Day one hundred

You are not looking
At this. Please move along now.
It's an illusion

How very postmodern. So long.

Day ninety nine: I love you all

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:

What a creative,
Lovely, funny, heartwarming
Bunch you really are

I hope to meet lots of you at the party tomorrow night.

Day ninety eight: London Loves

Excellent 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.

My favourite aspect
Of London is that you are
Never really lost

Day ninety seven: a big hello

To anyone who's come here after reading the hundred days article in the Independent on Sunday, firstly hello! And also, about my blog:

It's not all talking
About work. I also talk
About Masterchef

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.

This is my current favourite song:

Day ninety six: better, better, beeetter

With 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.

As predicted, I
Feel a bit more settled in
Every single day

A suitable song for a sunny day:

Day ninety five: a new yawn

I'm very glad it's Friday. I was in a right daze when I got up this morning:

One sign of tiredness
Is almost getting in the
Shower with pants on

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.

Have a good weekend all, see you tomorrow.

Day ninety four: silly me

I don't know why I
Make myself a lonely guy
When I'm not alone

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.

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.

I don't know, it's weird, but I'll be okay.

It probably doesn't help that I was listening to The Smiths when I was out earlier

Day ninety three: introducing 'Clam' on bass

I 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.

I had hoped that the
Seating arrangements would be
A bit more free-form

Day ninety two: on 6Music

No more Laverne; no
More Freak Zone; no more "STEPHEN!".
We can't let this pass

Day 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...

I'd recognise that
Big eggy head anywhere.
No puds at Earls Court.