Monday, December 31, 2007

There's No Point Waiting For Tomorrow; It'll Come Of Its Own Accord When It's Ready

"Another year over and what have I done?/All my aspirations have shrivelled in the sun..."

So sang Matt Johnson*, but he was a miserable bastard, and anyway he wasn't exactly right. Well, not if one of his aspirations was to be immortalised in a postmodernist, Verfremdungseffekt-bedecked one-act play written by me when I was in the sixth form, he wasn't. Not many people had that honour, Matt Johnson, I can tell you.

(One day my precocious juvenilia will be sensationally discovered, as a direct result of which there will be a huge The The revival, and a whole new generation of rock writers (probably led by Tim 'I've never heard of David Bowie' 'Jonze') will take great pleasure in deconstructing jejune lyrics about overgrown gardens and weeds and stuff, and wishing they'd been around in Thatcher's Britain when everything was gritty and bleak and real and you could look cool by wearing metal badges with Soviet iconography on them and there were real issues like Greenham Common and British Leyland to sing real songs and write real journalism about.)

Oh right, yes, where was I?

Yes, I decided this morning that I was going to draw this blog to a close today, in a sort of '...and they lived happily ever after'-type way, but then the lovely (and funny and deeply knowledgeable about electronica) Fat Roland said something nice about it, and I decided to continue it forever and ever, so you know who to blame.

And on that cheery note, I wish you all a very happy New Year and I hope that, unlike Matt Johnson, you will realise all of your aspirations** and just generally have a splendid year in 2008.


* Apparently the correct lyric is "Another year older and what have I done?", thus ruining my entire New Year's Eve riff. No gratitude, that Johnson chap. None at all.

** Try keeping them out of direct sunlight, that would seem to be the best approach. Maybe store your aspirations in a cool, dark place. Like under the shed, or in Beth Ditto's loft.

8 comments:

Clair said...

NOO, DON'T GO!

Here's to more Happy Ever After (and I do see you and Mr BC in a Terry and June stylee, you know) in 2008.

xx

ScroobiousScrivener said...

Oh thank god for compliments coming along at the right moment, then. And thank you for not announcing the end before you actually changed your mind. I don't need any more stress in my life.

Hooray for happy not-yet-endings!

Annie said...

No no no! On NO ACCOUNT close down your blog. Or I will close down my blog in protest.

Hmm. Must think of better threat.

Happy New Year (and Ever After) to you and Mr BC, dear Patroclus!

Tim Footman said...

Close down your blog and I'll get on the first pedalo to Cornwall and stomp on all your books about cryptography and Pictish things and that.

Incidentally, did your postmodernist, Verfremdungseffekt-bedecked one-act play have apocalyptic overtones? Thought so.

Happy new year, babe.

patroclus said...

Aww, thanks all. Please don't ever shut your blogs down either.

(Tim: Good lord no. But it did have a chorus of singing tea-urns. Imagine a cross between Bertolt Brecht and Victoria Wood, only rubbish.)

cello said...

Oh, you do so like to give us scares from time to time. But I'm very grateful to Fat Roland for reminding you of your own 'beautiful humanity' that is a great joy to many of us. Not to mention your savage irony, filthy humour and elegant prose. Just accept that, like life and children, blogs have to be made the most of and once created cannot be 'shut down'.

Fat Roland said...

The The, crikey, there's a memory right there.

Anyhoo, it seemed my compliment saved the world from destruction just in time. Phew! Tune in again for more nail-biting adventures. (Cut to dramatic theme music.)

patroclus said...

Dun-dun-DUN! FR, if you ever need me to return the compliment, I shall be only too happy.

Cello: Crumbs, if I knew the mighty weight of responsibility I was taking on when I started this blog, I might never have begun. As it is, it's turning out to be the longest commitment I've made in my life - so far outlasting several jobs, one degree and one marriage. Blimey.