So yeah, the London Lite looks set to close. I don't know if it's really Schadenfreude when you're sort of glad of an event like this (on the grounds it's not a very good paper and you don't think Londoners should read it now the laughably superior Evening Standard is free) but feel a bit guilty/hypocritical because you used to do stuff for them and the money really helped. I don't know, I mean, they didn't really seem to do news at all (not really) so I don't think it's particularly offensive to anybody involved to say 'the news was shit', but arts-wise I suppose a blow to arts journalism is a blow to arts journalism, no matter how small, and I guess while the articles were on the slender side (and seemed to mostly be music/film/comedy) then the writers were perfectly decent. So in conclusion, it was pretty shit, but I feel bad for the arts journalists.
What an obnoxious thing to say.
STILL, NOT AS OBNOXIOUS AS WRITING A BLOG ABOUT A LONDON-ONLY PAPER AS IF IT WAS A NORMAL PAPER, EH?
I had a dream last night: ABOUT THIS BLOG. Oh god, sub-consciousness based guilt. Anyway, in it I wrote something that was particularly uncontroversial and somebody from the internet said I was a horrible person underneath.
Then realising this was basically a bit of a shit dream, my sub consciousness decided it'd give me more or less the same one again, only it involved other (i.e. more interesting) people. There was a measure of full frontal tech drama, as the blog in this dream didn't allow comments, and the poster was a trusted friend who'd hacked the blog to be a bit mean.
If anybody would like me to knock up a film treatment for this then why the fuck not, I'm game, let's do it.
Though I sometimes idly worry about the fact that living a broadly student lifestyle age 28 is probably less enviable than doing so at 23 or 24, I suppose the revelation (or perhaps if I'm being honest, confirmation) that my blog filtered through into the outside world enough for me to get into a small amount of trouble when discussing my departure from Metro was one of those things that made me grow up a small amount. If that's not too presumptuous a way of describing the fact that I finally received empirical proof that shoving words into a forum freely accessible by several billion people might result in some of said words being noticed. Anyway, the last month has been full of things - well, moderately full of things - that I'd probably have written about on condition of anonymity, but won't, mostly because I don't really want to cause offence/hassle, or, at least, don't want to deal with the consequences. I even thought twice about putting up that bloody George Pringle thing. If this was an anonymous blog then probably I'd talk about a couple of them, but then, why would I write an anonymous blog? My problems are too diffuse and trivial to warrant any sort of whistle blowing insider affair, and I'm not filled enough with either malice or any sort of drive to fill this thing with either a unified aesthetic or overarching purpose to really justify an assumed identity.
This blog is basically gutless, and yet still I'm doing it. Not entirely sure why. Clearly it's a performative act, or else I'd just keep a bloody diary. That said, my handwriting is shit and I'm an obsessive redrafter; I do keep diaries when I travel, but a day to day one would never really prove that satisfactory. Maybe it's just the normalisation of blogs means they seem a better place to fritter away some of these words than just shoving them a file on my desktop; the fact is I don't REALLY expect anybody to read this, I'm just aware of the danger of the wrong person doing so.
I'm saying this because I want to refocus the blog a bit, make it more cultural and musical-musing-ish. Okay, I'll be in serious danger of making myself look like a self-proclaimed 'expert', but fuck it, it might restore a bit of focus to this thing.
Basically, it's all the Guide's fault for starting to write about adverts. THAT USED TO BE MY THING YOU SHITS.