Ubernoise at Cardi Arms

So me and 'er went to see Ed, Andrea and Si officially launch their band Ubernoise last night.

Over the last 2 years, I've been allowed occasional glimpses into the progress of the songs they perfomed last night, and have seen them grow and mutate fromt their origins as uncomfortable and twisted little offerings with a spooky, haunting edge. I was however, totally unprepared for the transformation made by the hard work and considerable input of a recording studio's entire resources. What with Hightone Productions, based at the Soundmill Studios in Burley being Ed and Si's day job, there was no excuse for anything less.

We crammed into the function room at the Cardigan Arms on Kirkstall Road, comfortably equidistant between the studios themselves and the cosy little home that the Heatons share. It was already humid and dark, with the mirrors draped in cloth to prevent the stage lights bouncing, but with tea lights set along the mantelpiece beneath. Combined with Andrea's spangly sequined dress and somewhat severe haircut, the initial impression was perhaps that we were there to witness a techno-seance rather than some dirty-dramatic-electro-trance.

After Ed's rather effusive preamble thanking everyone for coming, they got down to business. In the opening track, Andrea was nervous. She's a theatre professional, but this was different. 'Dear H', apparently a letter to a past lover, is a mixture of angst and accusations. Hard place to start. The room was full of friends and relatives, people who have supported the studio since it was started last year, so the reception was always going to be appreciative. I think people were surprised and impressed at the complexity of the music and the emotions on display though, and the applause was definitely much more enthusiastic than merely condescending.

Over the next few numbers, Andrea as frontwoman and lynchpin of the band emerged from her intial obvious nervousness. The boys, huddled in the protected space behind their instruments, could make jokes between tracks, but it was Andrea who pulled them back to where they should be. The pace and tension rose in a calculated curve, through a slow waltz professing the fragility of love, through a light and pleasant pondering on the freedom of falling (I'd always interpreted the song as suicide) and into the songs that will become the first singles, released through Sugarstar. 'Dirty Vodka' and 'Trash'. By the final songs, the New Andrea was in full swing, grinning behind the mic, feeling the beat and screwing her face up to show it, pumping as much on her feet as the cables would allow.

I was shooting on the wrong film, with the camera on the wrong setting, in far too low light. The last time I shot at a gig, I was using a different camera. If any come out well, I think they should be awesome!

So afterwards. we went up the hill to the house. Dan was there, and we had the best laugh we've had in bloody ages. Tiswas has a lot to answer for - his finger was up my nose and mine his for a few minutes there whilst we were in stitches, as the room of bewildered onlookers gazed in utter incomprehension.

Lovely night, altogether. Me and Mich left the house at around 1ish, and walked up Burley Road in search of a curry. We only found one on the outskirts of town - next to the Fox, which is where we first met, incidentally. We got our curry, got them to call us a cab, got home, filled Anna in on our evening over our curry, and then went to bed. And that's when the phonecall came.

I'd left my rucksack, containing my camera, my phone, my bank cards and Mich's minidisk in the cab, and could I come and collect it asap. The taxi caller had no drivers available or he'd've sent it down, and did not trust the guy who would have taken over the shift at 6am, so I had to go get it before then.

I jumped on my bike and sped (really!) up the canalside, without proper lights, no helmet, no reflectors; collected the bag, leaving many thanks and good wishes behind me with the kind man; and dashed back down the canal again. Made the whole round trip in about 40 mins.

Then collapsed knackered in bed.

So I should have followed Mich's example and kipped until 1.30, but was woken by the local urchins yelling at each other in their customary vocal-cord shredding pitch and banging on a wheelie bin with a tennis racquet at 10 am. Bloody first day of the school holidays. Arse. I decided that I'd be best getting up. Besides, I had to finish Harry Potter.

I did: I sobbed (no more clues).

And aside from watching even more London Tube bombing related mayhem on the news all day, that's about it.

I'm waiting to hear back from a couple of websites to see if I can submit a review of last night's gig, but haven't heard 'owt as yet.

We're supposed to be off to the pub soon, but as Mich has now got her nose into HP6, I'm not that certain we'll make it. I'm not dead bothered. I'm way too tired.

Right then.

I'm off.

C

Right - time for some pretty photos

'Cos I have a degree in it and everything.

These are colour and light shots, pretty fragments of the world on sunny days. Some are form the holiday Mich and I took in Portugal with my folks back in April, and a couple are from a photographic wander round Leeds with my mate Alex. I like them a lot.

Some guilt at not having written anything....

Crap. It's ages since I was last here. That's really bad.

I've been reminded that I have this space waiting for me by my mate Ed, who's set his blog up today and emailed people to let them know. Perhaps I should invite people to check out my cyber-head space, my web-space to think....?

Well... so what have I not been writing?

Douglas is now 4 and a half months old, and is a big fat wobbly boy, just as I'd hoped he would be, and I adore him. I haven't managed to see as much of him as I at first hoped, what with the pressures of work and being skint rather more often than anticipated. It's this pesky change in consumer finance law and me apparently being the only person in the office who can write letters and spell correctly at the same time. Bah.

Michelle and I continue to stumble on together. She threw me out 3 times in the 5 weeks between the end of May and the 2nd week of July. I'm not sure just how stable anything is from one day to the next. My emotional and mental state continues to take a battering, mainly at my own hands. I'm clumsy, almost careless really. For a few weeks there I was pretty dissociated. The top class weed we were smoking really did me no good whatsoever. I almost checked myself into the nearest hospital a few days ago. I felt like I was operating at 90 degrees to reality. I was struggling to keep my feet on the ground, trying to concentrate at work but feeling solid life slipping through my fingers, like a foggy sleep, whilst attempting to tackle the most important letters yet. I've not felt that weird since the original breakdown.

And then we have the whole London Bombing to contend with. But that, perhaps, deserves a separate post.

The new Harry Potter is out, and I'm half way through it, so will be off to get stuck in to it shortly.

Otherwise, Caroline's shambolic progress continues.

Not dead inspiring, eh?

BABY!

Douglas Henry Sanders, 8 and half pounds-ish, born 11ish last night, 3rd march 2005. Dan called me at about 2.45 this morning to tell me. He sounded hyper, but I bet he's knackered.

Wow! I'm an auntie at last! I won't get chance to go over to see him until Tuesday, because of work, but after spending the whole of Thursday trying to stay horizontal in order to avoid the effects of gravity on my bowels, perhaps it's not a bad idea to make sure it's totally out of my system (although after that, I don't think there was anything left in there at all).

Perhaps I have extra-sensory bowels, and the 24 bout of sickness, diarrhea and weakness was to do with him coming along. I'll have to watch out for that one.

Anyway - pictures to follow, when I get some on my phone.

I'm waiting to see the bear that Carole's found - being a bear enthusiast, I asked her to find me the perfect bear for an auntie to give her nephew/neice - one that can be sucked, chewed, dropped, stood on, buried, cuddled and fed with honey sandwiches and withstand that for years. She originally came up with 2, but Michelle's gone round to look at just one, so I think she may have fallen in love with the other one and taken it off the market. In the meantime, I looked round Boots, ELC and Mothercare today and fell in love with a furry elephant and couldn't walk out without it. And after a chat with Carl from group, I'm looking for a projection system (like a light mobile) for his bedroom, but have had no luck so far. God it's exciting being an auntie!

Hurray!

Ok - off now. C

A little late night grumbling

For once, Michelle is in bed before me. Well, I say for once, but this has happened a few times in the last few days and I don't mind at all. Her sleep pattern is pretty much fucked, and we can go for what feels like weeks sleeping in shifts - me tucking myself up in bed at a fairly sensible hour, and her sitting up all night here at the computer doing her Frogs or homework for Uni, or farting about at some role-playing game(=RPG =rocket propelled grenade. Hmmmm....) until the early hours of the morning. At first it really got to me, but not so much now, because it's obvious that this is a part of her life that's been around for much longer than I have. Since I moved in though, she seems to have been better. That'll only be a week tomorrow, but I reckon all the stress and physical work of shifting things has knackered her out. Add to that the trips to the dentist which have been helpfully thrown in to disrupt our plans and I s'pose she'd need a fair bit of sleep to recoup.

As it is, I get to sit on the computer tonight because....phew... sorry about that.... because for the last hour I've been dashing to the loo every 15 mins to shit rusty water through the eye of a needle, and if I try to settle in bed whilst needing to dash, and disrupt her kip, I probably would be slaughtered by sunrise.

I'm a vegetarian, for Christ's sake! I don't eat most of the things which carry the risky bacteria. And we've pretty much eaten every meal together since Monday, so why is it just me? Unless it's from the Chinese last night when we went over to the old house to welcome Sarah in, and totally forgot to collect the bike, which is what we were there for. Dammit. Michelle took advantage and got a meat fix in, I stuck with tofu.

And here I go again.... bloody hell. 5 times since 11 so far. Rough. I will have the world's cleanest colon shortly. Surely the water should not be going down that route? What are my kidneys for?

Anyway. I was going to write about something other than unfortunate toilet issues, but events seem to have overtaken me, and I can't think what it was.

We've pretty much halved our alcohol intake over the last couple of weeks, which I know is a good thing, and not disconnected from the improved nighttime sleeping. Basically we've been too busy to go out, or too knackered to get pissed as often as we were in Dec and Jan. My liver and brain cells are singing a chorus of thanks. And next month, we'll be too poor, I reckon, due to a couple of factors.

Today I paid the last rent on the old house, and I'll cancel the standing order tomorrow, and I don't start paying rent on this one until the end of this month. It's so good to be renting from landlords who were friends first. Damian, my old housemate/landlord/surrogate big brother basically took me in when I needed it most and let me pay as soon as I could rather than ask for it up front, and the owner here is Michelle's mate who seems to have the same attitude to his property -"just look after it and pay me enough to cover my mortgage". Very cool. But the money freed up by the relatively easy rent situation has been used already - we bought our flights to go and see Mum and Dad in Portugal last week, we go in mid-April. (Hang on.....6 now, but it looks like I'm almost empty) and by then I will be an Auntie.

Hopefully that'll happen in the next few days. Mim's due date was last Friday, but the baby seems to like the warmth and sleep just as much as it's parents do. We don't know whether it's a boy or girl yet, just that it's a baby, and I can't wait. Dan seems more and more excited, but somehow I don't think he's ready. I can't quite see him as a Dad yet. Maybe because despite the fact that he is 32 and I am now 29, he is still just my big brother, and I, at least, am still just a big stupid kid in my head. Weird. I've been meaning to have a natter with him to settle an old score about how he behaves toward young and stupid relatives for a while now, and I wanted to get it in before the small person showed up, but I suppose I'll have to just approach him in a relaxed moment, if there ever is one, once it arrives. We are supposedly both adults now. We should both be able to do it. Once again, I say Hmmmmmmm.

I saw Ross, my old tutor from Art College at the Grove the other night (the night we did the move, so last Thursday) and Michelle hinted heavily at me until I sort of asked him, but he extended the invitation to me to come and use the facitilites whenever I want. I've a couple of rolls of b/w to dev from the Ingleborough walk, and I keep meaning to get shooting just to get my eye back in. I went through so many boxes of shite negs shot after the breakdown and although I felt very angry about the waste and the loss of all that time, it also made me want to get back out there and shoot again. When I finally get all my stuff here sorted out and in the right place, I want to arrange a good project and get shooting, dev it up at college and get it out there.

But that depends on everyone in the house sorting out all the junk that fills the nooks and crannies round here, selling off anything useful we don't want or need, and donating the valueless to charity, and throwing out the other crap. When that happens, I might get on with other stuff. And thrice HMMMMMMM.


Oh god my tummy does not feel well. Now I think I might try being sick. That's going to require my concentration and close proximity to the toilet, so I think I'll finish here.

Probably the most random diary entry I've ever committed to a recording medium. But there you go, that's life.

Night.

Moving on

In the process of moving into Michelle's, I've decided to sort through all the boxes I've unquestioningly lugged from one address to the next over the last few years. There are boxes of pieces of paper, loads of photos (ones from the degree course and from real student life at the time), books, documents, mementoes and souvenirs of trips or visits....

I have decided to apply a new editing policy. Anything that reminds me of the nervous breakdown, or the subsequent depression, and stupid decisions made during those few years is out. Any photographs which are out of focus, underexposed, of people I'd rather forget or times I don't really remember, are also out. I've given myself a couple of weeks to do it before I actually move in here.

Anything still in usable working order is being donated to charity, other junk is binned. So far I have shifted -
1) 5 years worth of bank statements and visa card bills relating to accounts that have been closed for at least 2 years.

2) 4 pairs of glasses that I haven't worn for ages.

3) The "hopeful" clothes at the back of te wardrobe, even if I do get back to being that size again, I won't want to wear those clothes.

3a) this includes the "trophy" dress - the one I've not worn since May 15th 1999, which was also the last day that I wore make-up and shoes with heels.

4) The court documents relating to my small claims battle against my ex-best friend, the straight girl I fell for who treated me first like a walking bank and then like a walking doormat. 5 years since the case, almost finished the group therapy for the depression, almost dealing with the memory, don't really need the proof.

Some of this is stuff I packed up in boxes in 1995, when I went off for my year out in America thinking Mum and Dad might move while I was away. I came home to find them still sitting there.
8 months after that, when I moved out of their house and into the one with Straight-bitch, the boxes were intact.
Moved out of there 19 months later in a state of shock, into halls of residence in Wolverhampton, boxes still untouched, then a year after that, my parents finally did sell up and moved into their campervan, leaving their own boxes with me at the same time as I moved into my 1st student house.
A year after that, I found myself sleeping on my cousin's couch and spare room floor for 3 months, surrounded by said boxes, and then gave up student living, went part time and moved into my own council flat for almost 2 yrs, putting the boxes into their own little cupboard and ignoring them.
I moved back to Leeds 2 years ago and lugged them around still unopened, and when I got into the house I've been in for the last 2 and a half years, I seriously saw it as a temporary measure and so continued living with the boxes all packed up and ready to go.

But now I'm moving in with Michelle, and she has her own fair share of boxes, and I need to lighten the load.

If I'm lucky, I might fit everything into just one transit van trip - furniture and essential boxes. I have been bringing back what i can carry on foot over the last few days.

Higher Intelligence

So it's official - the process of moving into Michelle's began last week, when I moved my Stripy Catboy in (furniture and clothes to follow by the end of the month).
Fagin spent a month around xmas here, but he wasn't allowed out 'cos theoretically he was supposed to be moving back to mine, with me, but that didn't last very long. I was missing him so much I decided to bring him back here, and then decided to stop paying rent on a place I use only as a stoage room.
So, after letting him get used to the smells and feel of the place again, we've started letting him out, to allow him to make this his home. For the first time he is exploring 2 gardens - front and back (we lived in a back to back before), and he can wander in and out as he wants when the security grills are on and the doors are open. He has fences to climb, a quiet road, some kids, more cats and a nice thriving population of birds to threaten. Plus, he has Cj round his little paw and only has to miaow at her in the tone that suggests his bowl is empty and she will instantly refill it for him. Cat heaven.
He first went out on Monday afternoon for a couple of minutes, and I was close behind him. On Tuesday, I sat reading in the back garden while he trotted around sniffing things and rubbing his chin on twigs and bricks. He disappeared into both gardens next door, but dutifully returned when he was called. I put him out the of the other door to let him get used to that side as well, and he went a bit further away, was out of sight and mind for about an hour, but came hurtling back with his tail in the air and a happy bounce in his gait when I called him. Of course he got fussed over like mad.
And then we let him out at night. He was out for a couple of hours in the pitch black with all the tougher cats on the estate, and I was a little worried, but he came back and miaowed to be let in and then settled on the bed exhausted.
All day yesterday he just seemed to want to sleep or doze somewhere warm - sitting on the windowsill in our room above the pipes, on the couch with me while I was reading, on the warm bit of floor where the pipe comes up close to the wood on the landing.
And then last night he was out all night. He went out at midnight when I went to bed. And we heard nothing of him until exactly 7am. Michelle had been awake working on the computer all that time - worrying about him and no doubt also about the fact that she's having teeth pulled today, keeping an ear out, but it was me who heard him. And the noise was coming from the other side of the house. I was dead chuffed at first that my cat had proved himself clever enough to figure out that front and back were not discrete and separate worlds, but could be connected by trotting a few extra houses down to the end of the row and out through the ginnel, or round by the road. So I went to the back door and called him in. I could hear him miaowing excitedly, but couldn't see where he was or understand why he wasn't coming in. I started to worry - was he injured? Trapped somewhere close to the door, unable to get any closer and panicking? And then I looked up - to where the sloping roof for the back door rises to our bedroom window - and there was my boycat's face, and he didn't look too sure of himself.
I dashed up the stairs, and Michelle came out of the computer room looking worried as I shouted to her that he was on the roof. I opened our window and let him in - and he came tumbling through, chattering at us and pleased to be inside, and went straight down to his food bowl with Michelle in tow.
The clever bastard put all that together in his head within a couple of hours of casing the joint from the outside, and by staring out of the window. Apparently the 2 giant cat-flaps we have at front and back for him are not enough. He has decided he prefers to use his specialised personal entrance that takes him directly into our room.

Tinkering

It's nearly 2 in the afternoon, I am still slightly hungover after spending the evening at the Grove and Scabby Taps with Janice, Steve and their ex-next door neighbour Rich, and I have to go to work in a couple of hours.

So I thought I'd tinker a bit and put the writing I did on here yesterday in the right place 'cos it was annoying me.

All done now.

Michelle wants a big fat fried breakfast to kill her headache. I wouldn't mind the veggy version, but it's a bit late to start looking....

Recovering from Ingleton.

As I write this, I'm sitting in Michelle's office (she'll wake up shortly and demand her seat back, kiss me and request (another demand really) that I go and make her a coffee), wearing nothing but tousled hair and my big blue dressing gown. And my glasses.

My limbs are all slightly achey, but the worst is my arse (is it an appendage or a limb?). I slept really well last night.

Yesterday, Michelle, Anna, Simon, Rich and I did the Waterfalls walk at Ingleton. We set off from here around 12ish (after a few cups of coffee and driving around Leeds getting everyone's kit together) and got to Ingleton around 2.30ish. We stopped at the Inglesport Cafe for a preparatory breakfast, and lit out on the walk after Michelle had to dash back to the booth to get her change, at around 3. It was one of those crisp and sunny winter afternoons, we didn't really need all the layers we were wearing, let alone our waterproofs (I hate mine anyway, so left it at home) and the walk is only about 4 and a half miles, so it was a mere amble compared to, say, crossing Jura.

We got up to the top just in time to catch the long shadows and golden light on the Pecca falls. There were the remains of the clouds from rain which we struck in the valley as we headed up from Leeds, and they turned pink, orange and purlpe as the light sunk out of the sky, but mostly we were under a bright blue sky.

I was shooting for the first time in ages, starting in b&w, taking the sun on the water, deciding it was too late to give life to any shots of the falls 'cos the sun had left the valley and the woods before we got there, and then changing to colour for the descent. I hope my shot of us all against the orange sky comes out. And I'm looking forward to my shots of Michelle ("This will be the jacket shot on your first book!*snap*") because she looked really cute.

We needed to get out. I've put on a stone since Michelle and I got together - too much good food and alcohol, and not walking the daily 45 mins to and from work I used to do from Burley when I was full time. I've come off prozac now, and need to be getting regular exercise to keep my brain chemicals from giving up completely, and I noticed yesterday that my running injuries from last year, however tiny and annoying they were then, are still annoying now. Michelle, meanwhile, has lost weight. She was tiny to begin with, but hasn't been too well - lost her appetite, sleep pattern and the urge to do anything. If she could just do any one of those things, the rest might fall into place. So when Simon and Anna asked if I fancied it whilst we were drinking at last orders at the Grove on Monday night, I jumped at the chance, and talked Michelle into it as well.

She swears she hates walking, as though it's her duty, an article of faith. She has spent the last 6 months telling me how camping is fine as long as a sensible proximity to porcelain is maintained (i.e. it's less than 100 yards form a toilet). So I was surprised and delighted when she suggested returning to Ingleton with a tent in a few weeks so that we could get a good start on the walk and take some better photos in the light. It was so good to see her out, active and happy.

I got a proper endorphine rush as we emerged from the woods on the way down, and felt the evening air and the quiet. Except, what really kicked it in for me was that the "quiet of the woods" is anything but. Rich and I were talking about the shots we'd got, and we were being marked by a cock robin just checking our passage through his territory. A pair of blackbirds were fighting over a female and sending the dry leaves flipping and swirling like a miniature whirlwind ("My black feathers are better than your black feathers" "Not when they're broken they're not!") I decided to walk on ahead by myself just to be selfish, wishing the others were all further behind so I could decide to stop and wait for them if I wanted. The fact that they were never more than a minute behind was starting to annoy me when we emerged from the woods and I found myself standing above a clear, slow part of the river, after the gorge. The air was different, the sounds were different, I'd earned myself a good heart rate, had a great day out, and really felt at ease. I was standing there enjoying the relief of not being anywhere but there, and Michelle was the next one out of the woods, and she came to kiss me to say hi. Absolutely lovely. I couldn't help smiling. I'd even taken photos of people - these ones, anyway - because I wanted to, to remember the day, and as I did it, I felt excited and relaxed, not nervous or guilty or detached. How many years since that's happened?

As Simon drove us back in the pitch black, I was the only one apart from him awake. Rich had first nodded off with his head hanging down, and then thrown it back into the classic fly-catching mode. Anna was lolling in the front seat, and Michelle had curled up in her coat, leaning her head against my shoulder, which eventually went numb under the weight. A quiet sleepy ride in the dark, watching the streetlights and headlights, after a good tiring walk. Again, a treat.

We picked up Fagin from mine, to move him here permanently, settled him in, ordered curry, had a bath and then hit the sack by midnight. Fagin woke me up a couple of times in the night, and a spring has popped through the old mattress on our bed and left a puncture in Michelle's bum, causing her to wake up shouting, but otherwise, we slept like logs.

I'm about ready to get up now, and we have stuff to do today, so I'd better get 'er nibs moving. I bet she'll be stiff as a board. Poor love.

Oh dear

I cut down my hours at work for the finance company so that I could concentrate on writing my MA, and then discovered that the topic I'd chosen wasn't big enough for all my ideas. Since then, I've been "working on those ideas" - i.e. drinking with my partner and talking a lot of bollocks.
Few words? Talkative but not dead confident, attempting to be intellectual, enthusiastic with nowhere to put it. That help?
Don't take the favourites below as in any way permanent. I watch lots and read lots and all sorts can get me going. Anything that raises me above the humdrum of normal life can send me into rapturous adoration about it until the next ace thing comes along.