Off Message

Not really. But apparently Switzerland has invaded Liechtenstein. By mistake. Oops.

Looking at Liechtenstein, it actually seems like a pretty good country to invade. No army, population of only 34,000, great economy, nice clean place. Everyone speaks German, but we can soon rectify that. Hmm. I might get a mercenary invasion force together and install myself as Liechtenstein’s new ruler. Maybe I’ll don a suit of mechanised armour too. And change the country’s name to Latveria.

Kneel before Jones!

I think I had a dream about this blog again last night. I never really remember my dreams – usually only snatches of them at best. I dimly recall this one being about having some kind of responsibility to my readership, which had got inflated in my head, mixed in with guilt about picking on the poor guy who sent in his book proposal, and a more vague sense of inadequacy. It was certainly a panicky sort of dream, and I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like I’d done or said something terrible. And I probably have, to all sorts of people.

So I’d just like to take this opportunity to apologise to anyone I might have offended over the years with a thoughtless remark. Doubtless I was likely doing my usual thing of aping something someone else has said without even thinking about what it is I’m saying. I do that sometimes, and it annoys me that I do. I think it’s to do with a lack of confidence, or maybe an unpleasant desire to please. But it’s pretty mindless and inexcusable, whatever it is.

Luckily, the log cabin guy will almost certainly never read this blog, so in his case, fuck it.

I really like the word ’shit’. Not just as a swear word, although it’s pretty handy in that respect, both on its own and in conjunction with other words: shitbird, shithead, fuck shit wanker. No, the reason I like it is it’s a pretty punchy word even when you’re not using it to curse. It’s endearingly blunt. I’m gonna take a shit. I got shitfaced last night. That’s good shit. Shit happens. Shit the bed. Shit in your mouth you stinky horseshit motherfucker.

Okay, that last one might be swearing still.

Going to gigs is getting embarrassing. I saw the Maccabees, GoodBooks, Tokyo Police Club and Fear of Flying last night, and seemingly the only people in the venue older than me were the bands’ parents. On top of that, most of the bands were young enough to have at least been sired by me, if not raised. We had a look at the merchandise stall on the way out, and the lead singer of GoodBooks, Max, was slumped on the table. Rachel got him to sign a free CD (which he inscribed with the legend “I’m pissed”), but he seemed so drunk and lost I felt like a concerned uncle standing there. He can’t be much older than my 15-year-old nephew.

Maybe it’s time to stop going to gigs. Maybe.