1 pm Tuesday. In the office. Carrying on from yesterday where I will now try to write a few words each day from work. Well, I guess we'll just have to see exactly how long I will be able to keep it for. Not long probably. Pretty dead at work today business wise, anyway who is there to really give a fuck about us if we sink or swim? And really there shouldn't be anyone besides those of us who get a crust out of it anyway. What fuckin' right have I to expect people to suddenly for sorry for us? As if the rest of humanity hasn't got enough on it's plate as it is! Jesus! We can moan and blather till kingdom about not getting enough orders, being a bunch of small guys up against the big cheeses of the book business world but there ain't gonna make many people shedding any tears because of that are there? And nor should they! I am sure they have more than plenty to occupy their minds with when it comes to running down Worry Avenue and knocking at all those doom an' gloom stakes poking outta da ground.
Evenin' now, back after another day at work. Cookin' up some potatoes to have with the remaining rice and dhal from last night. Got the Stones on the system, courtesy o' one of my playlists. This one's called the Roaming Stones and it collects together a load of their less well known but nevertheless pleasingly melodic compositions. Again concentrating on the latter period albums, just like the other Stones playlist I compiled of their harder numbers that goes by the name of Rocky Stones, something I'm pretty sure I mentioned in a previous post. Think I'll do one more Stones list, call it Rampant Stones, and that will bring together a little bit of everything from their vast and sprawling catalogue.
Really, I think the Stones are pretty damn tremendous and a lot of their stuff over the last 20-25 years has been severely underrated. And for what reason? Well I guess because they are rich enough, famous enough and old enough for any dumb fucker with a pen in their hand to come along and have a pop at 'em. But I have to say that by and large the endless critics are severely mistaken in their analysis of a lot of the later Stones material. Seriously and severely mistaken. Then again, that is just my opinion. Others might want to just tell me to shut up, to shut up and go away because as far as they are concerned I simply do not know what it is I am talking about. Yeah, they might just wanna do that.
As yet this evenin' I haven't done any meditation. Somehow I feel a late nite session comin' on. Probably will be knackered when I make it down onto the cushion but I will give it a try nevertheless. What usually happens when I meditate anytime after 9pm is that my back gets tight and painful - and serves to be a major distraction. It is important at those times not to push the pain away, better to embrace and face up to the reality that that is what is happening. Stems from the fact that my legs are so stiff I can barely sit cross-legged on the cushion which means my lower back has little in the way of support since my legs are unable to stay flat on the ground. Yep, that is the physical state of my meditation when I get down to it way after dark.
All these hopeful visions I can still so effortlessly entertain myself with about slipping into some kind of deep an' enlightening meditative trance in which all great secrets will be revealed are little more than traces of a sad fantasy. The stark reality is that more often than not when I sit down to meditate mid to late evenin' time it is as much as I can do to get through a halfway decent session. That is the way it is. Yes, I'll keeping working on it, chipping away at the old block so to speak, but to be honest with ya I ain't holding out on stumblin' across any wonderful surprises.
Writing this the morning after the nite before. As expected, or as predicted, the meditation session I did last night was brief, to say the least...not more than 15 minutes. Only thing it resulted in was me going to bed almost immediately afterwards. That happens sometimes. You sit down to meditate and all it does is indicate to you just how tremendously tired you are. That meant I was in the sack before 11 and after reading a few pages of Rubicon (an excellent history of the Roman Republic) and podding a couple of trax from Voodoo Lounge by the Stones I was dead to the world.
Had a few strange dreams. At work we are in the process of getting a shipment of statues and other stuff from Nepal and I dreamt that all the product arrived and the quality of the workmanship was terrible and instead of there being the Buddha statues that we ordered there was a whole bunch of Hindu stuff mixed in as well. Guess you could say it was a tension dream, ain't no doubt about that. Another one I had was waking up and there being no power in the house. When I went to the fusebox there was just a whole load of junk in there and it took a long time to flip the switch and get the juice back on. Don't in any kind of way know what that was about. Dreams...what to say about them? Well some people have got a hell of a lot to say about them but at the end of the day, in the final analysis, in my humble opinion, the contents of dreams are best kept to oneself. Despite the fact I have just burbled on about what mine were about...oh well, guess you could say my mind-body embraces a whole host of contradictions.
Dreams. Yes. Often with me it is the emotional feeling in which they are embedded that is the important thing to remember and not so much the action which is probably just an expression of how I am feeling- at a normally inaccessible level. Dreams go in phases as well. You can have a run of dreams of wildly different experiences but the underlying feel to them is more or less the same. Then they shift onto something else. Like a rollin' river. Yeah boy, like a rollin' river and there ain't nuthin' you can do to stop the flow.
End of day now. Been into town to get Tamdin something special for Tibetan New Year which is on Saturday. Losar Tashi Delek - to everyone! Don't worry, if you are unfamiliar with Tibetan culture you are not expected to know what that is supposed to mean. London was busier than I expected I have to say. Enjoyable up to a point but then I got tired and couldn't get back to Woodford fast enough. Took in my grandfather's walking stick hoping to get a tip for it but the only walking stick shop I had ever seen in London was closed as in closed permanently when I got there. Typical that. For years and years I had seen it on New Oxford street and had always said to myself whenever I saw it that one day I would have to take the walking stick there and get the tip sorted out. Then, when I finally do manage to get it together the place has ceased to exist. Kaput. Fuckin' typical. So anyway by the end of a couple of hours walking round town it got tiring carrying this walking stick around and making sure it didn't poke people on the pavement and in the shops. Guess I should have pretended to have a hobble and then have been able to use it in the way it was supposed to be.
Managed to get a nice present for Tamdin anyway, and that after all was the whole point of going in, well that and getting the stick sorted. Ended up in Selfridges at one point and got a stack of beef jerky from the foodhall as it was on special offer with50% off. Thought it would be good to have something like that for Tibetan New Year. Mmmm beef jerky. Hope it tastes good, it's Scottish jerky, Scottish beef jerky. Never really been into Selfridges foodhall before, apart from once I think a few years ago. It was busy. It is the place where posh people come to buy their pies and Italian ham at fantastic prices. Nevertheless it all ends up as shit in the end.
The part that made me tired was walking back down from Selfridges all the way to Tottenham Court Road along the crowded pavements of Oxford Street west to east. By this stage I was carrying Tamdin's present as well, which happened to be quite heavy. That and a few other things as like the jerky. Also having to negotiate the crowds with my walking stick. I guess I could have just got on the tube at Bond St but the point was I was after a Stones CD, a live album from the early '90s called Flashpoint. Finally I found it at a price I was prepared to pay which was £6.99 in the Virgin Megastore right by Tottenham Court Road. I'd seen it further back up the road in HMV but there they were selling it for a tenner which was a little bit pricey for what it was.
That's the problem I have with CDs; if there is one that I really wanna get my hands on then I will put myself through quite a lot in order to get it. Certain rules usually have to be followed, unless there are exceptional circumstances. The rule in this case was that I could have it as long as I did not have to pay too much for it. That meant that if I saw it on the racks for 13 quid or something like that then there was no way that I would allow myself to get it. £6.99 however was a different proposition altogether. Guess I wanted to get it to beef up the number of live Stones CDs I have in my collection which is not that many to be honest, in fact the only other one I have is the poorly regarded No Security from the post '97 Bridges to Babylon tour. Flashpoint by contrast concentrates on material from the late '80s minor Stones classic Steel Wheels. So, £6.99 was OK and from what I have heard of it so far it is unlikely to ever be a purchase that I am going to regret.
Got back to Woodford by 3.30 and then after a cup of tea and a bit of this an' that I was out again in the car this time going to the launderette to pick up some stuff I had put in for a service wash earlier in the morning. Basically stuff that I am too lazy to wash at home, like duvets, towels and all that shit. Then after that it was down the road to South Woodford and to Waitrose for some food shopping, at the end of which I was 50 quid poorer on my credit card. The main plus of going there was that I found they sold six packs of Heineken Export for £4.29 which as far as I'm concerned is really good value, due to the simple fact that it is one of the most delicious lagers I have tasted in ages. This is the real Heineken, the stuff brewed in Amsterdam, not the brewed under license shit you can pick up for a lot less. The export edition weighs in at a level of 5% alcohol whilst the usual UK Heineken brew is barely 4%. So there you go. If ya ever fancy a nice cold glass of beer go and grab yourself a pack of Heineken Export. You aint gonna regret it. And then, to make a night of it, put on a selection of classic Stones.
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