larrydainty.com

So, what has kept me from knuckling down to some writing over the past month or so? Well, forgive me for sounding my own trumpet here, but I have been very much in demand, don’t you know. One of the areas of work has been designing a brand new website for Siobhan Curham to help with her life coaching enterprise. The concept is to use a “unique blend of writing and life coaching designed to help you realise your dreams and live a truly authentic life, full of magic and possibility”, and it really is an interesting idea and worth checking out, even if I say so myself. Look, I’ll even save you the trouble of using Google to hunt for it by linking to it here.

There was one fly in the ointment though, and that’s the use of green text for the main body copy. Can I just point out that this “interesting” design feature was implemented by Siobhan and not by yours truly, now excuse me while I go and have an artistic tantrum! Actually, my girlfriend also liked the green text, but since she actually finds the inner workings of Microsoft Excel exciting, I rest my case.

This neatly brings us on to plug number two. Now, as hopefully you’ve all read in an earlier entry about the g.f running a website called yours2share, which deals with fractional ownership and the sharing of valuable assets blahdy blah. Well, this week it reached the dizzy heights of a Google page rank of four, which probably means bugger all to you non-geeky types, but for those who practice the dark art of search engine optimization (O.K, I include myself in this shameful activity), it was cause to pop the corks on a few bottles of Champagne.

Anyhow, I now have the pleasure of announcing the yours2share blog which is a behind-the-scenes look at your2share and its mission to help people share valuable assets and all that malarkey. Written by the g.f unfortunately, so no witty repartee and semi-congratulatory smugness, just stuff written in an Excel spreadsheet. However, at least she has managed to contribute almost a new entry a day, which is a far better rate then on this feeble excuse of a blog. Now excuse me, while I go and vandalize her work with nasty comments and green text in a fit of artistic temperament.

Welcome one and all to Larry’s first New Year blog entry. Sorry it’s taken at least nine days after the start of 2008 to actually post anything, but those observant souls amongst you will have noticed that I haven’t actually added to this blog since November. I wish I had an excuse but I don’t, so in true politburo style I am removing from history any trace of December 2007.

Therefore as far as this blog is now concerned, officially last month has never existed and all documents, pictures, photographs and dates of that month have now been formally rubbed out, painted over and replaced with a parade of tanks, some fearsome looking ballistic missiles and a sputnik.

By the way, for those comrades who would like to know who painted the off centre red blob on the above portrait of Stalin, you can find out here.

  Oh, my poor neglected blog! While I’ve been away I’ve left you withering on the vine, so time to make amends I think. My excuse is a simple one; I’ve been on holiday for the past couple of weeks enjoying the delights of France by driving down from Calais to Toulouse and back again while sampling the delights of the local food along the way. And not a Wi-Fi connection in sight. Oh, the joy! Of course I must make it clear I wasn’t on my own during this road trip of gluttony, because not only did Sophie come along but also Tilly, our lurcher hound.

Now, some may think that this was a little strange; taking the girlfriend is one thing, but the dog? You may ask why we simply didn’t go on our own and put our four legged friend in kennels. Well, apart from the time and money we’ve spent getting Tilly her own doggy passport, I have to confess I did have an ulterior motive for wanting the bandy legged fart monster to accompany us, namely, possible material for a book.

If you’ve looked at a list of international best sellers recently you may have noticed a book by John Grogan entitled Marley & Me. However, it’s not as you might think about the author’s homage to the great reggae singer Bob Marley, but his life with the family pet Labrador retriever. Or as the blurb on the back of the book says “ Is it possible for humans to discover the key to happiness through a larger than life, bad-boy dog?” So is the book slushier than a large carton of cherry flavoured Slush Puppie? You bet it is, but for all that it is a top selling book and that’s what got me thinking.

The idea was to document the wild and wacky travels with Tilly, while commenting on the sensational food and interesting local history from one end of France to the other. A sort of combined cook and travel book with cute doggy story thrown in for good measure. Unfortunately things didn’t turn out as I had planned. On the first day, while running in woods deep in the French countryside Tilly managed to get herself attached to a large tick, (not uncommon as it happens, due to the presence of wild boar who roam the area). Anyhow, after that nasty experience it was decided that from then on she would have to stay firmly attached to her lead when we took her for a walk. The result was a rather miffed pooch that showed her displeasure by frequently breaking wind from then on until we arrived back in dear old blighty.

As for the food and wine, we had some excellent meals but since I tend to fall asleep after a good blow-out I ended up forgetting all the wonderful favours and tastes before I had a chance to write it all down. I think Rick Stein says he always writes his cook book recipes down when his hungry and I can certainly see his point. Of course unlike me, he probably avoids driving for hours along a French motorway while his girlfriend insists they listen to accordion folk music (to get into a Gallic mood). And I bet he doesn’t have to put up with a pissed off lurcher farting away every few kilometres while he nurses another bad case of indigestion brought on from over indulging during a lunchtime meal. You know, it’s great to be back in Angleterre I can tell you.

  A few weeks ago a friend of mine mentioned he’d bought a cheap MP3 player. He planned to hook it up to his car hi-fi so he could listen to a Spanish language course while at the same time attempting to drive through the manic streets of Staines. Now, bearing in mind this guy is married to a Spanish woman, I did feel obliged to point out an obvious money saving option. Simply have his wife sit in the passenger seat and chat away to him in her mother tongue.

However, on reflection I can see that this suggestion has a major flaw, as I know from experience. Whenever I’m driving with my girlfriend Sophie, the following is often repeated by her time and time again.
 
“You’re going to fast”
“You’re going to slow”
“You should have turned left back there”
“Why are you turning right?”
“Is there any reason why you’re going at this speed on the motorway?”
“Your headlights are off.”
“Please overtake the driver in front; he’s acting like a maniac!”
“Look, there’s a space!”
“You’ll never park the car in there.”
“Stop here, yes here!”
“You nearly hit that car!”
“Why are you so irritated?”
“But what have I said?”
“Would you like me to drive the car instead?”
“You’re so horrible!”

What these phrases sound like in Spanish I have no idea, but if they have a similar effect as they do on me, I reckon my friend will be wishing his car was fitted with a passenger ejector seat before he reaches Staines high street.
 
Of course the other interesting aspect to this story is that he’d plumbed for a cheap MP3 player and not the obligatory Apple Ipod. It made me wonder if he had experienced the embarrassing problems that can arise if you choose its dreaded shuffle mode.
 
Now, Apple would have you believe that all shuffle does is play tracks back in a random fashion and it’s all to do with various clever algorithms, but this is complete and utter twaddle. The real answer is that they have managed to somehow shrink several DJs down to minuscule size and actually fitted them inside.
 
But that’s only part the story. They have also cunningly made sure that one DJ is really cool while the other is totally crap. This goes to explain why my Ipod sometimes plays a series of my favourite hip songs or at other times just a load of Elton John. It’s obvious that inside my Ipod’s shiny white and chrome exterior there lurks a minuscule “Mr Good” and “Mr Bad” DJ, both desperately wanting to choose the next tracks.

So do I have any proof? Well let me tell you about the incident last weekend that’s resulted in me having to eat curry for breakfast, lunch and dinner over the past few days. It was Sophie’s birthday and she had wisely ordered in a take-away from the local indian restaurant so everyone could eat after watching the rugby. After the game as we and about twelve other guests got ready to eat a selection of tasty titbits, I decided that a little background ambiance was called for. I connected up my Ipod, selected shuffle and let it rip. Unfortunately that evening the “Mr Bad” DJ was in charge and he surpassed himself in selecting the most inappropriate track possible.

Conditional Discharge is a song by punk poet John Cooper-Clark and describes in quite graphic detail his visit to the STD clinic. It contains the immortal lines;

“A sexual recharge, a plug in a socket,
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit,
A random fuck, dirty sheets, a crack in a cup, a lavatory seat.
I’m in the dark about where I got it.
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit.”
 
I admit it’s quite witty and as a fan of Mr Cooper-Clark it deserves to be one of the 609 songs that languish on my Ipod. But, there is a time and place for it to be played and during a diner party, when everyone is about to tuck into chicken tika masala, is definitely not one of them!
 
Unfortunately, being British, nobody complained but just sat there toying with their food and trying to make polite conversation, as the nauseating lyrics punctuated the air like a drunken guest with flatulence. I was so embarrassed that all I could do was sit there transfixed as I imagined “Mr Bad” DJ grinning and giving me the high five as he shuffled among my Ipod tracks, looking for the most cringe worthy songs to select.
 
So, to avoid any future mishaps I have come up with a cunning plan. From now on I only play tracks sung in a foreign language. I’ve even got a Spanish version of Conditional Discharge, and since nobody can understand a word they can’t be offended. Not unless you’re my mate from Staines, and he just happens to have brought his wife along. Chicken tika masala anyone?

 My girlfriend and I have a strict working arrangement. It came about because for the last year we have both been working from home. Therefore, wanting to avoid the consequences of living together 24/7, and the risk of daily tantrums, obnoxious behaviour and general nastiness as we drove each other crazy, (not that you would get that from me of course, I’m all sweetness and light when I work!) we decided to opt for a sort of working apartheid.

Therefore, she took over (commandeered) the large comfortable airy downstairs front room as her office, while I was banished into the upstairs box room where the window doesn’t open. This can be a real nuisance if you happen to break wind suddenly, not that I do because as I’ve mentioned before, I’m all sweetness and light when I work.

Further rules include, only communicating via email, never asking every five minutes if she would like a cup of tea, never asking every five minutes if she would like to make me a cup of tea, never interrupting her to show the latest sculpture made out of coloured paperclips, never sending her the latest internet news on Chelsea football club, never shouting inane questions down the stairs and getting annoyed when she doesn’t answer, never walking naked into her office and asking where all the clean underpants are, never training the dog to interrupt her so it can say the word “sausages” and finally, never picking up the phone when it rings and pretending to be her secretary.

This, as it happens has all paid off, because in that time she has managed to launched her internet business yours2share.com onto the waiting world. What’s it about you may wonder? Well, the idea of her site is to match like-minded people who want to share valuable assets, things like cute cottages, big boats and designer handbags. Anyway, please go check it out as she would love any feedback about it.
 
And what have I been doing for the past twelve months as I sit here cooped up in the small box room? Well, actually I’ve been also very busy, sitting here naked and dying for a cup of tea, while desperately trying not to break wind, making paperclip sculptures, surfing the internet for news on football and trying to teach the dog to say the word “sausages”.

I wrote this blog entry in complete silence. No, I hadn’t suddenly joined an order of trappist monks, but simply wore earplugs while I valiantly typed away. After all, at the moment I find myself so unfocused I have problems just completing a shopping list in less than a week, so a little sensory deprivation that would hopefully concentrate my mind seemed a good idea at the time.
 
This bizarre situation all came about thanks to my friend Pete Haines, who told me he often wears earplugs when writing to help him “get in the zone” of undisturbed creativity. And since Pete has managed to write numerous books and plays, one of which “God’s Lonely Men” is published next month, I thought I’d give the earplug idea a go.
 
On the whole I have to say the experiment went rather well, apart from the weird sounds of my breathing in the background I did find “doing a Beethoven” helped me concentrate on the writing. Of course the downside was I missed several important events, such as a Tesco’s food delivery, the postman knocking on the door with an important package and the dog barking that she needed to urgently go out in the garden …which led to her delivering a package of her own making all over the kitchen floor.
 
Still, needs must when you find yourself inspired to write and if that means I missed a few things with my ears stuffed full of cotton wool so be it. Unfortunately my g.f didn’t quite see it that way when she returned to a house in total chaos and no food. At which point she delivered her own damming verdict on my experiment with a few choice expletives and the slamming of doors. Not that I could hear any of it you understand.