I quote, my ‘very bunged ears’ (technical term) are cleared of their shiny residue. They give me a hearing test. It’s all good, I can hear, and there’s no damage. So now I have 20/20 hearing again (or whatever the technical term is). Hurrah! Now all I have to do is get used to the ringing in my ear. It may go away, it may not. I’ve also been referred to an ‘Audio Therapist’ who can help train the mind to block out the ringing noise, so you forget it’s even there (er, Derren Brown, is that you?).

I guess these are the drawbacks to exposing myself to so much loud noise. If you are a musician, or a dj, or work in a particularly loud environment, the level of noise you're exposing yourself to is something you should think about. It’s been three days and already, with my full hearing back, the tinnitus doesn’t seem as bad, but it's made me think seriously about my hearing, something i didn't think i'd be doing for another forty years. If only I wasn’t in a band. If only I hadn’t gone swimming. I’m thinking of taking up football again now, I mean, it can’t do me any harm, can it…

www.dontlosethemusic.com

Please mind the gap...

I get off.
You get off.
Who get's off?
We get off.
No one get's off.
Let's try again.
Who knows when.
Next stop.
Somewhere.
Over there.
Get on then.
I get off.

There's nowt queer as folk (part 1)

(originally posted December 1st 2007)

On a quiet winters night, in the small northern town of Harrogate, me and my friends were asked to leave a well known chain of drinking establishments 'because we've had complaints that you're playing Scrabble' (so said the bouncer). We couldn't deny it, the evidence was there for all to see. A scrabble board. Small tiles with letters ranging from A-Z. And various words criss-crossing across the board. We laughed. It must be a wind up.

'no, we've had complaints, i'll have to ask you to stop' he said.

We laughed again. Surely he must be joking. It was just a simple game of scrabble. Alas, he was serious, and we were told to finish our game and move on. However, before we had a chance, a passer by decided to 'accidently' fall into me and the table, sending the board and pieces flying everywhere.

I told the bouncer this. He told me we shouldn't have been playing scrabble. I told him it was only a game of scrabble. He told me we shouldn't have been playing scrabble. I told him there was no law against it. He told me we shouldn't have been playing scrabble. I told him to 'sort it out'. He throw me out and barred me from said establishment.

As for the journey home on the M1, that's another story...