It’s been a day filled with ovens, boiled tuna (yuck), yoga and train sets. Varied, huh? Now I am sat listening to a Seasick Steve track, playing on someone else’s blog and wondering whether he’s going to become the latest blog-meme, the new Chuck Norris / LOLcat / whatever. I’ve seen his name bandied around various places, such as last weekends Saturday supplement in the paper, a national radio station and now a couple of blogs, but until now I hadn’t heard any of his music (despite the woman on the radio begging all listeners to wait five minutes to hear his track, I switched off as I had a toddler demanding to be fed that very instant). What I’m hearing so far seems… bleh. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I never was much of a fan of old, drunk-sounding men yelling like extras from The Beverly Hillbillies. Perhaps I’ll try listening to another track, see if it changes my mind… I wouldn’t want to discount someone on the basis of one song – he could just be having a very bad day/sore throat/feeling miserable, right?
Right.
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I used to be a huge music obsessive. Every spare (and sometimes not so spare) penny would be spent on cds, vinyl and tickets to all kinds of concerts. A lot of the time, however, these purchases would be made to stay in line with friends, rather than out of an actual desire to own the cds or see the bands. I still feel a bit daft for doing that.
During the necessary peaks and troughs of the last few years, my music obsession waned to nothing more than a fleeting listen to the radio whilst cooking. My cds were never unpacked from the cardboard box after we moved house, and they still sit in a wardrobe today, encased in a coffin of brown card and packing tape. Despite (or maybe because of) this, I’m slowly starting to take more of an interest, albeit not in brand-spanking new music. I’ve always like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, though perhaps not as obsessively as many, and over the last couple of months I’ve been trying to listen to more of John Frusciante’s solo work, particuarly the album “Curtains”. The tracks of it that I have heard I’ve loved (“The Past Recedes” is never off my iPod), so I’m hoping to try and get the album, either as a download or by ye olde shop purchase. We’ll see.
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At the moment, Beepbeep is playing with a wooden trainset that used to belong to Mr Fox. It is a lovingly battered thing, still-shiny wheels and brightly painted carriages, pale wooden track scattered over my carpet as Beepbeep concentrates on the trains themselves. He’s worked out that the magnets let the trains follow the one he holds, but he hasn’t quite managed to place them on the track, or even know what the track is for (despite my slightly OTT demonstration). Apart from losing the odd carriage to the sofa (he can’t reach all the way back to retrieve them), he seems to be quite happy, so it gives me time to sit here and try to get used to blogging again. I’ve read so many interesting, well-written blogs, and whilst I hope I may have learned a little from what I’ve read, I always feel a bit self-conscious about how I write. However! This blog is no place for self-conscious needy whining, so that train of thought will stay right there… or perhaps I’ll throw it onto the sofa to join Beepbeep’s abandoned collection of wooden carriages? That seems as good a place as any.
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My arms ache. A couple of hours ago I channel-hopped my way to DIVAtv, a channel I assume is focussed at the stay-at-home-mum demograph I’ve found myself in. Nestled between programes about holiday destinations and cookery is Yoga TV, a half hourly yoga session led by Australian Kris McIntyre. Half an hour, you say? Easy to follow, hmm? In the words of I Can Haz Cheezburger?, DO NOT WANT! I admit I’m a yoga newbie; I’ve never attended a regular class and have only followed a few dvd sessions but man, this was hard. One pose involved laying on your back, elbows by your chest and your fists clenched in the air, balancing on your head and elbows whilst you press your chest into the air, and – wait for it – , lifting your feet fifteen centimetres in the air and flexing them and your head from one side to the other. It was all I could do not to crumple into a heap on the floor (much to the hilarity of Beepbeep, no doubt) – I managed to hold the pose, but I’ll leave the flexing for next time. Everything in moderation, yes?
