Band rehearsal

Played with the band in King’s Cross tonight. Was okay. We went for a drinks afterwards. It was miserable weather and tough going trying to find an open pub. There was a football match on and lots of coppers around. Seems the pubs were all closing their doors for fear of hooligans. One place we loitered around outside for a while saw us and let us in through the fire exit. Pretty trendly looking place but they were really friendly.

Conversation in the pub was a bit stilted. The band are a bit difficult to talk with at times. That’s what happens when you get six quiet guys together. One guy, the, Sarg, didn’t even say a single word. Well, he was foreign, but that’s till no excuse.

After making one pint last 2 hours and feeling guilty for it – I told Baz I didn’t have money to help up for the damage on the rehearsal room due to being jobless – we headed out. In fact, speaking of the jobless situation, my bullshitting was catching up on me. A few minutes towards the end of the evening one guy, Andy, turned round as said, pointing at me, “this guys got the best job!” Fuck. I’d told him I was doing some English teaching to foreigners privately. I then had to explain to everyone what I supposedly did with Baz looking on a bit confused. I tried to gloss over it though saying I’d only just started and only taught a few people. I’m not sure he believed me or understood what was going on, but he did still seem friendly as we headed back to the tube later on.

Took the tube and walked back home with Andy as he only lives around the corner. He met his girlfriend and they were getting a bit mushy on the tube etc. I hate that. Makes me feel uncomfortable, but I tried not to reveal my discomfort.

Andy’s alright. Bit strange in his own little way. He’s talkative and friendly, but I find him somehow tiresome. He wears me down. Other people who are friendly and talkative I find often it’s the other way around. You just let them talk and you listen and all’s good. But somehow, his energy being so high and perhaps my desire to conform myself to his energy, wears me down. It’s odd. Also he acts friendly but then when it comes time to say goodbye, he doesn’t sort of formalise the farewell. He just says “yeah, see ya” without even looking at you and with no smile or friendly gesture. Weird. Then for the rest of the week, despite him only living around the corner, you never hear from him. Bit odd. Sometimes I wonder if the days of making friends are over with high school and uni. People seem to be friendly that I meet in my late 20s, but only to a level of keeping you as a friend within the context they’ve met you – in this case a “band friend” – and not inviting you further into their life in any conceivable way. So interactions feel a bit awkward the further out of the “band” you get. In this case the further we get geographically from the rehearsal room and from the time the rehearsal ends.

Date #3

After some logistical problems with Cor being unable to get out of work on time, we finally managed to meet for a third time on Thursday.

We met outside the tube station. I was uncharacteristically early despite leaving the house about 30 mins later than intended due to “clothes problems” – i.e., once again being unable to find an “ensemble” I felt comfortable in.

I decided to do a little PUA reading before meeting this time. I refreshed my memory briefly about what tricks to play, about Juggler’s escalation, about story telling and the other bits and pieces. Actually my memory is so bad I can only remember those two right now and I don’t think I remembered many more on Thursday night. Shockingly bad.

So I stood out the front of the busy station at 6 and waited for her. She emerged about 10 mins later. Although I had vowed to kiss her when greeting her and being more warm this time around, unfortunately this did not go to plan! The moment she emerged out of the station and I saw her something along the lines of, “God, she looks awful, am I really meeting HER??” flashed through my mind. She did look terrible. No defined jawline, hair tied back severely and she was smiling – those teeth on display! Ugh! In fact why was she smiling? She seemed really happy to see me. Strange.

So I led the way. We found a nice quaint little Old English pub on the river and I got a couple of pints. The weather wasn’t too bad so I decided to sit outside. However, after 20 mins or so we both began to freeze so had to go back inside.

What was interesting about the night, at the least the first two hours anyway, was that I could talk the pants off her. And I was making her laugh. I was quite funny. I had quite interesting and entertaining stories. It was fascinating because the anxiety I had been experiencing leading up to this third meeting was that the conversation had been used up – there was nothing else to talk about. But here I was talking for England. It was very strange. It’s yet another instance of my negative predictions being wrong and my anxiety being therefore unfounded.

After the first pub we went to another one a bit further down the river. This was a slightly more expensive place. Not traditional but pretty modern and pretty noisey. But we managed to get a seat. The conversation was still flowing okay, there were only a couple of moment where someone needed to break a long silence. She broke it as I recall with a question about my preferred drink. And again, I surprised myself by not simply replying with a boring response such as, “yeah I always drink this stuff”. Instead I started talking about my old days of cigars and brandy and how I used to meet with old John who introduced me to these sophisticated ways.

Interestingly in this pub she started to look quite attractive to me. The way the light softly lit the contours of her face. Her jaw line looked more defined now too. Her eyes looked nice! And even her teeth were bearable. Was it the booze? Was it the light? Was her being in a more relaxed state causing this? I don’t know.

Having not eaten since 3pm my stomach started rumbling come 9:30ish and so we decided to head further down the river to find somewhere to eat. This is where things started to go wrong. We walked for ages and couldn’t find anywhere – they were too expensive or just too formal. I just wanted a bit of pub grub! So we walked for about an hour and found no where. The conversation got stale, I started to get bored so I’m sure she must have been feeling bored too at this point. Then my face started to get numb with the cold and I couldn’t think of anything to say!

So we walked in silence for a long way. My comedy dried up and anything I did say felt awkward. We ended up walking the way we’d come and going to another Old English type pub we’d passed earlier. We should have just come here. Damn it. Nevermind.

So we went in around 10:30. Unfortunately food service had finished at 10 so we just got a couple more drinks and talked till 11:30. The conversation was boring. More of the same. I was tired and bored. Was she too? She told me not to rush my drink. Maybe she wasn’t?

We headed back to the tube around 11:30 and said bye. She initiated a cheek kiss and and wished me a good trip. I said I might give her a call on the weekend, more out of politeness really. I can’t remember what she said. Then we departed.

I felt at the end of the evening that a third date without an escalation was not good. I think she probably felt the same. I’m sure I would have kissed her tonight if I’d been attracted to her. But I just wasn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it at any point. I couldn’t even bring myself to give her a peck on the cheek when we met or pull her in close when we were walking down the river in the cold wind..

Sigh. I’m not sure how to play it. Should I just call it a day? The two week holiday coming up will be a good opportunity to break contact for a while and keep it broken when I return. Maybe I should take it while I can.

Church Crash

Nothing happened all day. Well, nothing worth noting. I sat around, or rather, lay around feeling physically drained looking at things on the Internet. Morbid fascination led me all over the place.

Decided around 4pm I would go out as much just to appear to have some semblance of a life to my housemates as for my own sanity. What was there to do on a Monday night? There was a trad Mass on in town. I hadn’t been to one for ages and I had planned on going to Mass on Sunday for similar reasons but didn’t make it in the end due to my inability to get up.

Crash

Oh, before I forget, I almost had an accident as well today – a car accident that is (I witnessed another “accident” of sorts in church later, but I’ll talk about that later).

Basically I headed out at 4pm to go and pick some bits and pieces up from Tesco. Turned out there were massive traffic jams all the way round the town so after spending 15 minutes gridlocked I decided to turn off. I signalled to move into the left lane then signalled to pull into the side street, but I forget that buses use the bus lane from time to time! Doh! The next thing I heard was the sound of a tires skidding across the road as the bus hurtled towards me. It was eerily quiet actually. No high pitched screeching, just the sound of a huge vehicle kind of sliding to a halt several meters to the left of me. I decided to quickly speed off up the road and not face the “consequences” – whatever they might have been. To my surprise rather than feeling rattled, I started laughing! How strange I am. I was shaken a little bit, but not nearly as much as I should have been. I think the excitement kind of took hold and it was a welcome change from the utter lack of excitement of the last 10 years of my life. It’s interesting, something similar happened in 2000 when I locked myself out of my house and had to go on a little adventure to try and find a ladder, knock on neighbour’s doors and climb through windows.

Church

So anyhow, I headed out again at about 5:45. The Mass began at 6:30 so I was running stupidly late. And the reason? Once again I had to virtually go through my entire wardrobe before I found an “ensemble” that I was happy with. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything just looked bad. I couldn’t handle brown trousers mixed with black, grey with black, grey with a blue shirt. In the end I decided I couldn’t handle any colour combination and settled on all black – black coat, shirt, trousers, shoes, socks and bag.

Because I was so late I decided to attempt driving again, but the traffic was still mental, so had to leave my car near the chinese on the main road about 10 minutes walk away from the tube station. Once I got to Leicester Square I quickly headed over to the church weaving through the people obstacles littering up the pavement. Surprisingly the whole journey didn’t take that long – I was only 10 minutes late in the end.

Mass

The Mass was an unmoving experience. I found myself feeling angry with people around me and the priest and the ministers in the sanctuary. Also because I was late I didn’t get much chance to choose where I was sat and I ended up sitting right in front of a tramp who had found his way in there off the street. He stunk of piss, but I though I could handle the smell at first. He kept mumbling, falling in and out of sleep and sort of half singing to himself when the priest sung anything. Then, to my utter disgust, he started to piss himself. I could hear the sound of it splashing on the floor and the smell was horrendous. But it was weird, no one around seemed to notice. Either they took it as a penance, they were deaf/lacked a sense of smell, or they were so deep in prayer they didn’t notice. I think it was probably a combination of all three. Anyhow, me not being a real Catholic and all and just being here for the vibes, I had to move and ended up behind some pillar on the right side of the church. The church building was one of those old ones where no thought appears to have gone into making the sanctuary visible from 50% of the building. Crazy.

Anyhow, other than the homeless church pisser the only other things worth noting were the thoughts going through my head about the other people at mass and the priest and servers. I just couldn’t concentrate on anything remotely spiritual. I found myself nitpicking the errors of the servers – ‘he shouldn’t have done that’, ‘why does that man think he knows everything when he so clearly doesn’t', ‘these people are play-acting’, ‘the thurifer is supposed to accompany the MC and the priest at the altar during the incensation’ etc. Then I found myself nitpicking the people around me. There was a man in front of me who seemed to rather enjoy making all the server responses aloud in a spoken voice just loud enough for everyone around to hear. Why I ask myself? To show off that he “knows his mass”? Or it just innocent force of habit? I think probably a bit of both, but even in that diluted state such displays still sicken me. And it wasn’t just the Latin, there were all the gestures he had to make just at the right moment or as he preferred just slightly too early so as to telegraph that he knew exactly where he was in the Mass and this was all old hat to such a pious experienced soul as him. Again, sickening. He wasn’t the only one mind, there were other people around making similar displays. The effect it had was one of self-consciousness on me. I worried I was doing things a little too deliberately: Was I pulling out my missal just to prove that I have one and am therefore a “real deal” trad Cath? Was I standing and kneeling a little too attentively and therefore just showing off? Was I watching the altar a little too much thereby telegraphing inexperience at all of this? Ugh. It was just ugly. And how much of it was just made up in my head? Maybe that poor man was just innocent. Maybe I was just some kind of angry demon in the midst of these good people.

I stuck anyway. Didn’t feel any compulsion to pray. Wasn’t moved by the ceremony remotely. In fact even the music which usually moves me had no effect – all I thought was that the singers did a bad job. But I stuck around anyway just to kill time. After Mass I remained in my pew for 15 mins or so contemplating informing the “head MC” about the homeless pisser. I played the ensuing conversation through my mind and imagined him being typically breezy with me so didn’t bother.

To kill a bit more time after headed out of church, I decided to take a look in Waterstones. I hung around there a bit. Contemplated buying Thomas Crean’s ‘A Catholic Replies’ book written in response to Dawkins. I didn’t in the end as it was 9 quid.

After Waterstones I decided to head to China town where I got conned into buying a rice wrap thingy for 2.50 when the assistant had said it was 1.50.

After China Town I decided to walk home down the Southbank before getting on a tube at London Bridge. Walking back I felt ridiculously self-conscious so I decided to record my “automatic thoughts” on my mobile so that I could listen to them back at home later and write a CBT thought record.

On the way back from the tube I called Cor and organised meeting up tomorrow night with her. I really wasn’t feeling it though. I am just not attracted to her, it’s a simple as that. I keep getting these flashes of that first meeting we had going through my mind, of seeing her and feeling disappointed about her appearance. Then the image of tying to kiss her with those hideous teeth went through my mind. Yuck. But then I am faced with the dilemma of calling it quits. But if I do that I think I’ll miss the feeling of being wanted and I’ll feel completely lonely again. It’s nice to have some company, or at least the option of some female company on a lonely night.

Shops, beach

Decided to get out of the house today so decided to go down to the shops at Freeport to see what bargains I could pick up. As soon as I left the front door I realised I hadn’t got a key to get back in so called mum up at work and she told me I’d have to go to town to dad’s shop to get a key off him.

I headed into Blackpool and parked up. Wow, amazing to actually be in the centre of town and be able to drive with no bus lanes to avoid, no weird road  signs all over the place, no one way systems and every other kind of obstacle and inconvenience conceivable in my way. And to think I used to think Blackpool town centre was mayhem when I was learning to drive.

Wandered through the centre quickly. Felt self-conscious but not as bad as I used to. I still felt like an outsider at this point, had my London mentality on. Went to dad’s shop and got the key after an awkward little exchange with father involving him asking me pointless questions in an attempt to look like we were having a conversation like “normal people” in front of his work colleagues.  No, dad, I don’t need a new key cutting. I have a key at home, I just left it there. Yes yes, I’m very pleased there is a key cutter nextdoor, that’s great.

Anyway stuck around the shop for a while trying on a few designer frames. I need a new trendier thick frame I think. I saw a guy at a job interview with a pair like this a few weeks ago and he looked cool. I’d always thought they looked a bit poncy and ugly until then, but he looked good in them.

Felt incredibly self-conscious in the shop especially with the presence of these young teenagers. Stuck around anyway and tried on a few pairs and tried to talk myself into feeling less self-conscious – “I can’t live my life in fear of other’s opinions like this… this is stupid… if I stick around the anxiety will subside shortly… ” etc.

Headed back to my car after about 30 minutes. Had to walk through town past some hoodies. Wow there’s a lot round here, I thought. I only left 3 months ago but I don’t remember the whole hoodie thing haven’t been that big then – they were still doing the whole caps and shaven head thing. Felt my anxiety overloading – hyperventilation as I walked. Quickly got in my car and drove to Fleetwood.

After going past my old prison (old flat) and fuelling up in the service station next door that I used to go to when I’d get munchies in the night I arrived at Freeport. I Felt self-conscious wandering around there for some reason, I aways do – “people must be looking at me… I stand out… I look too poncy for this area…” These were the kind of thoughts going through my mind.

Anyway, it was refreshing to meet some reasonably friendly shop assistants after being in London for 3 months. I decided to buy a couple of thin jumper top thingys. All the tops I’ve been wearing in London of late have been dress shirts and more dress shirts, I have nothing else, so these tops seemed to be a good buy. It’s important to look good at the moment and have more variety for the girl I’m dating at the moment more than anything.

On the way out I felt less self-conscious and decided to window shop in a few of the other shops. For some reason I always feel less self-conscious coming out of the place, I don’t know whether it’s because I just spent some time in there and have adapted or because I am aware that I am about to leave. Anyhow, found a shoe shop with a pair of black suede boot type things that were neither too smart nor too casual. God damn it, I searched all over London for a pair of shoes that combined the best of both worlds but couldn’t find them and here up on god forsaken Fleetwood I find a pair. Oh well, I couldn’t part with another £45 so decided I might come back tomorrow again after sleeping on it. A friendly women in the shop spoke to me. Wow, I thought, I must look normal.

Headed down to my old prison again. It looked the same as before. Strange place. Then went to the beach to have a look at a ship that’s supposed to have been stuck there for the past few months.

Driving was a pain today. I think since living in London I have lost the joy of driving. Anyway parked up and hit someone’s bumper slightly. Oh well. I’d be driving off in a minute and there was no noticeable damage.

Took a look at the beach. Wow, wonderful to feel that breath in that fresh air after London, even if it was shitty turd-infested Cleveleys waters. The ship looked strange out there in the distance. I took a couple of pics on my cam that turned out nice.

I felt self-conscious on the beach. I would have liked to have walked up and down there a bit more but the self-consciousness married with the cold wind meant that I got back in my car after 10 minutes or so. At this point I had slipped back into Cleveleys mentality. I was no longer a Londoner visiting Cleveleys, I felt very much like I lived here again. It’s amazing how quickly this happened.

I drove down the sea front and noticed they had rebuilt the entire shoreline and it looked really posh! Amazing. I wanted to take a look and a wander down but couldn’t find anywhere else to park. Oh well, I’ll come back tomorrow I thought.

Headed home. Became struck by feeling disconnected from everything. I feel disconnected in London and disconnected here, I thought. And I like to be in the cocoon of my car. Strange. Maybe it’s because I am so full of fear when I am out there in the streets. Maybe I prefer being in my car because the windscreen separates me from the outside world. It’s like looking into an aquarium or something. And I can always speed off if any trouble starts. Yes, that’s it! I’m sure of it!

Did some exercise that night. Wow, I’m incredibly weak now. I can’t even do 90lb lat pulls. I could always do those. And I can’t even bend down to dead lift. My legs scream in pain when I try and stay bended… Depressing.

Did some more practice. Trumpet sounds better when I blow flat I discovered. Still can’t get that whole focused sound thing going though.

Drove back up North

Decided a few days ago I would drive back up North to parents’ house this week as I needed my mini disc player, trumpet mutes, a desk chair and some of my mum’s cooking.

Set off around 1:30pm and arrived back around 6pm. It takes so god damn long to get out of London. Even though I went through Shorditch and North London this time it still took around and hour and a half.

The drive wasn’t too bad. I had my laptop plugged in for part of the journey and listened to the Russell Brand Show. The BBC website hadn’t made it available to download yet so I had to play the pre-recorded show through my laptop. I nearly had a crash at one point – going 70 down the middle lane while trying to click a tiny icon isn’t probably the best idea.

The rest of the journey I spent listening to some sacred choral music programme from the BBC on Palestrina and Bach. After listening to that I couldn’t stomach Sly & the Family Stone or any of the other funky stuff I’d downloaded lately to my MP3 player, so had to content myself with my Bach collection for the 150,000’s time. As much as I love the B Minor Mass and the Magnificat etc. at the moment I am dying for something new.

So arrived home at 6. Dad greeted me enthusiastically. Erm, excuse me, father, can you not remember that we don’t get along? You remember the last 28 years don’t you? You were a cunt and I had to put up with you remember? Silly man. I’m sure he half expected me to reciprocate his friendliness. Instead I just mumbled hello and looked at the floor as I entered the house and plonked down my bags. I never make eye contact with him.

We ate dinner together – my mum’s bland chinese food. She made white rice for some reason. She must be slipping from the healthy ways I instilled in her. Had a conversation about nothing interesting – finances and failed job searches in London, I think. They didn’t ask me about all the bands I’ve been playing in lately, the buggers.

The rest of the night I spent in front of my laptop hidden away upstairs in my old room (I slipped back into my former ways like a glove) and downstairs in the kitchen doing some trumpet practice. I was planning on doing some weights tonight too – that was also part of the reason for coming back (trying to get back in shape before going to join a gym down south) – but I was too tired… or lazy, I’m not sure which.

Pop band #2

Today was a waste of fucking time.

So they organised a rehearsal for 12:30. I didn’t set off until the last minute as usual so was late. As I was driving there I decided out of courtesy to text and let them know I was stuck in traffic. Immediately I received a call back to say “Oh sorry, we’re stuck in traffic too. We’ll be there at 2pm – really sorry, probably best if you go home and then come back.”

Fucking bullshit. Why didn’t she call this morning? Total balls.

So anyway went back and filled up the car for tomorrow’s planned journey back up North. Then went home for a minute and cooked up some beans and headed out again.

When I finally got to the rehearsal studios there was no where to park. Turns out it was all Permit holders only. I had to find a spot on a meter which was miles down the road.

Anyhow to cut a long story short, trombone didn’t turn up, there was no bass, just the guitarist and singer. I was playing a lot of splits and they seemed unimpressed. But they didn’t seem to realise that one trumpet playing horn lines sounds shit anyway.

Anyhow, later on had problems with my car. Was shitting myself. I struggled to park it down this road about 5 times. Nearly reversing it up into trees and onto curbs. Right mess. My legs were shaking. It wouldn’t start, then when it did start it kept revving up on its own! Weird! Managed to get home anyway.

Saw neighbour tonight for the first time in weeks. We had a fairly good interaction so all my worries again proved wrong! Talked about the girl moving out, going out to cinema again, music, jobs, festivals, holidays. He seemed to be bouncing off me more and enjoying my company a bit more. Eye contact issues though.

Date #2

So I texted the girl I met the other week off gumtree on Friday night. I left it right up to the very last minute as I still couldn’t decide whether to pursue her or not. In the end I thought why take the easy option again? So went ahead and texted. I didn’t feel any strong compulsion to though. In fact quite the opposite. I guess I just don’t fancy her at all.

Anyway, it took her till the following day to reply. I guess she must have gone to bed last night. So I received a reply back while I was in the middle of meeting the jazz guy at the band. I texted something back to say we should meet in town later in the afternoon.

So sure enough, after the band I headed back home to move my car, quickly freshen up then head back into town. I’d heard there was a Banksy exhibition in town and it was free. So that sounded like something worth doing. So I organised to meet her nearby so that we could go there. I wasn’t sure what we’d do after that I was just going to play it by ear.

I felt decidedly unprepared this time around. I hadn’t read any PUA material for a couple of weeks and I didn’t really have my “game” firmly in hand. I’ll talk more about that at the end.

Anyway, so we finally met up after some logistical errors at the tube station and headed off to the exhibition. I was feeling really weak actually as I’d only got a few hours kip last night and only eaten a small sandwich for lunch. I soldiered on anyway and tried not to show my discomfort even though I felt like collapsing or running to Greg’s to stuff my face with 20 pies. When we were walking down the street I was aware of a really bad vomit smell coming from somewhere. I thought at first it was coming from the street, but it just kept lingering. I thought, oh god, did she vomit herself or is that her god damn perfume mingling with street stink???! Confusing and off-putting.

So the exhibition was alright. It was a bit of a squeeze though. We just kind of joined a queue and had to shuffle around two small little living room-sized galleries. Most of the stuff I’d seen already on the internet and it wasn’t much to look at. Just poppy throw-away art really. I didn’t really know what to say to her and I felt too self-conscious in case others overheard me sounding like a cretin, so I just kept silent mostly and saved my opinions for later. I felt I should have been demonstrating more personality here.

When we got out I decided to take her to a local “traditional” pub as we kind of had a running joke about both liking unpretentious establishments with hygiene issues. Damn it was a bit busy in there. No seats. I felt I was going to faint so I ordered a couple of drinks which she paid for (she owed me apparently… I wasn’t going to complain – anti-wuss that I am) and got some nuts which I tried to eat slowly in an attempt to conceal my starvation.

The conversation was going badly in the pub to start with. I felt so faint, tired, and hungry and I didn’t really know what to say. So I just kept eating nuts and apologised saying this was my breakfast brunch and lunch.

We spoke a little in there. Lots of silence, awkward from my point of view, but maybe that’s just me. Then I decided we should really move on. So I suggested dinner in china town as that’s the only place I know really.

She agreed so we headed down that way. I explained where we were and took her down the main street telling her it wasn’t much of a “town”. There always seems to be a lot of whining and negativity in our interactions. I was aware of this, but still I kept seeming to go down that route conversationally. Agh.

Anyway, so we found this place and got seats right away so all was good. I ordered duck same as her. Mistake really as this showed I was influenced by her choice and secondly because the duck was full of bones which I had to keep spitting out every 2 minutes. There were bones all over the place. I don’t know how she ate hers so successfully. There didn’t appear to be any bones left on the table on her side!

So the conversation was a bit stale again. I felt I was asking a lot of questions and then making statements myself, but not rewarding her for good statements, not keno escalating or anything and I felt it was all a bit one-sided – she didn’t ask me anything!

So we stuck around there for a while and then decided to head to one other pub where we had two or three pints more. We managed to find this Irish place which was actually really good as the music level was low and it wasn’t super busy – although we couldn’t find any seats for a while and just ended up bar propping.

Again boring conversation. I was struggling for material. But I thought maybe getting her a bit pissed would aid the situation and possibly also aid my situation. After an hour or so I went for a piss and when I came we managed to get a seat. At this point she finally started asking me questions about interesting stuff. “How many women are throwing themselves at you at the moment then?”

I must have been doing something right for her to think this. I perked up a bit and tried to banter back with her a little. I tried to play it coy like I wasn’t going to say. She smiled but didn’t press me. Then I changed the subject to her. It turned out she had met two other blokes off gumtree but she was keen to point out it was purely platonic.

Then she revealed the thing about the vomit smell that had been accompanying us all night. Apparently it was her handbag that she’d bought at some market in Saudi or somewhere. It had “assumed” the stink of the market somehow but she loved it anyway. She said “this was a point of discussion all morning” or something along those lines. “I couldn’t decide whether to bring it, but my flatmate said I should as it would be a benchmark – if I still contacted you after tonight with the stinking bag then I was definitely IN THERE.”

Well, this was telling. Whether she had done this on purpose or by mistake I don’t know. But I took it to mean that she had worried about what I would think of her enough to discuss it with her flatmate and friends and that she waned to get “in there” with me.

So anyway, I ballsed up again and didn’t follow this up. I don’t know where the conversation went after this, but I ended up trying to finish my drink quickly and she started to tell me “no don’t rush” – another sign I thought: she wanted me to stay around with her longer even though things seemed to be going badly, at least in my mind.

So finally we headed out at midnight to get the tube. She had kept moaning since we left the restaurant about losing her train ticket, part of me wondered whether she was making this up along with trying to get me to stay out longer so that she could miss her train and have to come back with me. Well, now was make or break moment. Turned out she decided to buy a new ticket so that was the end of that.

I walked her down to her tube line and by this point I really felt some physical contact needed to take place. So as we said our goodbyes I put out my arm for a hug, and she kind of thought I was going to shake her hand, but somehow we managed to hug and I went to kiss her on the cheek. She reciprocated but instead of a one-armed hug she went for both arms and kissed me on the cheek full on. Dunno if this meant anything. Was she going for my lips? Was this the tension in her bubbling over?

Anyway after that headed home. She accidentally took my umbrella, so I texted her to tease her about stealing it. She texted something back in uncharacteristically garbled English along the lines of “it was all part of my big plan…” Another IOI???

So anyway, lots of mistakes to learn from. In summary:

1. Didn’t greet her with a kiss. So wasn’t warm. Didn’t keno escalate.
2. Wasn’t leading enough.
3. Wasn’t escalating the conversation with question/reward/statement.
4. I let things peter out. I should have stayed out for two productive hours rather than stretching it out to six unfocused hours.
5. Not enough “I” statements and stories. Too short.
6. Acting too concerned with her opinions and thoughts. She probably thought I was a mac daddy after the first meet and now suddenly I was a bit of a wuss.
7. Not nearly enough ball-breaking cocky-comedy. There was no tension and no playfulness.

So lots to learn from.

Good band(s)!

Well yesterday was probably one of the best days of recent memory! I proved myself wrong again as I very nearly sabotaged the whole thing by making negative predictions about how everything would turn out. But, thankfully, I stuck in there anyway reminding myself that my predictions might very well be wrong as they have been so often.

So I was playing with the afrobeat band a few weeks ago and one of the guys there, a really nice player, mentioned that he was playing with the national youth outfit. Apparently you could just go along and play without auditioning, and he suggested that I should go seeing as they were always asking for more trumpet players. The only problem? You have to be under 26, but so what. I can still pass for 19.

So I decided to head along there yesterday. On the way there I very nearly turned back – “oh, it’s too late”, “it’s going to be a disaster”, “everyone will be looking at me”, “I’ll look like an idiot” etc. But surprisingly I was not anxious at all in the 30 minutes leading up to arriving there. I kept wondering when the anxiety would kick in. Finally it did around 15 minutes from arriving. I popped a couple of beta blockers and soldiered on reminding myself “I have been wrong in the past, these are only predictions, it is likely not to turn out as bad as I think.” How right I was!

So when I got there, there was some kid, probably about 15, playing alto sax like a demon. Running all over the instrument like it was nothing to him. I’m sure he would have embarrassed most of the old timers I used to play with in the North. Then there was some young trumpet player practising in the corner with his mute doing something similar. I didn’t know exactly what to do when I arrived there, and I was distinctly aware of being quite a lot older than these kids. Nevertheless I stuck around. Decided to pick up my trumpet and blow a few long notes and lip flexibilities to try and warm up. God I was tense. Couldn’t do anything slow. I had to play fast runs (badly). Eventually managed to gain some composure and played some longish notes.

So everyone finally arrived. It became clear that there was a lot of doubling going on in the band – mostly the saxes were doubled up, but the trumpets were thin on the ground – just me and the jazz guy and a little girl who wasn’t really playing, just tagging along. The other trumpet player asked me if I’d help with getting the stands so I did. He was really friendly, shook my hand and introduced himself and smiled and seemed like a really humble cool guy. That instantly put me at ease – I had someone to talk to!

So they handed out the parts and me and the other guy both admitted to not being lead players “at all” which put me at ease even more – I was worried there would be a lot of high note egotism. So we decided to switch parts around. I think I played lead on the first chart which went pretty well. The trumpet player launched into a solo and it was fucking phenomenal. The guy could really get around the instrument, he had a really fat warm sound and wasn’t shy using his range and agility. The sax player soloed like a beast and so did the trombone player. At this point I thought, “shit I don’t want any solos – I’ll make an idiot out of myself.”

Anyhow one of the next numbers had a big extended trumpet solo in it. I decided to go for it and it went pretty well – must have been easy chords. I got around them okay, even though I wasn’t following them exactly. The other trumpet player seemed to dig what I, head-bobbing and so on, and the trombone player looking round to see who I was. I felt pretty good!

We kept on running through stuff. All charts of a pretty high standard – the kind of stuff the old boys in the rehearsal bands in the North would have been struggling and complaining about. But these kids just go on with it! In terms of range it was stuff going up to Ds and occasionally a little higher. The jazz guy drew the short straw it would seem and ended up playing most of the more taxing stuff, and he did a fine job. No lead player? He was doing fucking well as far as I could tell.

I really enjoyed playing with the band, even though they were just kids. The standard was high and the charts were a good challenge too. Not too difficult, but not to easy either. I was aware the second band, the higher level band, were coming in and going into the next room to start their rehearsal. I was worried about them seeing me stood next to a little 12-year-old girl and an 18-year-old on my right and wondering, “who the fuck is this guy?” I hoped whats-his-face from the North West wouldn’t see me. Thankfully he was not there.

So as it turned out the main band’s trumpet players hadn’t turned up. Well, only two had. I could hear them practising in the other room, and it sounded like some serious screaming was going on in there. Anyhow, the main bandleader came in during our break and asked three of us to go and join in to cover the main parts in the main band. So we headed in there. Frightening standard. I understood now why the other trumpet player said he wasn’t a lead player at all if he was comparing himself to the guy playing lead in the main band. Frightening player. Just peeling paint with the volume he was producing and playing up into the gods effortlessly it would seem. He even pissed on all the old timers in the North whom I used to marvel at. I’m not sure how old he was, maybe 20? As for the rest of the band. A similarly frightening standard. Sax players running crazily all over the instrument, driving rhythm, tight trombones. And the charts they were playing were insane. Black pages with tempos exceeding 200bpm. Strangely the second trumpeter in there was hardly making a noise though. Seemed very lacking in confidence. At first I thought he and the lead were playing blindingly in sync but it turned out the lead was pretty much the only trumpet player there, which was all the more frightening. This kind of player must have been the kind they expected on the ships.

So I stuck around in the main band for the next hour or so filling in the 3rd and 4th parts while screamer boy continued to peel the paint – always a bit boring. When the main band took their break we headed back into the other band and resumed playing there. Jeez, how was my lip holding up to this kind of punishment? I still felt pretty strong! And I hadn’t even played properly for the past 3/4 months.

We played a few nice charts including a Nestico arrangement of Satin Doll which I’d done before. I had a solo and was really hitting some of the changes. The other trumpet players (now two – another young guy arrived later, he was friendly too, not much of an ego, a really good reader, could play jazz okay and had a strong confident style) really seemed to dig what I played – whooping after I finished etc. That felt great! I was tense though and I never know what to do when people do that. Should I look at them and smile or what? Whatever. I was too tense to look up so just kind of looked down – they probably thought I was a miserable git. No hold on that’s mind reading. I don’t know what they thought.

We played some more charts. Eventually a funk thing was stuck in front of me with a pretty high trumpet part. Mostly going up to D and with couple of bit going up to F. I couldn’t believe it. For the first two pages (it was 5 pages) I was really riding the lead part out. I don’t know if it was the acoustic of the room or the support of the other trumpeters or what, but I was just sitting on top of the band really powerfully. But ack! I could feel my lip going after page two and by the time I got the end I had nothing left to give. Couldn’t get up about G! Oh well, I don’t think it was noticeable as the other trumpeters were blowing like crazy.

After that we went back into the main band for an extra hour – so I played in total from 10 right through to 2! Jesus! The other band again was a bit boring. Playing 3rd and 4th parts quietly and tentatively under this insane lead player. Everyone seemed to get timid in there. No one wanted to stick out and make mistakes. And i noticed people WERE making mistakes in there such as jazz boy even though he was reading good in the other band. Evidently guys like this lead shake other trumpeters up.

At the end of the rehearsal the old boy in charge said I and this other guy there needed to fill in a sheet to say who we were, give our details etc. and get a photo taken. I thought I’d rather go home and think about it before throwing myself in and making up fake dates of birth. So I decided to make a sharp exit.

Headed back home. I felt really good! Happy, bouncy! Amazing really. I wasn’t bothered about people bumping into me on the tube or whatever. I was just feeling good! When I got back, I took my car which I’d parked on the petrol station and went to Tesco to get a quick sandwich. Well, it looked like someone had disapproved of me parking on the petrol station this time as they’d put bollards all round my car! I just moved them out the way and quickly drove off.

What is groove?

Just found this amazing description of groove…

Groove Concept and Development

No single phrase sums up the essence of bass playing better than “the groove.” Those who have it live by it, those in ned of it seek it out like the Holy Grail. But what exactly is groove? The word “groove” is often used to describe a rhythmic style, as in “shuffle groove” or “funk groove.” Another definition is a bit more ethereal: “Groove is the energetic force created by an individual or group of musicians through the act of playing.” This energy is what makes people bob their heads, tap their toes, and shake their booties. Although this definition implies the presence of a steady pulse (as in dance-orientated music), groove can also be present in forms such as classical music in which tempos may vary at the direction of a conductor. If we accept that groove is energy, then it is essentially the life force behind music. It is not bound to strict tempo, but it is more often linked to it. Time and groove are not necessarily the same thing: It is possible to kep strict metronomic time but not groove. it is also possible to rush or drag the time a bit within a tune and still not groove hard…

The groove is an enigma. You can’t touch it, but you can feel it. you can’t see it, but you can watch its effects. It can be powerful enough to move thousands of people, but you can kill it in an instant with one stray thought. When people play together and groove, the energy is transmitted among the musicians and opens up a group link to its source. Everyone feels it, and the experience forms deep personal bonds. The energy exchange creates a euphoric state that all musicians have experienced, either as listeners or players. When the chill runs up your spine, it’s the groove – the reason we play. On the other hand, when the groove isn’t happening or gets sabotaged by ego or carelessness, it can turn brother against brother, create tension that will break up a band, get someone fired, ruin reputations. The groove is serious business. It is something to honour, serve, and protect. If you mess with it, you’re in deep trouble.

Excerpt from chapter 2 of Bass Grooves by Ed Friedland.

Nephew

Got woken up on Wednesday by some workers on the ship yard nearby. God knows what they were doing. Ended up having to go back to bed till about 2pm. However, I’d organised to go to my sister’s at 3:30pm so had to get out quick. Decided to drive to the tube station and risk parking on the petrol station forecourt. There are no signs or anything which say you can’t and I’ve seen the petrol station workers parking there and even a coach the other day, so I thought I might as well risk it. Turns out it was okay.

So, went to see nephew while my sister and husband fix up their new house. I just kind of sat and played with him for a while on the floor. I always feel sad when I’m with him. Most people feel happy when they see little babies. But I don’t just see a baby, I see time passing quickly. I see myself looking back at this moment in the future when I’m old and he’s grown up and remembering “remember when he was a baby? Why does time pass so fast?” God. Also I look at him and feel kind of sad because he’s so innocent and soon that’ll all change. He’ll probably grow up to have problems and difficulties. He might become arrogant or a smartass or he might end up like me suffering from depression and anxiety and screwing his life up. At one point I became a little teary-eyed.

After staying with him for an hour or so these thoughts seemed to go a little. I just started to enjoy his company a little more. I’m not exactly sure what to do with babies. They don’t play exactly, they just sit there and pick the toys up and then throw them down. Also, I just want to cuddle him, but he doesn’t like that so much. He wants to sit and bash things. At one point I sat him up and he fell down and started crying. Poor bugger.

Stayed a bit longer at sister’s. Haven’t been round for ages. Wasn’t really in the mood for them to be honest and I thought they would get that vibe from me and think I was a miserable bugger who brought a rain cloud into their house every time I came over. But actually I was proven wrong again. We had a bit of a joke at the table and my mood was lightened and it ended up being a pleasant little visit.

Spoke to the bass player on the phone briefly about the soul band from the previous night too. He’s a friendly guy. It’s interesting how I can just seem to get along pretty easily with some people, but with others there is a kind of awkwardness. The phone is always the best test. If you can get along on the phone then that’s a sure sign you click well. But how much is it all in my mind? Do I sabotage interactions with others by assuming I cannot get along with them thereby creating awkwardness myself? Maybe the only reason I seem to get along with this guy is because he kind of reminds me of some old friends thereby making me more relaxed and less guarded which in turn has the effect of making the whole interaction smoother.