In praise of...The Art of Falling Apart

My right ear has been bunged up with wax and behaving rather unreasonably. It started out on Easter Friday and continued being mutt 'n' jeff until a few minutes before I rocked into work on Tuesday. Gree-ut as they say in Newcastle....

It was over the weekend after trying to make a mate's iPod synch properly with his copy of iTunes, that while drifting off to sleep, my own iPod threw a wonderful random track into the mix.

I like Soft Cell in the same way I like Wagon Wheels. That is a like them a lot, but once in a while only is a very good thing indeed: same attitude I have to Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and Newcastle Brown. I had bought a couple of CDs a few years ago. "Non-Stop Erotic Caberet" replaced a cassette copy I'd worn out, and for good measure I'd acquired "The Art of Falling Apart". I'd ripped both and not really played the second album, other than the deliciously spooky "Martin" - an Annie Nightingale 80s staple.

It was while drifting off to sleep that the magnum opus of TAoFA was revealed - a track called Heat. As spooky and disturbing in its own way as the creepiest record I've heard to date, Throbbing Gristle's Hamburger Lady. I've played HL to many a person who didn't previously believe that music could be genuinely scary - with mixed receptions from those who have become converts to those who simply asked me to turn it off (most a quite fascinated by what it is obviously doing to their perception and wish to hear it again, but in a "did that guy really eat his own shit?" sort of way.

Next day, with my ear still knackered, I played the album in full, and what a finely bleak album it is - particularly disconbobuled pseudo-mono. Depeche Mode before they started the CBT counselling. Throbbing Gristle mixed my Stock Aitken Waterman's pop sensibility. Pervy funhouse music for 80s darkside club-headz. Music that Smiths' fans would have liked had they been into granny porn.

This is one of those great lost 80s albums. Ones the critics will not include alongside, for example "Welcome to the Pleasure-Dome" by Frankie, Rio by Duran Duran or the ultimate 80s audio sum-up, according to yon host, The Lexicon of Love by ABC.

It would be hugely unjust to overlook this album though. It wasn't ever as rawly indie as the music released on Cherry Red, but it was a outlet of (and for) those many who were disenfranchised by Thatcher's "winner takes all" laissez faire greed and fuck you Jack society. But unlike the Smiths whose albums whined about just how plastic and silly 80s Britain was for the vast majority without a stake in Canary Wharf Porscheville or even access to a reppy Ford Sierra, this album served as a foghorn call reminding you that having such trinkets was a complete pile of jizz anyway. Screw all that, it said, get your blow-up doll out and get the family mutt to give you a blowy while the wife's out at bingo.

You know you want it.

Then afterwards, go blast your cranium with crystal-meth and burn your house down. With your family inside.

For Danny Baker fans only

Went to see The Candyman, Amy, Kwo-ey and Baylon at the Hackney Empire last night. Not exactly what I'd expected but a lovely show anyway, and a great showcase for the BBC Concert Orchestra and the lady with the typwriter.

Anyway, just a quickie. Do any DB fans know what the tune "which is what you hear when you listen inside a 2 year old's head" is called? I've not heard this for a few years as I don't listen to the afternoon show (being as I am at work) but was an avid fan and a daily listener to his BBC London breakfast show (much missed).

It is probably a piece of ungettable library music, but if it does have a name or author I'd love to know.

Cruddy brown saliva

Dear Blogging audience (a veritable universe!!)

This isn't an aspect of my life I share without considerable thought. What I'm about to discuss is neither pleasant not great self-PR. But nevertheless, I've googled extensively this subject and find nothing that constitutes a satisfactory answer. Thus I beseech you, can anyone tell me what kind of crud I spit out in the middle of the night when I go for a no. 1? And what I can do to stop it happening?

So, I wake up needing a gypsy's kiss. My mouth, though, is all dry and tastes dreadful. I spit into the sink. What comes out is grim, and ranges in colour from light green-yellow to coca-cola brown. It is mid-way in texture between snot and saliva.

I am borderline diabetic, and wondered if what I have is the result of mouth thrush. But I can't find this symptom when I look under diabetes, and I wouldn't know whether this is one of the fun filled results of such a condition. And anyhow, the description of this condition seem to indicate that the crap you spit out is creamy in colour.

My physiotherapist daughter thinks my lungs are ridding themselves of all the accumulated nicotine and tar from when I was a 20-a-day smoker for 10 years (gave in October 2006 - so far, so good).

Anyone have any idea? It doesn't happen every night, but it does seem to occur more regularly (though not always) following the consumption of large amounts of food, regardless of whether my teeth have been cleaned.

Most likely guesses from my point of view are:

1) Diabetes (yeast, maybe)
2) Nicotine
3) Gum or palate disease
4) Bacteria in throat or sinuses

Not sure though.

Any serious opinions will be given consideration.

How can't I help you?

Just for the record, I never received a reply to this email, which I sent after not receiving any service other than a shrug and a "sorry, can't help you" response.

If C2C, the local train company for south Essex, ever DO reply, I'll be sure to post it. I received an auto-response from their server so I know it actually arrived safe and well. Sadly, their response will remain...unknown.

More "how can't I help you" stories to follow as they come.

And they most certainly will. The culture of "how may I not help you" is endemic.




From: Me
Subject: Long distance ticket
Date: 8 February 2008 18:43:40 GMT
To: custrel@c2crail.co.uk

Dear fellow human

I have just returned from Barking station where I attempted to purchase a ticket from Kings Cross to York for next Friday (about 5.30).

I was told by your admittedly polite ticket sales chap that I can only do this between 10-4.

HEL-LOOOOO!

The majority of the great tax paying public work between 9-5. So to avoid a trip into Liverpool Street to buy a ticket from the long-distance counter, or risk not getting my tickets on time by booking online I now have to return to Barking tomorrow, Saturday, a trip which was definitely NOT on my agenda. As I am a prize-winning cynic, let me pre-empt some of your responses so that you don't waste my time with pointless automaton-speak (aka PR flannel. Been there, got the T-shirt....

1. "This is a busy time".

No, it wasn't. There was me in the queue. Followed by no-one. I was at the window in about 2 seconds.

2. "We are committed to improving our customer services".

Good. You could start by offering sales points at times where people actually wish to use them.


3. "You may purchase on the online."

Indeed, I can, have, and will continue to do so. Do I not have a choice though? Ticket office. An office to buy tickets from. On my way home from work. CO-VEEE-NI-ENCE! CHOICE! Nope, no choice? Shucks-a-mussy.


4. "Our special long-distance ticket printometer runs on solar power. Had you wished to purchase a ticket in the summertime..."

Nah, that's just tooooo cynical.

But please, you get my point, surely? I mean, you guys ARE human I take it?

Anyway, I really think this yet another case of "how can't I help you, sir?"

A non- cut and pasted answer from a pre-packed formula would be appreciated. Otherwise, do spare me.

Adam Holdsworth
Dagenham
Essex




A C2C train. More useful than its ticket office.