God is music

On a whim, I have decided to learn to play the violin. Well, it's not exactly on a whim. I wanted to do it when I was younger, but as my application to the Lyceum was to study piano, my mum got pretty annoyed when I announced that, actually, I wanted to learn violin.

After that, I pretty much ignored music. Before, it had been important. At my first school, we would listen to a different piece of classical music every day, and we had to be able to name a vast number of pieces. I listened to Mozart, Holst, Handel, even Beethoven when I wasn't trying to get to sleep.

I mean, it was all music that was designed to send me to sleep, but I did used to stay up and try to listen to it. Thankfully, cassette players (consult the history books if you're unsure what one is) used to finish each side with an enormous clunking noise, which usually woke me up if I was drifting.

Family tradition also dictated that we watch The Last Night of the Proms (on telly, naturally). We watched it religiously, planning ahead, inviting the neighbours around and all the rest of it. I thought it was brilliant.

Music left my life when I was about five or six. I'm not entirely sure why, but it did.

I still haven't got it back, but I'm trying, and it's a gradual process.

The one thing that really saved me, musically, was being forced to learn the recorder at the age of seven. This was at school, and they did it because recorders are cheap. I bought my own, because of the hideous bucket of spit-scented half-chewed recorders that got passed around each week. Words cannot describe how unhygienic that was.

For this reason, I hated the recorder, because, being disorganised, I often forgot my own, nice, wooden recorder, and had to borrow one of the disgusting plastic ones.

Time went on, though, and we were split into sets for music. This appealed to my already-strong notion that I was better than pretty much everyone around me, and when Recorder Club was created, solely for the elite, I was in my element.

I did, however, hate the instrument with a passion, and this was my downfall. I jumped when extra music lessons were offered, and left my recorder-playing days behind me in favour of learning the guitar.

In short, it didn't go well. Despite my disinclination to practise, I was better than everyone else, which was a good start. However, lessons were after school. My mum got a new job and was unable to pick me up after school. That appeared to be that.

I did, later join the school orchestra, though perhaps for all the wrong reasons. I joined because all members of the school orchestra were given a shiny red-and-gold badge saying ORCHESTRA, which was effectively a fast-track to the front of the lunch queue. Although practises were only twice a week, this came in useful on the other three days due to the magic phrase "extra orchestra practise".

To begin with, I joined my old Recorder Club chums, but I quickly came to realise that it wasn't for me. I became the orchestra's one-and-only percussionist, specialising in the glockenspiel. To this day I will get quite annoyed at anyone who calls it a xylophone.

However, that too fell by the wayside when I left primary school. I didn't even listen to music for my first two years at secondary school. I only started to because of homework.

My R.S. teacher (miserable witch- she hated me) told us to listen to the Black Eyed Peas' 'Where is the Love?'. Now, today, it sounds like patronising, meaningless faux-protesting, but I liked it. A lot of people did. It reminded me that music could mean something.

I started to buy CDs. I bought each copy of the Now series, I watched Top of the Pops, I listened to the radio. In the end I got into Green Day, which led me to the Ramones, and the Clash, and the realisation that the best music isn't necessarily what everyone else is listening to.

I started to play the guitar again, then the bass guitar, and the keyboard. I got really into music lessons at school- my teacher loved me to the point where he failed to reprimand me for punching another student in the face.

I elected to study music at GCSE. I watched The History Boys, and discovered The Smiths. I will never forget the day that my mother came home to find me listening to Morrissey. Maybe it was her disapproval that spurred me on, but I've never quite gotten over him.

I realised that not everyone can read music, or can write music for a whole variety of different instruments. I wasn't special, because I wasn't good at any of it, but I wasn't completely useless.

At Cheltenham, I didn't play music, partly because I didn't have time, but also because there was so much emphasis on being good. It's not my way. I'm clever, yes, but I'm not a mathematical prodigy. I can also write creatively, draw an adequate representation of someone's face, speak a multitude of languages to tourist level. I know that there are 88 constellations, and I can tell you the names of a fair few of them, as well as their brightest stars. I can't touch-type, but I know how to run an Excel spreadsheet.

It's not arrogance to say that if there's one thing I do well, it's everything.

So, coming home, I did what I should have done a long time before. I got myself a proper instrument. I've had the violin for about 24 hours now. She's not brilliant, but neither am I. It's something we have in common. I hope I do outgrow her. Then I can take up something else.

I've wasted a few years, but it's not the end of the world. I have relative pitch, which means I don't have to stick stickers on my violin to know where to put my fingers. I can play a major scale without giving anyone a brain haemorrhage. The cat even slept though my playing.

I'm reclaiming music.

Name That Cat

I just thought of an idea for a new game show, because I just realised that, even if I wanted to go to bed, I couldn't, because my bed has been taken over by a skinny tomcat called... well, that's just it. My cat doesn't have a name.

It's pretty much up to whoever's in the house to give him whatever name they want. So far, in alphabetical order, he's been called Bob, Bobby, Bobs, Cat, Cath, Chat, Mao, Robbo, Robert, Roberto, Robs and Socks. We haven't even had him three months.

At the moment, my least favourite is Socks, followed closely by Bobs. Up until recently, I pretty much called him Robbo, but the latest guest in our house started calling him Mao and it's kind of got stuck for me. Seeing as I mew at him anyway, to irritate him or something. How do you irritate a cat? It's difficult.

Anyway, any new ideas, send them to me.

I handled a puppy today. Probably not the best idea for someone who sees a dog and instantly wants to kill it, but it had escaped its house, and the owner was obviously struggling to get it back inside. I don't think the owner would have been keen if I'd let it run or just strangled it while I had the chance.

It surprised me how trusting it was. It felt really weird.

It's probably not dogs I hate; it's dog people. The people who think dogs have anywhere near as much value as humans. Well, they can lower themselves to that level, but they mustn't be surprised when I refuse to join them.

Then there's the people who let their dogs defecate in public spaces, and then don't clear it up.I'm sorry! Do these scum think the world owes them something? Do they think it's okay for them to leave actual faeces lying about in the sun for flies to breed in and spread disease? Or for small children to fall over in? (Actually, that's quite funny, so long as you don't have to clean the child in question.)

Next time you see one of these worthless, inconsiderate, expendable wastes of human flesh, tell them that they've dropped something. Do it for me, before I have an aneurysm.

Now it's time for the reviews. I've been revisiting a couple of things in the past few days.

First up, it was The Young Ones. 28 years on, it's still got a certain quality to it. It's a violent-slapstick, alternative comedy look at the nuclear family. Vyvyan will always be one of my favourite comedy characters. Unnecessary violence, the ability to eat everything and short bursts of incredible lucidity and possibly even genius (well, he is a medical student) make him absolutely brilliant. Also, everyone knows a Rick, the revolutionary who thinks Che Guevara is a Mexican restaurant.

I think I'm more of a Neil myself. He's calm, passive, keeps the place neat and tidy. He's the mother figure. That's just me all over. I'm well into peace and love and lentils and the rest of it.

I hate Mike, because he's pointless. He's supposed to be cool, and respected, but he's more of a loser than the rest of them. Aside from Mike, the other bad points were the talking scenery, which I don't think works anymore, and the dwarf in the episode 'Boring'. Dwarves just aren't funny, especially not when they're painted. In fact, they're rarely not.

Though, aside from the mindless violence and cute destruction of even the fourth wall, there is one last redeeming feature: the music. We need music back in sitcoms. Hell, we need Madness back in sitcoms, and not just doing adverts on GOLD. The Young Ones gets 4 stars.

I also re-watched Sherlock Holmes, the Guy Ritchie film. That took me by surprise, because I didn't like it. Everything I loved about that film, it turns out, is just Arthur Conan Doyle, and okay, a nice bit of bromance. There's my point though: get lost, Irene Adler! Mary's not much better, but at least she knows her place. It's not her fault she's just not pretty.

I think the issue Ritchie was always going to have was making a good film without gratuitous swearing or violence. That's what made Lock, Stock so brilliant: in particular, a joke involving the c-word that I won't repeat here.

Oh, it's clever. But nowhere near enough, not after seeing the BBC adaptation, not after reading the books and knowing what can be done. I think the trouble was, I hated the bad guy. Really, you've got to love the bad guy, and hate yourself for it. Blackwood was ugly, and we never saw enough of Moriarty.

Now, Moriarty was something the BBC did oh so well. That line, "Westwood." It just gets me. The film though, 3 stars, though I await the sequel with interest.

Oh, what else? Ah yes. Come Dine With Me. The narrator's mellowing, as are the guests. Bring back the bitching! This week, someone nearly vommed listening to an anecdote about phlegm, and someone else was made to cry. It's not enough! Daggers out, please! Two stars.

Oh, arsehole of the week: bloke who bought the violin I was trying to buy at a flea market for £12 and refused to sell it to me for any less than £30. May everyone urinate haphazardly on his shallow grave.

How to drive a car

I had my third driving lesson the other day, my first in over a year. Not that I told my new instructor. She thinks I've had a lot more experience than I have.

She also thinks I have ADHD, owing to the fact I drive at near enough the limit and can't find my reference points because I'm never sat still. I won't deny that I'm hyper, but I'm paying full attention. It just doesn't look it.

If I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have been amazing, which I was. That means I get to drive around a different housing estate next week, which should be fun.

No, my instructor's impressed. Evidently terrified, but impressed nonetheless.

Oh, and I killed my first vertebrate. Don't worry, darlings, it was only a pigeon. I accelerated into it. Beautiful, feathers everywhere. It's amazing the mess you can make at 20mph.

I had a bit of a pointless day after that. I fell asleep and woke up to make a risotto, then went to sleep again. This means that I don't have any films or books to review. I could review the music I've been listening to?

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Well, it's beautiful, if a little over-popular. There's a reason for it though. I doubt I'll ever get over it. 5 stars.

Beethoven's 5th, first movement. Again, very popular, but also very good. 5 stars.

Beethoven's 6th, fifth movement. Must have been a bit of a let-down after the 5th, to be honest. 3 stars.

Holst's The Planets, Mars, The Bringer of War. Oh! That start! So good. So very good. You know how I know you'll believe me it's good? It featured in Sherlock, the last episode, where Sherlock and John fight the Golem in the darkened lecture theatre. So dramatic! Ah. 5 stars.

If you think I'm being generous, don't worry. All that is going to stop. Holst's The Planets, Venus, the Bringer of Peace. Boring! Talk about a comedown. It makes me all shivery to think about how awful it is. It's so twinkly and pathetic. Two stars.

Holst's The Planets, Mercury, the Winged Messenger. It works. It's not amazing, but it works; the rising and falling scales are exactly what one would imagine from the flight of Mercury. And what it has in technical qualities, it doesn't exactly lack in art. Four stars.

There; I've tried to review orchestral music, which I'm only listening to so I don't suck at the music rounds on University Challenge. The only times I have ever got points on those is when Moonlight Sonata came up and another time when there were a whole set of questions on David Bowie songs. I did alright in the picture rounds today (watching a repeat I hadn't seen before). There was a set of questions on pictures of Moses (15 points) and another set on poker hands (the full 25).

Don't try telling me I'm a geek. It's not strictly true. I do know things, however, and I want to know more. I want people to know that I know more than most people. I will never apologise, though it pleases me to think I might need to. Mostly because I won't.

And now, a rant

NO!

I'm not even anywhere near done on the ranting front, let me warn you.

Right now, I am sitting all sleepy-eyed in my pyjamas when I should actually have been asleep, having done what I needed to do an hour and a half ago. But I'm not. In fact, I just had more hassle than I needed.

This was my plan: today, I would wake up at 0650 in order to buy tickets to Chelsea-Blackpool the second they came out, thus ensuring two seats in Matthew Harding Upper, the best stand by far. It was a brilliant plan, but unfortunately not one that came into fruition as my mobile ran out of battery and my alarm failed to go off.

It would have been a brilliant alarm as well. Linkin Park's 'Given Up' (which is a song that will give a half-awake person a coronary if they don't turn it off in time) with the text "GET  UP. NOW."

As it was, I had a dream about holding a housewarming party with somebody who I'd never met, but I was going to be living with. We had races to open the door to the guests, and it was a bit petty, but then he bought me a scotch egg from the inexplicably noisy canteen next door and I woke up happy.

I wasn't happy about two seconds later when I realised I'd woken up naturally rather than being dragged back into the land of the living. As quick as I could, I typed my ticket request.

At that moment, I felt I was probably entitled to shout "bugger", because the tickets had gone. So had the tickets in Shed Upper and Matthew Harding Lower (East). My dream of watching a decent match in a decent stand was fading.

By the way, if you don't understand football, like a lot of people, you'll have to understand that every match is a pretty big deal. Matches are like plays, there's drama and excitement, and the best soundtrack you could have hoped for. It releases a beautiful chemical enjoyment, and I never got that from basketball or ice hockey, nor cricket.

I did however, find tickets in Matthew Harding Lower (West). This was accompanied by a countdown clock to tell me how long it was before these tickets were given to someone else. 5 minutes and counting. Well, of course, I nearly died, because though it's a reasonable length of time, there's nothing like a ticking red clock to make you nervous. Thankfully I had my debit card in hand, typed in my details and hit Enter.

No. I'd forgotten to tick the box for Terms & Conditions (which, incidentally, I didn't read, no, because I only had 4 minutes 48, 47, 46...) so I had to go back and do that.

No. I hadn't put in an expiry date the second time around. So I did that, made sure none of the other boxes had randomly emptied themselves (which, curiously, they hadn't).

No. Card not accepted. Well, that was it. I tried again, but the same result.

I knocked on my parents' bedroom door and asked for a credit card. My mother told me somewhere the card wasn't, so I ran around the house looking for where it was.

Anyway, I got the card, and started typing in the number. To my surprise, the number on my dad's card was exactly the same as the card number I had already typed into the box. How could this be?

I'll tell you how. In my half-awake stupor, I had seen that, when I started typing my card number into the box, it Autocompleted for me. I thought: how kind. Rather than check that the number was mine, which it wasn't, I simply carried on.

It's even an avoidable mistake! I know my debit card number BY HEART. The thing is though, who thought it was a good idea to Autocomplete debit card details? That's just asking for trouble.

I typed in my actual card details and completed the transaction. I don't want to look at the state of my bank account just yet. I'm going to be keeping my accounts, though, because I have a pretty tight budget for the next year. Well, it looks alright, but I'm sure it'll be tight. I'm looking forward to it, though, trying to be responsible.

Speaking of responsible, I have a driving lesson today. I don't want to go.

I just have the one review for you today, and it's a book: Arthur Conan Doyle's 'A Study In Scarlet'. Well, I thought it was brilliant, and unexpectedly funny in places. Well, I think it was funny. It made me laugh anyway. Sherlock Holmes is undoubtedly one of the most interesting characters ever written, and Watson is so frequently poorly represented in films and television serials. Adaptations often have him appearing as a kind of butler, which he really wasn't.

The deductive process is remarkable. The second part of the book takes you through what Holmes had worked out in the first. A lot of people criticise the book for the fact that Holmes is absent for about half the book, but it doesn't matter in my eyes. You just get a chance to figure out what Holmes already has from much better evidence.

And it's amazing, because it's still believable, it's still achievable. It has dated a little, though, and Holmes is altogether too bright for me. I don't expect people warmed to dark characters like they do now. Four stars.

Films!

A couple of film reviews for you. I watched Brideshead Revisited not knowing what it was about, and usually that's a good thing. I like the actor who plays the main character (Matthew Goode), but there was a lot missing. I don't think you get to see Charles' motivations enough. Towards the end, other characters start pointing out things that you hadn't been allowed to figure out for yourself as if you should already know it. It's a bit like a "butler did it" ending in a mystery.

If it had been longer, it could have been better. As it was, it didn't really work, because I just ended up feeling far too sorry for Sebastian, and also for his father. It has made me want to read the book though, so I might do that once I've finished everything else I still have to read. 3 stars.

I gave my mother a choice of films to watch the day before yesterday, mostly because I thought she'd make the right decision. She didn't. She picked Tim Burton's shaky start: Beetlejuice.

Oh, two stars, before we get any further. It features a sickeningly in love couple who die and end up haunting their old house and despising the oddly contrasting new tenants. The other characters are the idiot father, the evil stepmother and the loveable goth girl. Oh, and the fat, lecherous, rotting Betelgeuse himself. All in all, it's about as funny as cancer and about as clever as stapling yourself in the eye.

Please, God, bring me a film that's worth watching.

One hell of a day, one hell of a play and a disappointment

Right, so, to cut a long story short, I spent most of today thinking that my best friend was dead, because I over-analyse things. I think I dealt with it fairly well, to be honest. Turned out it was just a misunderstanding involving some Greek mythology.

I think it's best that I leave that story there; it's probably more fun if you fill in the gaps yourself. What about Greek mythology could possibly lead me to the conclusion that my friend had died?

In any case, I went down to London today. It's turning into a bit of a second home to be honest. I went to see Alan Bennett's new play at the National. I know, it's a play, nobody cares. Just because you live in "the arsehole of the world", doesn't mean you have to act like a pleb. I think it's important to find culture wherever you are, else we're back to laughing at farting.

It was a good play, to be honest, quite clever and such an unexpected laugh at the opening of the second act... well, I didn't see it coming. I don't think anybody did. We all came in after the interval and were greeted with... well, I won't spoil it, just in case there's a film or you happen to watch it. Tickets are going like wildfire; ours were really good, front row of the circle. We didn't exactly pay through the nose either, because it was a matinee.

So, 'The Habit of Art'...  I'd have to give it 5 stars. A witty piece which, due to the nature of it, had to be superlatively acted. I'm sounding like a toff; I'm really not. Incidentally, my Conservative Party membership card came today.

I got home, was greeted with my dad's Thai Green Chicken Curry (I can do better) and went on to watch a film, Starter For 10.

I didn't like it (3 stars). They ruined a perfectly good story about University Challenge by making it a love story. University Challenge is a love story. Of course, the setting was nice, the 80s, though I wish they hadn't blathered on so much about Thatcher. I also didn't like the female lead; a little caustic.

James whatsisface did an alright job as the main character; it wasn't his job that the character wasn't written with any credibility. Another character without credibility was the idiot that Benedict Cumberbatch (everyone's favourite Sherlock Holmes until Guy Ritchie brings out another film) got to play. He was a little caricatured, though it's fortunate that B.C. pulls off caricature very well. He commands any scene he's in, though we'll see what happens when he goes American in the Whistleblower.

Not sure I'll see it, actually. Seems a bit... boring. One woman's struggle to bring down sex trafficking. Ethical and all that, but I'm not sure I have enough of a soul to waste two hours of my life pretending to care.

What I am going to be doing, is wasting my life learning stuff. University Challenge, Mastermind, I don't really care so long as it's BBC, primetime and I win. I don't mean next year, but one day.

P.S. Watched Lovely Bones the other day, 0 stars. Devastating.

My First Blog Post

Okay, so the title won't win me any literary awards. I'm not looking for that, though. Basically, the reason I'm writing a blog is because I'm bored, and also because I want attention. I'm going to be writing about my life, films I've seen, television programmes I've watched and so on.

The subject matter isn't going to be a thrillride, but at least I can spell, which is more than you can say for a lot of people.

People get my back up. To be honest, if I was going to sell myself as a human being, this is probably where I'd start. I know, as a USP, misanthropy is an unusual approach, but that's the point. I'm different; that's why people like me. The reasons people don't like me are many and varied, but usually it's because I didn't like them first and happened to let them in on that somewhere along the line.

I am an unemployed genius with no idea where my life is going until Thursday.