It's around this time of year that I traditionally question my sanity. I've done this every year for the last four years because, for the last four years, I've been living on a boat.
It was actually my brother who suggested it. I'd split up from my son's mother and found myself with very little cash and no home. My sister put me up for a few weeks and my brother rang me to see how I was doing. During the course of the conversation, he quipped: "You should buy a houseboat, mate!" And, in hindsight, I can see he was joking; I'm the least technical, practical and self-sufficient person I know.
"Hooray!" I thought, as pictures of Rosie and Jim flooded through my mind. "The answer to all my problems!"
So, for the next few days, I trawled the Internet, looking for houseboats for sale. The problem with checking out Internet ads is that they only show lovely pictures of your chosen item and, in this case, in sunny weather. The fantasy was underway: I could see myself living like third-rate David Essex, befriending ducks, cuddling swans and generally having a high old time. It was going to be tranquil and relaxing; the perfect picture of peace.
Without further ado, I booked in some appointments and, full of nautical optimisim, went to go and see some boats.
The only prior experience I'd had with boats was a swan-shaped pedalo on Exmouth Boating Pond, when I was about five. And although the water was only a couple of feet deep, it terrified me. Amazingly, my brain decided to put a gagging order on this particular memory during the whole process: I was going to become a Gentleman of the River!
The first boat I saw was an absolute heap. Even with my zero experience, I could see that it was in bad nick and overpriced. No disrespect to anyone with a narrow boat, but it would have been like living in a train carriage. And it rocked when you walked and that unsettled me. But, brimming with naivety, I decided to continue with my quest.
Over the next two days, I think I saw about 16 - 20 boats, all in varying states of disrepair. Some of them were vaguely habitable but, being brutally honest, a lot of the owners put me off. It wasn't that they were nasty people, most of them were very nice and helpful. The thing was that they all seemed to be a bit mad and all had some story to tell, generally about how the hell they ended up living on a boat. And I didn't want to hear that, so I sort of tuned it out. Probably because I was starting to feel a bit mad, but didn't want to admit it. During that 48 hours, I met recovering alcoholics, a newly-emerged transsexual, divorcees and a guy with possibly the worst dental hygene I've ever seen outside of toothpaste adverts. Don't get me wrong; it was probably my frail mental state at the time that exaggerated these people into lurid cartoon characters, but I was still determined to find my new floating home.
It was during the failing daylight one Sunday in March that I shuffled despondently into a riverside broker's yard and announced my intent to by a houseboat. If only I'd known at the time what those knowing nods actually meant.
To be continued...
Tuesday 29 November 2011
Monday 28 November 2011
Heroes - Keith Richards
Keith, Keef, The Human Riff etc, etc. What is it about him? Even his haters seem to doff the cap at some point. And which era Keef is your favourite? The 60's moddish scarecrow Keef, the gaunt, haunted, broken-toothed Keef of the 70's, dark, brooding leopard-skin print Keef of the 80's, the too-much-eyeliner Keef of the 90's, the what's-that-in-your-hair Keef of the Noughties or the chumbly old pirate of 2011?
You'd want Keith on your side in a fight: he's known to have carried a variety of knives, packed a shooter and even whacked someone with a Telecaster. He talks the talk, but backs it up with some very large strides. Even now he looks like someone you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of. But what is it about him?
The music's a huge part of his charm, from the jangling intros to such classics as Jumpin' Jack Flash, to the weary bar-room blues of later songs, like 'This Place is Empty'. Love 'em or loathe 'em, you can't say that Keith hasn't mastered his craft.
In his auotobiography, Keith reckons that there's one of him in all of us; a raging piratey-type looking to challenge authority and stick two fingers up to 'The Man'. And there's something in that, I think. He's a guy (or 'cat' in rock parlance) who's lived his life according to his rules and no-one else's. Even shaking hands with The Mouse and doing the whole Pirates thing was on his terms; you can't accuse him of not being true to himself.
Maybe that's the attraction: Keith seems to be completely at home in his leathered, weathered skin. He's certainly been on a bit of a journey to get there - as Bill Hicks said " I picture nuclear war and see two things surviving: Keith and cockroaches." But perhaps, behind the layers of kohl, the smoky slur and the steam-train laughter, Keith's just a guy who tapped into himself and got happy. And plays the guitar pretty good.
You'd want Keith on your side in a fight: he's known to have carried a variety of knives, packed a shooter and even whacked someone with a Telecaster. He talks the talk, but backs it up with some very large strides. Even now he looks like someone you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of. But what is it about him?
The music's a huge part of his charm, from the jangling intros to such classics as Jumpin' Jack Flash, to the weary bar-room blues of later songs, like 'This Place is Empty'. Love 'em or loathe 'em, you can't say that Keith hasn't mastered his craft.
In his auotobiography, Keith reckons that there's one of him in all of us; a raging piratey-type looking to challenge authority and stick two fingers up to 'The Man'. And there's something in that, I think. He's a guy (or 'cat' in rock parlance) who's lived his life according to his rules and no-one else's. Even shaking hands with The Mouse and doing the whole Pirates thing was on his terms; you can't accuse him of not being true to himself.
Maybe that's the attraction: Keith seems to be completely at home in his leathered, weathered skin. He's certainly been on a bit of a journey to get there - as Bill Hicks said " I picture nuclear war and see two things surviving: Keith and cockroaches." But perhaps, behind the layers of kohl, the smoky slur and the steam-train laughter, Keith's just a guy who tapped into himself and got happy. And plays the guitar pretty good.
Friday 25 November 2011
It's Just a Ride
It's 20 years since I had the honour and lif-changing experience of seeing Bill Hicks live at the Dominion. I only went to see him because, a few months earlier, I'd staggered home from the pub and caught Live From the Fringe on Channel 4. Drunk as I was and eating hard-boiled eggs as I was (there was no other food in the house and I remembered Popeye Doyle ate them with salt in the French Connection - it made sense at the time), I knew I was watching Something Great and had the presence of mind to scribble his name down and put it on my noticeboard. Fast-forward a few weeks and there was a hoarding for the Dangerous Tour. So I went and was blown away.
Then came the CDs, the DVDs and the Revelations tour - but I missed that as I was working in Wales. But I told a notoriously stingy mate to buy two tickets, go, and if he didn't like it, I'd refund him the cash. Another convert.
There's like a sub-culture of Hicks-people; people who give you the nod when you're buying a CD or someone who drops a quote into conversation - everyone who knows wants everyone else to; just spreadin' the word. Occasionally, in the midst of a political or celebrity-based candal, you'll hear: "If only Bill was still around" or "Man, we need Bill."
If you know him, you know what I mean. If you don't, get out there and buy a CD or, better still, a DVD. I'm not going to offer to refund your cash: I won't need to.
"It's just a ride" - Bill Hicks, 1961 - 1994
Then came the CDs, the DVDs and the Revelations tour - but I missed that as I was working in Wales. But I told a notoriously stingy mate to buy two tickets, go, and if he didn't like it, I'd refund him the cash. Another convert.
There's like a sub-culture of Hicks-people; people who give you the nod when you're buying a CD or someone who drops a quote into conversation - everyone who knows wants everyone else to; just spreadin' the word. Occasionally, in the midst of a political or celebrity-based candal, you'll hear: "If only Bill was still around" or "Man, we need Bill."
If you know him, you know what I mean. If you don't, get out there and buy a CD or, better still, a DVD. I'm not going to offer to refund your cash: I won't need to.
"It's just a ride" - Bill Hicks, 1961 - 1994
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