A Question of Balance

 

There is a saying that I’ve heard a lot of blokes say and it is this:

“Happy wife, happy life”

I think that this saying is a bit biased towards the female side. Basically, to me, it says, if you keep "‘er indoors" happy then you will get a peaceful life. Nevertheless, there has to be balance in this equation and I am all for balance. 

The idea for me is to keep each other happy. If, as a man, you are happy and your significant other is also happy then that is the ideal situation. Life isn’t as simple as that though and this is where compromise comes into that equation.

It helps if you both enjoy the same things but there comes a point when you have to do something that is not your favourite thing to do in order to keep that balance. 

I have a couple of examples of this in action. 

Recently, when were in Lanzarote, Mrs PM who has just started a new job, asked me what I was going to do when we returned. 

“I’ll pop to the cinema to see Captain America: Brave New World” I said. I can do this at any time because I am retired. I don’t mind going to the cinema on my own at all. Mrs PM surprised me and said:

“I’ll come with you if you like. I haven’t been to the cinema for ages.”

I was surprised by this because, although Mrs PM doesn’t mind Marvel films, she usually waits for them to come on the TV rather than going to the cinema. It was only when I checked the cinema listings that something clicked. 

“I see that Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy” is on as well,” I said.

Basically Mrs PM doesn’t like going to the cinema on her own at all and she really wanted to go and see it. I had seen the previous Bridget Jones movies but generally I hate romantic comedies and I would never actually watch them on TV let alone pay money to see them. 

I sighed and rather than arguing about this I decided, in the name of compromise and balance, to agree to see it with her. 

Last Sunday we went to see Captain America together and she enjoyed it. Yesterday we went to see Bridget Jones and she really enjoyed it. There were not that many blokes in the cinema at all and the ones who were, were in the same situation as I was. I did notice there were quite a few groups of three or four women all giggling and crying as the film progressed.

Did I enjoy them?

Captain America was not the greatest Marvel movie I have seen but I enjoyed it, especially when the Red Hulk appeared. 

Bridget Jones? I’ve seen them all and I have chuckled at some scenes but it was such a girl movie and I had to try to resist using the sick bag on a couple of occasions (using Newton’s Laws to express your love for somebody? Do me a favour!). The highlight for me was seeing Sally Phillips, who I really like.

I won’t see any Bridget Jones filmsa gain but in the interest of balance I have kept my thoughts to myself. The film was okay but definitely not my kind of movie. Mrs PM enjoyed it though and that is all that counts. 

Balance has also branched out to music now. During the pandemic when we were locked down in the house, we had to compromise about music. Basically Mrs PM loves dance music and I love rock, prog and heavy metal. Our tastes are quite different. However, we discovered that we have an overlap and we managed to create a joint Spotify playlist that we play very often. You can read about it here:

The Playlist 

The playlist has grown since then and we have 436 songs at the time of writing. I never thought that would happen.

In the last couple of years we have extended this idea and actually started going to gigs together, which is something I thought we would never ever do. I have been to hundreds of gigs and Mrs PM would have hated them. Nevertheless we both decided to give ourselves a taste of some bands that we wouldn’t normally see. 

And we are doing it again this year. 

In the past couple of years, I have seen Alison Goldfrapp and Sophie Ellis-Bextor (although the latter was supporting the Human League who we both like). 

In return, Mrs PM saw The Stranglers and The Foo Fighters. 

Now I do like the band Goldfrapp, and Alison Goldfrapp as a solo artist did play some of those songs but her newest album is pure dance so it was a little out of my comfort zone. But it was fun. We both loved the Stranglers though and Mrs PM was slightly out of her comfort zone with the Foo Fighters.

This year I have a few gigs planned but Mrs PM is only coming to two of them. 

The first is a real blast from my past and hers: Electric Light Orchestra, one of my favourite bands when I was a child. We both love them.

The second is Nine Inch Nails. I jokingly asked her if she would ever see them and she told me yes. They are definitely my type of band and the only thing she might like about them is their more mellow and electronic side. She likes this song for example. 

But she will have to put up with this:

I’m not too concerned though because there are a lot of different styles in between plus a few more mellow songs they may perform.

It might just challenge the balance and compromise but I like to think that I can cope if she doesn’t. I am a Libran and the scales are the symbol of my star sign. I don’t believe in all of that nonsense but I do believe in balance and I will try to achieve that no matter what. Let’s just hope she doesn’t hate Nine Inch Nails to the point where I have to see somebody dreadful (and believe me – there are many terrible songs in Mrs PM’s collection).

The gig is in June and she has asked me for a Nine Inch Nails Spotify play list that will give her a taste of what to expect.

Wish me luck.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 31

At last we’ve reached the final day of this weird blogathon. I’ve enjoyed it – and I hope some of you have too.

My last song is currently top of the list in terms of number of times played on my iPod. To be fair, if ITunes had been available way back in 1973 the song would have been something completely different I am sure.

And yes, you’ve guessed it, the song is a progressive rock masterpiece, in my opinion anyway. It is called Drive Home by Steven Wilson and features an extraordinarily emotional guitar solo at the end by Guthrie Govan.

Steven Wilson has the uncanny ability to write sad songs and this is up there with the best of them.

The song is about a man who loses his wife in a car crash and blocks the incident out completely until, later, his wife comes back as a ghost to remind him what happened, urging him to move on and deal with the pain.

The accompanying video is equally sad – but despite this, the song is absolutely beautiful.  If you don’t want to listen to the entire song, just listen to the guitar solo from about 5 minutes into the video.

Anyway – that’s it. I’ve completed my second 31 day blogathon and I must say that it has been fun and has actually ticked off a couple of “resolutions” for 2017 (although not completely). I don’t really want to highlight resolutions but if you set yourself a target and (kind of) achieve it, you suddenly feel a warm and fuzzy feeling inside – something akin to happiness and contentment.

I moaned earlier about how dreadful 2016 was and how January as a month is dark, dismal and depressing and how I needed a distraction and this series of posts has helped a lot. I have increased the amount of writing I have done and also resurrected a 30 day challenge and this has helped me forget about 2016 and this, the worst month of the year.

As we enter into February I am content. I still haven’t lost my temper with a rant about Brexit and Donald Trump despite provocation of the highest order and I can hopefully put all that behind me and start being more positive.

It’s tough but I recommend it.

What’s in store next?

February will bring more misery in terms of the cold British weather but in terms of writing, I am going to aim to complete the first draft of my terrible novel.

I am also currently attacking my language skills, by brushing up on my German and French and taking on another language – Italian. We are thinking of a trip to Italy in September so I would like to impress the locals by at least being able to ask for things in their native language. My exploits with Spanish have shown that this is very difficult – but I like a challenge.

Whether I’ll achieve it or not, who knows – but it will be fun trying.

I will also continue with this dreadful blog and maybe try to post more regularly. Sadly, for you dear reader, that means more garbage from Manchester but it at least it will help those who want to see “How Not To Write A Blog Post”.

See you in February sometime.

And, as a footnote, I hope you’ve experienced a wider range of music and enjoyed a little bit of prog!

Welcome to my world!

Progressive Thoughts - Day 30

Today’s song is another by Canadian power trio Rush, called Cut ToThe Chase.

This is a song about chasing your dreams and ignoring those who try to dissuade you because they think it is a waste of time.

Everybody should have dreams and strive for them, otherwise what is the point of being alive? I truly believe that with a little willpower, it is possible to achieve your ultimate desires; history is full of such people.

Some people choose to be proactive but others simply wait until they are older and add desires to their bucket list when they realise that death is approaching.

I know that death is following me around and while I am doing my best to outrun him, I am relatively content not to create a bucket list of things that I feel I need to do before the Grim Reaper finally impales me on his scythe.

To be honest, I feel it’s now too late to try some of the things I would have attempted as a young man.

Age and sensibility have taken over and, for example, the very idea of hurling myself out of an aircraft with nothing but a huge silk sheet attached to my back with rope does not appeal to me in the slightest.

I might actually have tried it at the age of 20 when my fear of heights was non-existent.

Other features of growing old would simply interfere with such desires.

That’s not to say that I don’t have dreams – I do. But the difference is that I don’t want to achieve them just to cross an entry off a list and boast about my achievement to other people. I don’t want to tell my mates that I swam naked in the Mediterranean Sea for many reasons, not least of all that the mental image of me stumbling into a cold sea showing my fat arse and worse would be something that they would never forgive me for.

An image like that remains etched in the area of the brain marked “OH MY GOD!” for eternity.

Friends' response would almost certainly be a tsunami of verbal abuse that would make Quentin Tarantino run away in shock.

Actually, I realise that I may have given you the same mental image of a strategically shaved ape waddling into the sea, dear reader. I am truly sorry about that.

My dreams are personal ones and a lot of them are ongoing. Additionally, there are some that I haven’t even thought of yet.

I believe that no matter how old you get, you should continue to strive to make yourself happy with achievable and pleasant dreams that you can still manage. Put aside thoughts of having a dangerous liaison with the Angel of Death – you can’t do anything about that but you may bring forward the date if you decided that abseiling down the Eiffel Tower was something you feel like you must do.

What’s wrong with making an effort to be nice to people?

What about travelling?

What about writing that book of your innermost thoughts that your family friends can enjoy after the Grim Reaper carts you away?

All of the above are on my list, as is meeting as many new people as possible (as long as I can rid myself of the Shyness Beast).

Such things are easy, dear reader.

I bet you’re still thinking about a naked ape in the Mediterranean aren’t you?

Progressive Thoughts - Day 28

Today’s song is another from the brilliant Porcupine Tree called Sentimental.

This is a rather sad song about young kids not wanting to grow old and somehow stay as young as they are but with the added feeling of having wasted their life so far.

I remember when I was a kid that I really wanted to stay young and play forever, but the overriding issue that I realised would remain was the lack of money. As far as I was concerned, with money came freedom and if I had that money I could do what I wanted.

Sadly, a thirteen year old can’t always get the money they want. My parents looked after us but we weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination. Unfortunately I went to, what was considered, the best school in Walsall, and consequently a lot of kids with rich parents also attended. The big difference was that a lot of them were pampered by their parents who gave them enough money to buy all the latest gear, whereas I missed out. I could see the unfairness of life and I think that this shaped me politically and certainly changed my outlook.

What I saw was that my own parents immensely proud of what I had achieved but some of the other kids I knew were pushed by already successful parents and really struggled to cope.

I was happy with where I was going but I didn’t like the environment I found myself in, particularly when I was at the mercy of rich kids who showed off their treasures and mocked me for not having the same wealth.

My only option was to get a job to get extra cash and it was the best thing I ever did. It was a simple job, in a newsagent but I was able to buy stuff and fight back against the more privileged kids. I worked at the newsagent from thirteen to eighteen, assisting the manager with delivering newspapers, setting up all the paper rounds, collecting money, stock taking, shelf-stacking and, towards the end, selling stuff from behind the counter.

It was all menial work but I thoroughly enjoyed the job, so much so that the manager of the shop tried to persuade me to ditch the idea of university and consider a career as a manager in the chain of shops.

Sadly that wasn’t for me and I had to disappoint him.

However, what all of this taught me was that working for money was a good thing and while it interfered with my social life a little, it meant that I did have some freedom and the ability to laugh in the faces of the pompous arseholes at school who flashed their daddy’s cash around without having earned it.

The job prepared me for a real career and when I actually started work after university, I embraced it with gusto.

Regular readers will know that I am now sick of the rat race but the truth is that I am not a kid anymore and, having worked in IT for over thirty years, I want a change. Whether I achieve my new goals in the years to come is questionable but at least I am happy being the age I am and looking towards the future as an old man with some pleasure – as long as I am physically able to cope of course.

But that thirteen year old kid is still in my head and occasionally surfaces.

I love that and don't ever want that to change.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 22

Today’s song is another by British prog rockers  Arena. The song is called The Butterfly Man and is the song that introduced me to the band.

When I first heard this song, a cold shiver ran down my spine and I was struck by its spooky nature. 

My mind ran amok because the subject matter fits perfectly within the darker recesses of my imagination, the menacing section where I conjure up weird monsters that would scare me shitless should I ever be unfortunate enough to encounter them.

Such a creature is The Butterfly Man, presumably so-called because he (or it) is a collector.

Unfortunately, rather than gathering insects, the target of his collection are human souls, imprisoning them in a place from where there is no escape. 

Nobody is safe.

The implication is that the creature is not human and waits in the dark catching people when they least expect it.

I love this kind of stuff and it pushes all the buttons that put me on edge. Ironically that kind of excites me because although I am scared, I love the concept of a monster kidnapping people and effectively locking them away forever.

It’s a terrifying prospect and it would make a great book and/or movie.

I have a bit of a love hate relationship with creepy films to be honest. I love to watch them and be terrified by them but later, when I go to bed, they have ingrained themselves in my subconscious mind and consequently I sometimes struggle to sleep as my weird imagination elaborates on an already terrifying premise. 

Even if I do eventually sleep, my dreams are invaded by the monsters I have witnessed, only this time they are magnified to the point where I wake up in a cold sweat.

Basically they induce nightmares and I hate that.

“You’re looking tired,” people will say.

“Yes – I watched  scary film last night and didn’t sleep very well.”

“You utter wimp!”

One of my favourite wacky conspiracy theorists, David Icke, believes in a variation to The Butterfly Man. If you listen to the lyrics of the song, the Butterfly Man lies in wait in the dark on the edge of your consciousness, waiting to strike like a snake.

According to Icke, there are interdimensional beings that can exist just outside of our perception. If you have ever been alone and suddenly had an intense feeling that someone or something is there with you then the chances are that you have encountered one of these beings. Icke says that sometimes these creatures accidentally reveal themselves to us.

So if you are alone and have a crawling sensation something being present and, maybe, catch a glimpse of something as you turn around, just before it vanishes, then you have met one of David Icke’s interdimensional, alien, illuminati lizards.

Or it could be a ghost.

Or it could be The Butterfly Man.

Or, most likely, it could just be your vivid imagination having just read this post. If I cause this to happen, dear reader, then I apologise.

The truth is that David Icke is just a crackpot or, quite possibly an amazingly clever con man who has somehow identified something within his fans that he can exploit to pander to their own wacky conspiracy theory ideas.

As I’ve said, I am a weird fan of David Icke but not because I believe his crackpot theories. As far as I am concerned, he is a walking novel, a talking creepy horror story, a man who is entertaining most of us with an elaborate and totally incredible plot, set in the real world, embracing existing conspiracy theories in a way that entertains me.

He is not telling the truth; he is spinning a yarn – and a very entertaining one. In many ways, I believe he is just a prolific story teller and long may he continue to do so.

I love crazy, weird stuff like this.

Actually, I am alone as I type this and I have a feeling I am being watched.

Ah – I am being watched.

My big fat cat wants his dinner!

Progressive Thoughts - Day 19

Today’s song is called Slow Marching Band by the legendary Jethro Tull.

I’m pretty sure that Jethro Tull’s main man, Ian Anderson, wouldn’t like his band to be called a progressive rock band but sadly for him the powers that be have already etched their name in stone to the list of progressive artists.

As with the yesterday’s post, the song is about the end of a relationship so I’m not going to talk about that topic again.

Slow marching bands are also associated with funerals and the first thing that leaps to mind is the opening scene of one of my favourite James Bond films, Live and Let Die:

The scene always makes me smile because the whole elaborate event is staged just to kill a spy. Of course, in reality, the poor spy would just have been taken out without having staged a fake funeral just to cover the crime.

James Bond films are famous for being over the top and I love that. Sadly, they also make me wince because the villains always have the opportunity to kill 007 at least twice during the movie and, somehow, he escapes with his life.

The Austin Powers movies take this to the extreme and only Dr Evil’s son points out the stupidity of not killing the hero immediately:

In Moonraker, the evil Hugo Drax says:

“Mr Bond, you turn up with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season." 

“Mr Bond, you defy all of my attempts to plan an amusing death for you.”

Why the hell didn’t he just kill Bond with a gun when he first clapped eyes on him? Some villains have come close but never managed it.

Even Goldfinger bottled it with the laser beam.

If I were a villain in a Bond movie (and I could be because I’m English have mad hair) I would shoot him myself as soon as my henchmen had him tied up.

My final words would be simple: “Goodbye Mr Bond!” and I would ignore everything he said.

To be honest, it would make a terrible Bond movie and, of course, it would be the last one.

Nevertheless, it would enable me to turn the tables and start a franchise where the bad guy, i.e. me, has to thwart attempts by other agents who are Licensed to Kill from actually trying to stop my plans for world domination.

James Bond would be the first to fail and I would come against a new double O agent in each movie.

And I would have a fantastic bad guy name, something like Axel Rampage.

“Good evening, 001. Rampage by name, Rampage by nature. See you in the next life!”

BANG!

I might start writing the first screenplay called:

Licensed to Rampage.

It’s a well-known fact that bad guys have more fun and since I have been constantly overlooked in the Bond franchise, you can consider this my challenge!

Do you think my idea has legs, dear reader?

Progressive Thoughts - Day 18

Today’s song is called Space-Dye Vest by the brilliant progressive metal band Dream Theater. Again, this is a mellow slow burning song that may make you ask:

“What do you mean “Metal?”.

The song is quite sad and dark and reflects the pain of a relationship being over from the perspective of the person who was dumped while he struggles to get over the fact that everything is over.

There are so many songs about the pleasure and pain of love, so many in fact that often they are quite shallow.

Some, however, are quite profound and this is one of the better ones, both musically and lyrically.

I’ve only ever been dumped once and, to be honest, I could see it coming. I was 18 years old and the girl in question was the daughter of one of my parents’ best friends, so the family connection was quite strong, which is one of the reasons that other people took the break up more seriously than either of us.

As usual, I shall protect the identity of the girl in question by calling her Gwen.

Gwen was my second serious girlfriend. My previous relationship had ended a few months earlier and had lasted for over a year and my parents, particularly my mum, had reacted badly to that one.

“You’ve dumped that poor girl?” she had said angrily and demanded to know why.

I think she saw wedding bells even though I had only been 17 years old. So when Gwen and I got together, I think my mum was totally delighted; not only did I have a new girlfriend, the bonus was that she was best friends with Gwen’s parents.

It was a win-win for her.

The truth is that Gwen and I kind of drifted into the relationship because of our parents. We saw a lot of each other because of them and were already good friends. I was hopeless with the opposite sex at the time and blindly tried to chat up women who were out of my league, making a complete arse of myself every time. I was also very stupid because didn’t really see it when a girl liked me.

This was the case with Gwen and she made all of the moves.

Sadly, for her, I had just discovered the joys of alcohol and was in my final year at school with A-Levels on the horizon and at the same time looking for a place at university. I was also an arsehole generally.

The problem was that I was changing, both my appearance, my outlook on life as well as trying to calm down and stop being an arsehole. Gwen and I got together at totally the wrong time.

I spent Saturday nights in Walsall town centre drinking with my mates and then knuckling down with work the rest of the time. Gwen wanted me to spend time with her and, to be fair to her, I neglected her. When we got together the first thing she used to do was moan about how selfish I was. She was working and not at school so she didn’t understand what I wanted and what was driving me.

Nor did she understand that I needed to spend time with my best friends on Saturdays.

It was doomed and the inevitable happened after about three months.

I called at her house and she opened the door.

“Hiya,” I said.

“I’ve had enough,” she growled. “Why don’t you fuck off back to your boyfriend, Stan!!!”

Stan was my best mate at the time (that wasn’t his real name by the way – I just want to protect the guilty).

“Are you dumping me?” I asked, incredulously.

“I thought you were clever,” she said. “YES I AM DUMPING YOU!”

And then she slammed the door in my face, leaving me standing there shocked. I remained there for about a minute then burst out laughing. I realised at that point that I didn’t really care that I'd been thrown onto the scrap heap and instead, went to Stan’s house (as she had said) where we went to the pub to discuss it over a pint.

Strangely, the next time I saw Gwen, she was her usual self and we actually chatted like the old friends we were.

Gwen will always stand out in my memory, however. A few months after we split up, my dad died. My mum wanted to tell Gwen’s parents but she was a complete mess, so I took that responsibility. I walked the short distance to Gwen’s parents’ house and knocked on the door.

Gwen saw me coming and assumed that I was visiting her.

She opened the door with a smile and said “Hiya! What are you doing here?”

I looked at her and blurted out “My dad’s died!” and then burst into tears.

Gwen grabbed me and gave me a huge hug as I rested my head on her shoulder and wept like a baby, soaking her jumper. She dragged me into her house as I sobbed and gave the bad news to her parents who also fell apart in grief. Gwen made me a cup of tea and sat next to me holding me as if I were going to run away forever.

At that moment, I felt closer to Gwen than I had ever felt to her when we were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Sadly, I lost touch with her after I left Walsall but that one memory of Gwen comforting me is far stronger than just being an ex-girlfriend who dumped me for being an arsehole (which I deserved to be fair).

I will never forget what she did to comfort me.

Thanks again, Gwen.