Sunday, 31 July 2011

Songs That Remind Me Of Ex-Boyfriends

['Recipe for Humanity', Grayson Perry]

Nige, my first love.
Sweetest Feeling by Jackie Wilson.

The one I was with for 10 years.
Rise by Gabrielle.

The rebound.
Harvest Moon by Neil Young.

Amazing by Alex Lloyd.

I hesitate to describe him as a boyfriend, but Lovecats by The Cure.

Tesco's Guy.
Brothersport by Animal Collective.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a mutual decision. There was nobody else involved. I am gutted.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011


Dad is going on about the surrender of the German High Seas Fleet, the invention of deflector blades, and buses he remembers from his childhood, in intricate detail.

Usually I can't bring myself to look at him when he talks, but I have just realised how to get around this. If I frown over the top of my spectacles and nod from time to time, I look like I'm listening but my myopia is preventing any real eye contact.

Finding himself with an ostensibly attentive audience for once animates him, and he rattles on, and on, and on.

It is making me think a tabasco enema would be preferable. But it is my bad - I feel I owe him this. I have avoided him all day, and feel guilty about it. I should be more saintly. He is very lonely. Even boring people need attention sometimes.

Also, I have been doing lots of research about Aspergers and all sorts of interesting personality disorders lately, and am looking for clues.

Nod, frown, nod.

The only interesting thing about this endurance course of a conversation is from time to time he veers off from facts and figures into startlingly vivid personal recollections.

Straight from an extended and highly detailed rant about early 20th century military engineering, he is suddenly 7 years old again, a child curled up with his mother in her bed in their evacuation house in Gronant, listening to the Luftwaffe fly over on their way to bomb Liverpool.

"It was so odd," he says. "I remember it as clear as day. I was lying there shivering and shaking, with my teeth chattering, like I was absolutely terrified, but I didn't actually feel scared at all."

"What did you feel?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I just thought, I wish they'd go away."