Thoughtlesness, work and adulation

What can I write? it’s not a question a writer should put into words. But I think like all thoughts are congested like a great pile up of life. My mind flickers over the broken memories, as a sleep depraved state holds up these eyes, a bit like my confidence being blocked.

All emotion is dead after burning one too many candles at both ends. I notice this because what was fun just becomes a bit stale. Even though you know good things may prevail out of you, you just don’t always know how to acknowledge them. It’s a bit like meeting amazing

This is at large due to my poor addled brain! After a certain amount of excess ion my poorly addled brain just turns into a deranged goldfish, spinning in a boiling bowl of water, not sure which direction to take. This summer was Heavy with a capitol H

I had managed to comatose myself after a succession of festivals which had left me calling on 2nd 3rd or 4th winds, which included a 43 hour stay awake stint at Standon calling festival. This lead to me sprinting around the festival like a bug-eyed loon, whilst wearing my Tuxedo.
Now you’re probably wondering why I would wear such a thing! All I can say is that if the festival says fancy dress then I like to do it properly, you know dress in a higher standard an all that.

This very tuxedo that I was wearing was originally brought by my mum from a charity shop, so that I could have something to wear at job interviews. Job interviews! Screw that, not that I personally like to be unemployed for my life’s entirety, but it’s just that I am so bad at applying for things.

It’s all heightened by my overwhelming fear of rejection. I had a job interview some years ago, in a Somerfield’s super market in nailsworth, which is in the middle of nowhere, right out in the countryside.

Anyway the interview went spectacularly badly, I mean how easy can it be to fail at such an easy interview but somehow I completely failed. And somehow the sense of failure has managed to overhang me for pretty much the entirety of my life. I mean I would like a job but I haven’t found anything which has been suited to my needs as a person, I know that probably sounds a bit pathetic but it is the truth no less.
I always have the tendencies to say slightly odd, if not completely wrong things. Like when the woman asking me why I wanted the job at Somerfield’s, to which I replied a typical teenagerish reply. ‘I don’t know’ I said with about as much enthusiasm as I would have if I was watching paint dry. I was a bit clueless at that age when it came to how to show enthusiasm for work, the word work in my mind came across like some sort of torture device.

I was young I didn’t want to work, working to me was a bit like slave labour, you know being forced to do torrid tasks that you don’t like. I mean like getting me to work was like trying to be a slave master over me, cracking my back with a harderned whip, or someone harassing me with a golden carrot being dangled in front of my nose.

To most people a decent, or just any wage is their golden carrot where as with me a golden carrot would be seeing the reactions on someone’s face, especially if I had done something to make them feel good about themselves. My golden carrot would be totally emotive reactions of other people, I guess I don’t just like to work for a simple pay check.

Most people think I am just being lazy but it’s just that I want to work in places and with people that inspire me, I have tried to do factory work and I could not hack more than a couple of days of it. The most socially repressing work I have ever done.

People walk around like emotionally repressed Zombies, this just isn’t me. I ended up hospitalising myself after one shift at the Royal Mail Sorting Office. Here lies a note to one’s self when you are in control of a conveyor belt don’t start to pretend you are a dj and scratch the moving belt, because you will just look like a class A twat. Secondly don’t start practising Jackie Chan Style manoeuvres on the Conveyor belt because as I found out to my pain that machines can scratch back viciously.

I don’t think my Mum was too pleased when she heard the phone call from me saying that after one day’s work. You see I lasted one day at that place, eight hours of being with emotionally repressed Zombies had clearly got to me.
You see getting my hand caught in the conveyor belt was probably my get out of jail early card, because in my head I may as well have been put in a prison, as I could feel myself talking to blank faces that had been emotionally worn down by the lack of natural light, or emotional insight.

I mean I was bored and when I get bored I have tendencies to daydream, it’s like as if my mind just caries me off into other worlds. If someone opened up my head they would probably find the entire cast of Lord of the Rings locked up inside, or that my brain is really nothing more than a bloated goldfish.

So the Tuxedo got dragged around to a myriad of festivals, Bestivals, Weddings and Hells Bells. Dragging it through sun, sea, mud and sound, like as if it was homeward bound. There was something about it that made me feel proud about myself, with its sleek black outline that hid my plump couch potato exterior pretty well.
It often fitted in with any murder mystery theme, not that I actually cared about fitting with the right costume or not. For instance the festival could say dress up as alien or fictional characters like comic book heroes, but I would always turn up in my tuxedo. whereas most of the people would spend one day in their costumes I would spend all weekend in my tux. As you can imagine 3 days solidly of wearing the same thing for 3 days, it itches pretty badly and you smell like cesspit, not a great way to impress people really.

I must admit to being a bit excessive whilst at Standon Calling Festival, it was one of the most stunning festies I have ever been to. With so much attention to detail on the look of the festival, the decor was so beautifully done; it had a real charming effect with a Murder Mystery feel.
There shops who were decked out in Victorian styled fronts that were made out of wood, but looked really realistic with mountains of paint covering the woods surfaces.

The music line up is always essential to every festival and the line up for this one was no exception. The highlights included Canadian Punk rockers Fucked Up, whose singer spent most of the time in the audience bare chested and flabby stomached, giving people big sweaty hugs whilst bellowing out lyrics.
Kate Tempest and the Sound of Rum, for those who are not familiar with Kate Tempest then I would loosely sum her up by saying she is in my opinion pretty much the best rapper in England at the moment, she has a jaw dropping ability to reduce me to tears with her knack of natural flare and almost fearless precision. I mean she at times says things which some people are too scared to say.

It took me ages to be able to say hello to her because she has become like this figure that I idolise, I know that this probably sounds a bit geeky sycophantic, I always find myself getting embarrassed in front of various female performers.
There have been a number of times I have managed to embarrass myself in front of various people, I don’t know whether it’s me or does there seem to be a whole male libido thing with females who are either in or front bands, I don’t know if it is something about them having been onstage which instantly increases the attractiveness.

There have been several occasions where I have really embarrassed myself, there was one case where I pretty much fainted on top of Natasha Khan (Bat For Lashes) because I got a little too over excited because she came up an gave me a massive hug. She also told me that she wished that she could pack me away in her suitcase. When she said that, it all got a bit too much for my poor heart and I proceeded to collapse on top of her.

It was quite a sight seeing as she was battling with this big fat oafish guy collapsing on top of her. I have to say she is quite strong as the hug she gave me was more than a bit bracing. To be honest I think any other guy would have probably reacted in the same way, just probably without the same level of hysterics as me.
There was also the case of Charlotte Hatherly, for those of you who are old enough to remember she was the female guitarist from Ash. Ash were one of the poster bands of brit pop punk 90’s era, so I used to have photos of her strewn on my walls.
And the first time I met her I didn’t half make a fool out of myself, I can remember going up to her whilst she was sat at her march desk. She was signing lots of stuff; I got so nervous that when I got to her, I mean I ended up spitting out a hundred words at almost a hundred miles an hour.

Her face had something of a perplexed look on it, as she tried to interprate what I was saying. It hadn’t helped in my case that I had been up the previous night partying with the Brisfest crew.

Her eyes looked nervously at me as I leared across at her from the other side of the Merch desk, almost dribbling onto her, I probably know what you are thinking! This is a beautiful picture I am painting a wonderful picture of myself, there's charlotte Hatherly on one side of the table looking scared at, this hairy weirdo who had been bouncing like as if they had been possessed whilst she was playing.
As you can see from this there seem to be a continuing trend, which I doubt will ever stop!