tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73331640209693478722024-03-14T03:03:37.124+00:00One hundred days of haikuUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-12869092639671718462010-03-10T07:55:00.001+00:002010-03-10T07:56:42.595+00:00Day one hundred<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/65553020@N00/4420216054/" title=" by ac cleary, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2776/4420216054_6946c121c0.jpg" alt=" " height="500" width="375" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">You are not looking</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">At this. Please move along now.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">It's an illusion</span><br /><br />How very postmodern. So long.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-51449559775805822862010-03-09T09:19:00.006+00:002010-03-09T10:06:04.793+00:00Day ninety nine: I love you all<span style="font-family:arial;">So tomorrow is day 100. I already know what I'm going to post tomorrow, and it'll be quite short, so I'll write more now. I actually feel quite sad writing this, as this hundred days project has been a great thing to be part of. I signed up for it on a bit of a whim, and to be honest I thought that I probably wouldn't end up keeping it up, yet here I am. The thing that's kept me doing it is partly the lovely feedback on it I've got on here, on twitter and from friends, but also the amazing things that other people are doing, which have proven to be genuinely inspirational. From Dominic McKenna’s smiley photos, Ade Brown’s London walks, Jen Brubacher, dinky darko and So-Shan Au’s picturesque snapshots, Siobhan B’s lovely drawings, Edward Ross’ amazing cartoons, to James Clayton’s brilliant mythical creature haikus, Nicola Masters’ funny limericks, Lizzie Poulton’s devotion to plagiarism, Chrissy Williams’ new words (some of which I have been trying to work into my own vocabulary), Daniel Weir’s lego creations, Gemma Seltzer’s evocative tales of speaking to strangers and so many more. The name of this whole initiative is 'a hundred days to make me a better person', and I genuinely think that the little community that's built up around it has helped to make us better people in some small way. And this is what I have to say to you all:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">What a creative,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />Lovely, funny, heartwarming</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />Bunch you really are<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">I hope to meet lots of you at the party tomorrow night.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-32422074379467992502010-03-08T10:38:00.002+00:002010-03-08T10:53:02.559+00:00Day ninety eight: London LovesExcellent weekend this weekend (though I'm feeling it this morning). There's something I've loved about London for a while, but experienced it in action this weekend, where you're walking somewhere unfamiliar and think you may have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but then discover something great, whether it be a lovely cafe, a picturesque park, an amazing piece of architecture, or an appealing pub. Of course London's not the only place where this is the case, but it definitely applies here.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">My favourite aspect</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Of London is that you are</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Never really lost</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-66866282599559888192010-03-07T09:24:00.003+00:002010-03-07T09:41:33.305+00:00Day ninety seven: a big helloTo anyone who's come here after reading the hundred days article in the Independent on Sunday, firstly hello! And also, about my blog:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">It's not all talking</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">About work. I also talk</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">About Masterchef</span><br /><br />I'm an exciting guy. I do sometimes wonder what the pioneers of haiku, these deep thinkers who would compose concise meditations on the nature of the world, would think if they saw me counting out syllables on my fingers while writing about badgers. They probably wouldn't be too happy about it. Oh well.<br /><br />This is my current favourite song:<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AIjTBTZmIfg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AIjTBTZmIfg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-5988086931111196062010-03-06T11:03:00.004+00:002010-03-06T11:23:33.031+00:00Day ninety six: better, better, beeetterWith only a few days of the 100 left, I'm going to have to plan what to right about to close this project. But first, here's a little update to day 94.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">As predicted, I</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Feel a bit more settled in</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Every single day</span><br /><br />A suitable song for a sunny day:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UuRFZjIHubk&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UuRFZjIHubk&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-63684369054568489862010-03-05T11:02:00.003+00:002010-03-05T11:06:52.752+00:00Day ninety five: a new yawnI'm very glad it's Friday. I was in a right daze when I got up this morning:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">One sign of tiredness</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Is almost getting in the</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Shower with pants on</span><br /><br />I realised when I was centimetres from the water, and once I did the cat-like agility with which I recoiled almost defied the laws of physics. It was like something out of The Matrix.<br /><br />Have a good weekend all, see you tomorrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-84546747945053346122010-03-04T21:55:00.002+00:002010-03-04T22:14:20.445+00:00Day ninety four: silly me<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I don't know why I</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Make myself a lonely guy</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">When I'm not alone</span><br /><br />To elaborate, I've found myself doing the thing I always do, and I don't know why I do it, so bear with me. It seems that whenever I move to a new town, I make an effort to make myself lonely. I'll, aside from my closest few friends, distance myself from people and go all quiet, spend most of my time in my room away from flatmates, and when I'm not in the flat just wander around aimlessly. It's only ever temporary (except for when I was studying in Spain, but that's a tale for another day), but I always do it. A case in point is this evening: I finished work at half 5, and only got home about half an hour ago. In that time I went to Oxford Street to pick up a couple of things I'd been meaning to get (ah, retail therapy, the old classic), and spent ages going to an unnecessary amount of shops, then inexplicably went to St Pancras station and sat in a cafe for an hour. When I got home I told my flatmates that I'd worked late then went to get some dinner with a couple of workmates.<br /><br />The irony is that I do know plenty of people around here, and I'm a very sociable person normally, I love spending time with people and feel comfortable in most social situations; it just seems that this is some psychological hurdle I have to overcome whenever I move to a different town. The only explanations I can come up with are (a) that every time I've moved anywhere I've been at home temporarily beforehand, and when I go it always makes my Mum feel sad for a few days, which in turn makes me feel sad, or (b) deep within my psyche is the notion that I have to earn the right to enjoy living somewhere, and to do that I have get to an emotionally low point first, before building from there.<br /><br />I don't know, it's weird, but I'll be okay.<br /><br />It probably doesn't help that I was listening to The Smiths when I was out earlier<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/clPhtitSpes&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/clPhtitSpes&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-48316537398696966362010-03-03T11:54:00.003+00:002010-03-03T12:07:34.085+00:00Day ninety three: introducing 'Clam' on bassI went to a gig at a jazz club last night. It was just a small place, but rather than being able to sit where you liked they had (seemingly arbitrarily) alloted seats to people, which was disappointingly un-jazzy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I had hoped that the</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Seating arrangements would be</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">A bit more free-form</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-52682899714452860592010-03-03T11:53:00.000+00:002010-03-03T11:54:27.248+00:00Day ninety two: on 6Music<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">No more Laverne; no</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">More Freak Zone; no more "STEPHEN!".</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">We can't let this pass</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-58602106539018807392010-03-01T22:54:00.002+00:002010-03-01T22:58:53.591+00:00Day ninety one: I'm obsessed!I've torn myself away from the new Joanna Newsom album to type this one up. I saw a poster for the Ideal Home Show earlier - exciting stuff. The usual suspects were on there: Barker; Allsop; Llewelyn Bowen...and Gregg Wallace! Or as I thought to myself at the time...<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I'd recognise that<br />Big eggy head anywhere.<br />No puds at Earls Court.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-7740531251972750552010-02-28T12:30:00.003+00:002010-02-28T12:38:03.884+00:00Day ninety: robo-toryI saw George Osbourne interviewed by Andrew Marr this morning. It was embarrassing, it's like he's some schoolboy playing at being a politician. And the fact that they're favourites to win the next election fills me with dread. It'll be like in Doctor Who when the whole country gets taken over by Cybermen or something. My only hope is that the current Tory front bench will soon be revealed as some kind of Eton prank, and they are all, in fact, 13 years old.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">I say, chaps, here's fun;<br />Let's de-bag that dastardly<br />Cad Brown. Hahaha.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-19614360295762978172010-02-27T17:02:00.002+00:002010-02-27T17:24:03.158+00:00Day eighty nine: I just booked a hotel room<span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">I hate decisions<br />That are, in retrospect, driven<br />Completely by booze</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-50000228380947862982010-02-26T23:49:00.004+00:002010-02-27T00:00:26.392+00:00Day eighty eight: not long leftCor, it feels like no time at all since we all started these 100 days pledges, and now there are less than two weeks left. In a strange way I think I'll feel a bit sad when it ends, but the night celebrating it as part of the <a href="http://www.londonwordfestival.com/">London Word Festival</a> should be a great send off.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />I know I'll still be<br />Coming up with fresh haiku<br />Weeks and weeks later</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-14688060063439618642010-02-25T17:51:00.001+00:002010-02-25T18:21:17.078+00:00Day eighty seven: an ode to London PopfestLondon Popfest starts tonight, for all your indiepop needs in London. I couldn't go last year, but lots of people I know did, and there was an underlying theme in all the photos I saw from it:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">I've never seen so<br />Many people smiling so<br />Much at the same time</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-68018541429669334972010-02-24T21:31:00.003+00:002010-02-24T21:35:54.322+00:00Day eighty six: oh nostalgiaI saw an old friend on the train home earlier. We talked for a while, but it was clear that we weren't the same people we once were. I know it's sometimes inevitable that you drift apart from some people, but still...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It is a shame when</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A great friend becomes someone</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Who you used to know</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-613009622576007182010-02-23T07:25:00.002+00:002010-02-23T07:27:31.653+00:00Day eighty five: a lapsed Catholic education<span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">I'm sorry Dad, but<br />Matthew, Luke and John never<br />Made a Mark on me</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-89311092952313436922010-02-22T21:46:00.003+00:002010-02-22T22:01:06.047+00:00Day eighty four: take whatever you want but don't touch my faceThis is fairly self explanatory. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">I abhor violence.<br />Not that I'm a pacifist,<br />But I'm a coward.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-71276951856702963402010-02-21T20:15:00.004+00:002010-02-21T20:29:38.761+00:00Day eighty three: Hello E1As you probably know, I left my last job just over a month ago with the intention of moving to London, yet without a job or anywhere to live there. Having got a job a couple of weeks ago, yesterday I found a flatshare between Whitechapel and Bethnal Green. I move in next weekend. So in a moment of smugness:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">First I got a job,<br />Now I've got a place to live.<br />It's all coming good.</span></span><br /><br />This calls for a song<br /><br /><object width="400" height="225"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9520660&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9520660&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/9520660">I Built Myself A Metal Bird - Thee Silver Mt. Zion</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/cstrecords">Constellation Records</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-2475856069063875122010-02-20T09:06:00.002+00:002010-02-20T09:10:39.632+00:00Day eighty two: Masterchef haiku follow up<span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">I hope that by day<br />One hundred, that gif will have<br />Dropped off the front page</span></span><br /><br />I said gif. Not git.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-35384256394623067212010-02-19T23:48:00.003+00:002010-02-19T23:54:07.476+00:00Day eighty one: be nice to everyoneFlatshare hunting is very tiring isn't it. And if after meeting the people you'd be sharing with and end up not getting the room, there are numerous potential reasons why, but...<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">How can you not take<br />It personally when you're being<br />Judged as a person</span></span></span><br /><br />Seeing three more places tomorrow. Phew!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-43182923513488711822010-02-18T21:14:00.002+00:002010-02-21T20:27:29.895+00:00Day eighty: Masterchef's back!<span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Shouty shouty men,<br />Criticising seasoning.<br />Gregg loves his puddings.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.herecomestheboss.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/gregchomp.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://www.herecomestheboss.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/gregchomp.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-19711048113074379302010-02-17T19:11:00.001+00:002010-02-17T19:13:36.047+00:00Day seventy nine: my favourite day of the year<span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Today, for the first<br />Time this year, I felt the warmth<br />Of Spring in the air</span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-8955194048020575672010-02-16T11:42:00.002+00:002010-02-16T11:47:46.438+00:00Day seventy eight: yeah mate, yeah mate<span style="font-family: arial;">I'm generally quite well spoken (albeit a bit foul-mouthed at times), but I have noticed that at times I subtly alter my accent depending on who I'm talking to. For example:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">I can't help going</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">All cock-er-nee when I talk</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">To taxi drivers</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's a bit embarrassing and I wish I didn't do it, but I'm sure I can't be the only one.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-24662767116247428112010-02-15T10:12:00.003+00:002010-02-15T10:31:00.844+00:00Day seventy seven: week of plagiarism<span style="font-family:arial;">From days 72 to 78 Josie proposed a week of plagiarism, and this is my contribution. I've been loving looking at the photo projects that a number of the hundred dayers have been doing, they're frequently beautiful and inspiring. This isn't so beautiful and inspiring, but it says what it needs to say. It's called </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;">Monday morning 7am:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4004/4358915438_396b1d9821.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 375px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4004/4358915438_396b1d9821.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333164020969347872.post-89557855479285080702010-02-14T21:19:00.002+00:002010-02-14T21:25:49.084+00:00Day seventy six: other people's cats, part 2Sam and Lisa live in Nottingham, they've got a lovely boy called Ted, and a strange cat called Phil. Phil's got a tiny head, or as I said when I first met him:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">It's like if you put<br />A cheese triangle on a<br />Microwave oven.</span></span><br /><br />This is Phil<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/4224605263_65ecce9df8.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/4224605263_65ecce9df8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0