Lockdown Diary - Friday 11th September 2020

I thought I'd go crazy and have a lie-in today - 6:30 a.m. instead of 6. Usual stuff to do in order to get ready to start training at 8.  The trainer announced there was going to be a final 1/2 day of training on Tuesday next week, though it looks as though that's going to start at 7 a.m. UK time. I could obviously make that time, but I've queried whether we really need to start an hour earlier than we did this week and the week before. My fingers are crossed.

It is Friday, which is good, in theory, though I'm not feeling very upbeat about the day, or indeed the weekend ahead. The death of our best man is weighing heavy on my mind, for a whole host of reasons. When I told my wife who'd called me, she initially smiled, until I said why she'd called.  I've no real way of knowing what she makes of the news, or even if I did the right thing in telling her.  On top of that, things really don't seem to be falling into place for me on most fronts. Futile efforts in the pursuit of the unattainable. 

There doesn't seem to be any escape from it: I haven't really managed to take time out to listen to music and don't really feel in the mood; I can't seem to muster the enthusiasm to read either. Gonna have to find a way to shake this off, somehow.

Out of the blue my younger sister called: she's recently had her belly button pierced and I've been joking with her about it, along the lines of 'was it an unfortunate accident?' (I imagined her falling on a compass perhaps (the mathematical drawing sort, not the find-your-way-when- lost-in-the-woods sort)).  I used to have an irrational fear that the knot in your, now internal, unless you have an 'outy', umbilical cord might undo, thus causing your innards to leak out and a consequent level of deflation. I no longer believe that is likely, for the record.  I did say to my sister that the only body puncturings I'm going to have are those necessitated by the need for surgery, which hopefully will not arise anyway.

It was good to have a catch up: we spoke of the death of our best man, who my sister met at our wedding plus a few other occasions, and just life in general, in its full futile emptiness (well, that was my perspective).  Probably a well timed call, in retrospect.

Son #3 was off out to the pub with his mates, probably the last time they'll be able to do that in a while, not to mention them all going off to Uni or wherever.  It's a strange time when you finish school and go off to uni.  When I went to uni, I was glad to get away, for reasons which can wait for some other day, and going 200-odd miles North to Leeds, ensured I wasn't going to be popping home very 5 minutes.   It was like starting a new life.  I think I met up with school friends in the summer after the first year, but I may be remembering wrong.  Foolishly I didn't keep in touch with school friends much over that time, but luckily the school reunion back in 2016 changed all that.

Sons 1 and 2 and I watched some Louis Theroux documentary on sex offenders in LA, which managed to evoke a mix of horror, sympathy, and pathos. Fucked up lives and the compulsions of the brain laid bare.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

I'm beginning to think 2020 is not going to turn out to have been a good year for music, neither live nor recorded.  There have been some good albums, but seemingly a lot less than in recent years.  I've been trying to listen to a lot of new stuff, but mostly I've just thought 'meh'.  Not sure if that's wholly a reflection on the music or maybe my general state of ennui (and worse, but let's not go there), or a bit of both.  Anyway all that bullshit preamble aside, the new album from The Flaming Lips is a return to form. They've been off doing all sorts of collaborations and experimental albums, which, while interesting, haven't always managed to gel with me.  'American Head', on early listens, seems to buck the trend, and sounds like it may be a return to their psychedelic best. From the album, this is 'Flowers of Neptune 6'.

[['Not waving, but drowning']] 

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