I have a few LPs that came from charity shops, and more than one has the name of the original owner written on it. The same can be seen on a few of my Dad's records, except he used dymo labels (a characteristic I have inherited).

Before streaming, torrenting, Napster and Limewire, music came from a shop, and the music you physically owned was the sum total of your listening options. You might borrow something from a friend to put on tape, but they really wanted to be sure they'd get it back. One lost record can make up a good percentage of a total collection.

I know of at least one record in my collection that I only have because a friend of someone I shared a house with who owned turntables bought it round for a house party and left it behind. No one could remember who bought it, no one else wanted it, so it joined my collection. I moved, and it came with me.

Sorry, whoever you were, that you're down a copy of Dummy by Portishead. You should have put your name on it.

We've been spoiled this year:

  • Succession: Highly spoiled as it was, it became true event-TV without being watered down.
  • Barry. The perfect blend of funny, dark, and surreal.
  • Ted Lasso: While not something I'd ever re-watch, it was a show that embodied kindness as the wave of empathy from the lockdowns finally broke and rolled back.
  • The Bear. This show is as close to perfect as I have seen. While shows I hold up and 'best ever' begin to sage and lose their edge, this is absolutely blown me away. It has a very good heart, under the chaos and shouting.

I haven't watched I'm a Virgo yet, but it's Boots Riley so

I can't not mention Atlanta, despite it wrapping up last year. I somehow managed to miss its release entirely, so I saw it this year and it's on the same level as The Bear. I feel every episode rather than just watch.

Fairly often I have heard a piece of music I didn't know somewhere public, and totally misinterpreted what's actually happening. Placing the one somewhere totally wrong creates some new pattern that wasn't the intent of the writer.

This happened in a a band once upon a time, and fortunately my band-mates just thought I was doing something different by introducing some time-shift. I owned up to what I was hearing, and no matter how much they tried to explain I couldn't adapt my way of hearing to be correct.

At the doctor. Reading all the signs around the room to distract from being worked on. One is particularly surprising:

'To help you feel more comfortable, champagne can be be provided'

Chaperones. Chaperones.

Free idea of any cinema: Showings where you charge a little more but run no ads and no trailers. The film starts 5 minutes after the advertised time, and if you're not there, tough.

If we could also find a way to not need to listen to people eating Nachos, we can throw that into the deal.

Maybe what I am describing is me staying at home and watching films on my sofa.

Is it normal to be able to pinpoint the best and worst day of your life? People refer to their wedding or birth of their kid as the best as a matter of routine, but I don't have either of those and likely never will. And doesn't that answer feel a little stock? Maybe it actually is that good.

What I do know: My 'best day' featured someone I'm no longer in touch with, and my worst day featured a truck driver doing the globally recognised sign language for 'wanker', so take from that what you will.

Big projects: I'm supposed to building a photography section for this site, working over my film scans, and trying to pan for the gold that might be in there but probably isn't. Gym is a distant memory again. Writing is very slipping. I'm very slipping. Who am I?

And also: Sold my camera, been consistently disappointed with the results because I don't have the skill to get the colour out of the photographs that is supposed to be there with this specific stock. Also: film is very expensive and being bad at things feels bad because I spend most of the time feeling bad at things.

But also: I'm currently working on parking in every space in the car park of the supermarket I visit. Alphabetising and cataloging my modest-but-big-enough-to-be-a-time-hole collection of vinyl. Perfecting the perfect chicken breast but filling the kitchen with smoke AND ending up with some scary pink chicken. 'Maybe I want a nice lighter'. 'Maybe cigars are interesting?'. 'Mechanical watches are really cool; I like things that don't use batteries'. 'Can I find every herb in Red Dead Redemption?'. This is a GOOD USE OF TIME.

And why: Work hours: 09 to 17. Inspired hours: 21 to 00. What is sleep anyway. Shut up.