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Life in plastic is fantastic …

Tags: ball record vinyl

Well, it’s been an interesting week. I’ve managed to do some more writing (woot!) but a little less because I had other stuff I needed to do as well. On the up side, some of that other stuff was proofing Too Good To Be True in audio. Oh. Yeh. It did not disappoint.

Other news, McCat has become rather too enthusiastic at jumping onto the back of my Ball – phnark. I sit on a Swiss Ball to work. I do have one of those kneeling seats but I can’t quite bend the replaced knee enough to be comfortable yet so it’s short bursts for that. As a result, I usually sit on a Swiss Ball that’s specially designed for weight lifting so it will take my enormous bulk on a regular basis – plus that of the cat – without exploding.

McCat regularly jumps onto the back of it but that hasn’t caused any trouble until recently when he started reaching up and hanging onto it, with predictable results. As I sat on it yesterday morning, I thought I could hear a hissing noise. Hmm … Vos ist das? I wondered.

I was listening back to the speaky file I had been doing for the pronunciations and twiddly bits that needed changed in the audio, ready to send to Gareth, so naturally, at first, I wondered if the hissing was an unfortunate side effect of the piss-poor quality of my recording. I hit pause and listened. No. The hissing continued. Maybe it was ambient noise from my computer or my headphones. I took the ear buds out of my ears. Still the hissing noise continued.

The penny dropped. Maybe it was my ball.

Tentatively, I put a hand round behind me and felt about. Sure enough, I soon found a drought where air was not so much leaking as gushing out … of the ball, obviously, not my arse. At about the same time, I clocked that the desk seemed to be a bit higher than before. Yes. My ball was ruptured and I was sinking. Fast. Oops.

That’s not how it should look. It’s a Swiss Ball, not a beanbag.

I went into the hall, where the boxes I am supposed to be going through to sort my collection of tat into stuff for my office and stuff to store or sell still sit after about seven months. Somewhere in there, I knew, there was a back up ball. I couldn’t find it but McOther knew where it was instantly, bless him. Brilliant! Panic over. I bore the spare ball back to my office in triumph, where I was confronted with the true extent of the damage to my ball of choice, so to speak. It was looking a bit wrinkly and very, very small. Oh dear.

Dumping the alternative ball on my desk, I went to find a pump. After a bit of a rummage I realised it was in the cupboard in my office – I’ve sorted a couple of things out then – and went back to get it. On opening the door my nose was assailed by a very rubbery scent. The room smelled more like a rubber fetishists room of pain than an office. Hmm … and I was going to sit on this thing. No doubt my trousers would smell of rubber too after I’d been sitting on it a while. Jeepers, people would think I was wearing underwear like Dafyd, off Little Britain.

Mmm. I mean fine if it floats people’s boats jolly dee, but it doesn’t float mine so I don’t really want everyone to think I’m packing latex. I might be into Vinyl but that’s records, not um … rubber. And the smell gets really a bit much after a while.

Yeh. Perhaps back up ball was not such a good idea. So I turned to t’interweb. Luckily, I was able to find an exact replacement ball for just over twenty quid. It’s coming next week. Until then, I’m stuck with the stool that’s not 100% comfy. Oh well, I suppose it could be worse, I could be wandering around stinking of rubber.

On the writing front, I have had trouble trying to write the thing I should be writing, which is, of course, another K’Barthan Extra. It’s time the poor Pan of Hamgee had to do another delivery for Big Merv, probably in torrential rain and storms after the weather has broken and with the usual nearly disastrous consequences. Naturally, because this is the one I need to write, my mojo is not playing ball. Instead, the first instalment of Space Dustmen seems to be unfolding merrily and there’s even been a bit of a break through in Traffick which is the sweeping epic one which might be a bit dark unless I’m careful. Never mind. You can’t win ‘em all.

Other news … well … there’s been very little. The weather’s been shit and I’ve been staying in doors and going out as little as possible! Also hay fever. I have vertigo today but luckily it was church and singing high notes does seem to help clear the sinuses so things are a bit less evil in that department. With any luck it’ll be gone by tomorrow, or certainly the end of the week when our wisteria and the lilac over the road will have finished flowering.

While ranting about my stinky spare ball, I mentioned vinyl which reminded me of the other vinyl, which I’ve been meaning to talk about for some time.

Vinyl?

Bizarre Beatles US import ‘juke box only’ coloured vinyls. Preciousssss

Yes, I’m going to talk about records.

McOther and I have always been big fans but over the lock down, we’ve been trying to have a bit of a life laundry moment and sort our stuff out. This hasn’t gone quite as well for me as it has for the others but it did mean I got my record player out. After eleven years in storage. McMini already knows the joy of playing records, we used to have a listening session with him just before bed time when he was small.

However, recently McMini has really taken to his music. He’s in three bands. He also loves records, so there are now three record players in the house. This might, possibly, be an extravagance but I do love having them. All three of us have somewhat eclectic taste. 70s and 80s music is a big plus, but think Ska and Punk, or stuff like the Smiths in the case of the McOthers, but also Talking Heads, stuff like that. It’s mostly alternative or indie. Stock, Aitken and Waterman are not on the agenda. The leaning towards punk is stronger in the case of McMini and I, and McMini ventures, alone, into metal, beyond Slayer, Metallica and the like into the realms of death metal. His father and I can appreciate the skill of the musicians and the musicality of the arrangements but the singing is … to be honest it sounds like someone doing a giant burp. He also listens to the non-Nazi black metal (some black metal isn’t pleasant) where the vocals sound like someone being murdered. Oh well, each to their own. He loves it.

McMini’s favourite singers rejoice in names like, George (Corpse Grinder) Fisher and the lyrics of these songs are hilarious; like a melodramatic fourteen year old boy trying to write about festering gore in the manner of Lovecraft – except totally exaggerated until it’s barking mad. I am pretty certain that, for the most part, it’s meant to be tongue in cheek. Naturally, McMini, micro troll that he is, loves the contrarian nature and general hamminess of it all. The bands are very interesting when interviewed. Some take themselves far too seriously, but a lot tend to be intelligent, amusing misfits. Ideal for McMini I guess. I’d have probably loved it all if I was younger. I do have this old fashioned thing about a catchy tune though.

After years I have unpacked my records and started playing them. I have reverted to my habit of wandering through charity shops buying vinyl albums and 45s. It’s bliss. There is also a record shop in town, which seems extraordinary but is true. Having been somewhat intimidated by its effortless trendiness, I eventually ventured in with McMini to hold my hand (he is a regular, needless to say). I have now managed to pick up a fair few singles I was after, either from there, or from second hand shops in town. I have started searching for the remaining quest songs, stuff I heard blaring out of study-bedrooms growing up in a school but couldn’t name. Things I remember from the John Peel show; heard once, thought were fab but couldn’t buy, on account of that I’d forgotten the name of the band and never heard them again. These days you’d just put some of the lyrics into Google and up they pop. In many cases, it’s a case of working out who is singing, since a lot of them were by groups or people who became famous later on. Electricity by OMD springs to mind, although I picked up the album with that on a few years ago (yes even though my record player was in a box in the garage at the time).

This last week, McOther arrived home from a car boot proudly bearing a copy of Video Killed the Radio Star, by the Buggles. Trevor Horn’s first musical incarnation and the venture that convinced him he wanted to be in a studio behind a mixing desk rather than out front, on stage. I also caved in and bought Size Ten Girlfriend, by The Chairs, from discogs for a whole four British pounds. Do I regret this? Not one jot! I have it on tape somewhere, taped from the John Peel show when I heard the first few bars and thought it sounded interesting. I never heard it again … until now and while it’s not quite as slick as some music – no auto tune in those days, remember – it’s still every bit as good as I remember it. Other delights include Being Boiled, by the Human League, although I haven’t managed to find a copy of Dare yet. I did score the Duran Duran album Rio the other day though.

Meanwhile McMini has started buying coloured vinyls; ELO’s Mr Blue Sky in blue … well … blue (yes, I’m as jealous as fuck) and he also scored a copy of his favourite Slayer album on pink vinyl the other day. To be fair, I’m less jealous of that one. I do envy the colours he’s managed to get though. I have a selection of Beatles singles in various colours but few things the gorgeous bright blue of his ELO single.

What a Waste – my signature song because I graduated in an arts subject during the massive recession of 1990

Indeed, through fluke rather than design, most of my favourites seem to be on red … with the exception of What a Waste, by Ian Dury and the Blockheads, which I have on yellow vinyl and which is my signature song, pretty much. While being worth jack shit in financial terms, it’s pretty much the pride of my collection … along with the photo of Jonathan Lyndon which he sent me, himself, a signed Hugh Cornwall album (lead singer of the Stranglers) and a signed photo of Paul McCartney which I have somewhere … but I’m not sure where. And the multicoloured Beatles singles … probably. Oh yeh and a red vinyl (see what I mean?) lip by the Ting Tings – I can’t remember the name of the album, it’s the one with That’s Not My Name on it.

Next stop, of course, is to rip my records to MP3 so I can listen to them in the car. This isn’t as difficult as it sounds, I have a plug that goes into the earphone socket of my computer one end and the output of my stereo the other which, as far as I recall, allows it to ‘listen’. I also have an ancient programme called LP recorder which should work for recording them all … unless I can get it to work on Audacity and then … yes … we shall be making playlists, or mix tapes as they were called when I was a nipper. Yeh, the name changed but the idea hasn’t.

Too Good To Be True in Audio, coming soon!

Too Good To Be True! In audio! Woot!

Yes because I’m ridiculously excited about this I’m just giving you the heads up here that Too Good To Be True will be available in audio format soon. As I may have mentioned, I am super-stoked about this because not only is it one of the more decent books I’ve written, and not only is it, to be honest, a bit funnier than some of the others, but Gareth has done a ridiculously good job on it.

With Audio, it’s not as easy to know when your books will appear as with ebooks. However, when I have a better clue of a release date you will be the first to know. It will appear on Kobo and in my web store within a couple of weeks, on other retailers it will take a little longer to filter through. Keep your eyes on your in box if you’re subscribed to my Readers’ Group, otherwise, keep checking back here or the K’Barthan Jolly Japery facebook group.



This post first appeared on M T McGuire Authorholic | Humorous Fantasy Fiction, please read the originial post: here

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