Skip The Budgie

Graffiti on City Road...

Walking down the road on Sunday after a fun guitar playing session at my bass player's house, I spot the 3vil one for the first time since The Troubles. We are going to have to walk right past her! Watch out, I say, there's the 3vil psycho bitch From Hell. She is humming to herself, doo-doo-doo and after we pass, the humming changes pitch and I imagine her turning around and pulling faces. I keep straight on walking. I have every right to be here, I am right, she is wrong. She was always wrong. Search for "3vil One" and you will see the full story. Still, my legs are shaking and the adrenaline is pumping as I struggle to get the keys in the lock.

This was the first time since she was screaming at me in the street (see above link) and I guess it's a moment I've had nightmares about ever since, what will she say? She thinks I got her sacked, she HATES me! Thankfully, we survived like grownups. I'm ignoring you P~~~~~~. You see, I always knew this day would come. Now that I know how she'll behave, this distasteful chapter of my life will close. I never have to work with or near her ever again and I don't have to be where she is, thank God.

The St Pauls Carnival is a testament to how you don't really need organisation and careful planning if you get enough people together who are determined to have a good time. With big speakers. It is part competition of soundsystems to shake the foundations of the Inner City and part BBQ/fried/jerk chicken-rice&peas price-off. Oh and that most despicable of foods, ackee and saltfish (retch).

As the organisation of the wonderful event is traditionally rife with egos, mock racism, poor organisation, exodus of key members combined with a fear of all things new and inclusive, it is an annual surprise that Carnival goes on at all. Their brief programme has an introduction claiming victory over a year of 'backbiting' and adversity, which usually means people have told them they should make it better and then left when got shut out. There was nothing on for the kids this year for this reason. They just couldn't be bothered to sort something out, preferring instead to milk the public's pity for the terrible trials that they go through (when you're an insular histrionic quasi-racist over-pc tiny group of individuals), nobody loves me everybody hates me that's why I eat worms.

Anyway, like I said. It's amazing that despite all of this, we all go and still have a great time. About half the stalls have disappeared since last year, just chicken and bright furry things and whistles, oh the whistles...

Down by the Star and Garter we sit, watching the people and the occasional band, some good, some mediocre. The stone circle here seems to be where all the 'white folks' are banished to as it is a very monochromatic, albeit happy environment. I am coerced into taking a furtive photo of someone I am assured is going out with Demi Moore. He catches me and we are treated to some drunken rambling about being on the telly but are still none the wiser as to who the hell he is.

Back on the main stage, the young girls are showing off their hiphop dancing skills, there is some horrible RnB and a very touching feature by three very little girls who sing to us and have a hilarious on-stage fight to raucous cheering. I run away in search of some drum and bass loud enough to shatter my internal organs, warmed by the general goodwill that's around today and the fact that I've only seen a couple of scarey people and they're my friends.

Old Spider is still down there, and the Black and White is missing, having been finally ripped down to be replaced by some nice houses for anyone who doesn't mind living opposite the area's most notorious squatter.

Sadly though, the usual nastyness follows, doing the event's reputation no good at all.

My Photos will be available on my Flickr page very soon

Working from home. Attempting to translate such joys as:

15 orgsensations woe is attendance from a variety fancy centre... the meeting faked an agenda...

Greatly gave seed back on some tranny that sore digestion and puton for some clientale... (it gets better)

?800 left for tranny on a first served first come basis

Reported last month about dead birth and malifistation in garden...

This last has me completely confused. Where the others are wilful misreading of poor handwriting, this is what he actually wrote! I'm guessing he means 'dead bird' and 'infestation' of pigeons, given what I recall of the 24th April 2003 and the foibles of the person who wrote it. It's funny how small things can remind you of conversations and even the events of a whole day. A useful skill to have sometimes, but I worry about how much of my memory it used up with this shit. How many good thing's I've forgotten so I can remember some dead pigeon that the caretakers wouldn't pick up.

Having joined Unison, to try and cover my ass when the 3vil one was trying to destroy me in my old job, I was mortified to receive a letter from them telling me it was my duty as a Unison member to vote Labour. It's all about the name these days, I mean they're not really Labour anymore, are they? Tony wears a BLUE TIE on the news, for fuck's sake. One of my friends said I have to get involved and make them change if I care so much about it. Fair point, I'll shut up.

As the Cult Called Karianna Saga dies down a bit, I met a guy yesterday who's trying to book them a gig in Bristol to which he is going to invite a lot of bouncer mates... I'll leave the rest up to you. I don't think they'll be oming back. The war of words was okay, no-one really one - how much can you win with neanderthals - but doing the same thing to them won't acheive anything. In fact, it might give them some sympathy. What they need is no publicity at all.

Watched Ralph Bakshi's Coonskin yesterday at the Animated Encounters festival at the Watershed. About life, racism, gangs and killin' in Harlem in the 70's. It's a great film with some extremely powerful images. A lot of people hate his animation and childish style, but it only serves to give it more impact. Must have been really shocking back then. I give this film a 2+.

Then went on to look at goth girls in the Bierkeller, where I stayed for approximately ten minutes before disappearing off to dance to drum and bass somewhere else. That was better. Now with a headache, I'm heading back to the Watershed for more cartoons. On the agenda is some workshops on doing animations (not for me, you understand, I'm no cartoonist - for my bro who is: Unlikely Productions) and lots of short films.

Had a party to celebrate my only day of unemployment yesterday. It was all going okay, my ex was there, being a 'mate', and I was hanging out with an old friend mainly, thought I'd have to play the game, let her see what happens when we're just mates.

I'm sure it wasn't that conscious, I was a bit pissed to tell the truth, and I hadn't seen this friend for ages, so.. An interesting drama was played out, unbeknownst to us blokes between the three girls present, which ended up with an almighty bollocking, a couple of them leaving and the victorious one stayed and passed out as we settled in to GT4.

The thing is you see, these girls have this thing where they like to be surrounded by blokes. Whatever the reason, that's how it works and it took a long time for the two that left early to come to terms with each other being in the same group. I'm not sure they entirely trust each other still, but yesterday they were best of friends because there was a common enemy.

The third girl is the same as the other two. Loud when pissed, likes being the centre of attention, was there first. Eight years ago, we all lived in the same hall. She was together with a very good friend of mine for nearly four years. We had a very close friendship where I counselled her through all her relationship trauma and that stuff. I even had a girlfriend who was insanely jealous of her then. So I shoulda known better.

So I guess there was ownership problems, an epic psychological battle between the old and the new, the new not quite understanding that as blokes, we really don't give a shit about the mind games, we just want to hang out and get pissed and play board games. We didn't notice for a while, well I got a couple of evil stares and meaningful looks ,but I thought no, fuckit, if we are going to play the game of friendship, you are going to let me talk to whomever I want.

I guess I'll never really understand, but apparently you still aren't allowed to have close friends, old friends aren't allowed to be touchy and drunk. You have to be a mind reader. I'll just listen to music and shut out the world for a bit.

She wants to meet up and set ground rules. But I bet she won't tell me what they are.

Almost first thing this morning, as we were lugging out all the computers to be wiped, and packing boxes, the phone rang. Hello, it's the BBC, it said. We were wondering if we could come out with you on your last patrol. But we're closed. We haven't patrolled for a month. hadn't you heard? Yes, but we're doing a story about you all closing, can we come and watch you pack? No you bloody can't! Go and see the Knowle West wardens, they're having a party and it'll be much better than filming us in an empty room.

Why the obsession with St Pauls in the first place? We fed them loads of lovely information about exactly why Warden schemes are closing. About how Bristol City Council are too lazy and shit and money grabbing to give an abstract concept the nurture it needs to make people happy. We named names. We questioned the wisdom of putting such a negative story on TV now, when they could have done a positive one six months ago and I might still have a job.

On the news this evening, they showed old footage of other Warden schemes as they mentioned that we were closing. They said that we were due to be replaced later in the year. They said nothing of import or interest. Nothing juicy. Good to see that investigative journalism is alive and well and not at all bound by the same mouth-glue that the Council have.

The story followed an advert for tomorrow's news where they are going to do a story on the riots in 1980 and how the area's changed. But now (of course) everybody feels sad and angry because something good that they had faith in has been taken away from them. The cork has been firmly jammed back in their mouths and they will again be beating their bloody fists against a big brick wall of development and funding battles. Of course I know that there's loads going on, loads of hope and we'll probably not be missed as much as we'd like.

St Pauls St Pauls St Pauls. Why do they want to keep the people sad? It still really smacks of conspiracy and I'm amazed that the BBC are as biased as the Evening Post is. How Council-controlled is this city anyway?

No, I mean the last week. The last week of real work, the last week of Knowing Secrets and St Pauls and power to the people and feeling like you're finally doing something with your life. When I say week, I mean three days.

Life is like a garden... we must clear the murkiness of past bad experiences from our minds. Life is remembrance in forgetfulness. Let us emrace life with new vigour...

Er... Right. Well it does fit in with everything. One of my colleagues (the one mentioned below, who wanted to make up with me before we all left the other day) asked me if I'd fuck the 3vil One for a million pounds. Of course I would. And a lot more besides. But I wouldn't let her off what she did. Forget, yes.

Helps with new-found strength in not wanting to be an idiot in love too. Got too many MP3's to listen too for girlfriends now...

First off, an excuse. I said I was going to get a Creative Jukebox Zen Xtra, so I did. It cost me £180 off Ebay, and can hold 60GB of stuff. I have spent the last week or so putting almost all my CD's onto it, and am pushing 6,000 songs, with the player 2 thirds full! They say you can get 16,000 mp3's of dubious quality on it, but as a muso dilettante, I like my quality, so I get less... I like it so much, I bought some etymotic ER6 isolator headphones too, so I don't have to put up with all that background noise either!

I have upgraded the firmware, having discovered that thanks to the French (apparently), all personal players are quieter in Europe than everywhere else. Places where no-one can hear, presumably. What a difference a bit of code can make! I got the American version, and suddenly I can hear bass again. The other distraction of course, is GT4.

The leaving do wasn't that bad really. All the people came who said they would come. Some didn't, good absence of people we don't like, and all the speeches went out of the window because no-one was listening. We had a performance from a group called the Allstars, who have recently been commissioned to do the music for a series of adverts about kids and guns. The Evening Pest had a subtle approach: 'IT'S TIME YOUTH GAVE UP GUNS'. They did their gun song for us and were very very good. Yay for St Pauls...

We were hijacked by a Christian evangelist type who did a meaningless poem about the Police banging someone's door down and arresting him for beating up his wife even though he hadn't but it was all because he was black, you see... No I don't fucking see. Pointless bloody histrionic inflammatory crap. Then she did a poem about Jesus and how we are all bad, but God loves us. Then a two second poem about us that no-one could here, then a big plug about her poetry night and church and stuff. I don't want to sound too down on the woman, but it wasn't really the right forum. Trouble was, it was too late by the time anyone realised. I think I was the only one who paid any attention anyway.

I smiled and nodded and answered the 'what are you going to do now?' with the same bland pleasantries a million times. I've managed to hopefully get myself an extra bit of cash completing the database for my work since it will just fade into the vaults if I don't. I am going straight into an average data entry job for 5p above minimum wage. last week I applied for 5 jobs, only two of which I actually want.

Contemplation is seeing the here and now.

Or perhaps realising that no matter how much you promote something, no matter how many people say they will come and celebrate or insist that you meant so much to them and they will really miss you, dreams are not the same as reality. Harsh, brutal truth. Like will you stay in work, or go to a party or say goodbye to people you've previously only been paying lip service to, because it sounds good to have hippy leanings?

OK, so some people did come, but not nearly as many as should have, or said they would. People that mattered, you could say. One of my colleagues - who had sat with the 3vil One in her hearings as she spouted iggerant shite about me and everyone else in the universe who decided they weren't going to put up with a loudmouth byatch any more - got a bit pissed and gave me a hug and said that she didn't hate me. Please can I alleviate her two-faced conscience by saying I don't hate her and in doing so justify her false quasi-religious existence by letting her believe that she has got away with leaving that huge knife in my back? OK. But only because I don't have to work with you anymore.

On they other hand, I did get to drink Cava from about 2pm, so I should stop now, before the alcohol encourages spelling mistakes...