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Please adjust your socks before leaving
I fell into a slough of despond late last night; perversely, after having arranged, yesterday afternoon, to meet Mary-Ann. My pleasure at a date being fixed soon disappeared as I started to wonder whether this will work: spending a fortune every five weeks to go to Sheffield to have a snog in a pub? That's a very expensive and unspontaneous way of getting a monthly kiss. I looked at her excited, teenager-ish email she sent me a few minutes after sorting the date out, and felt distant from it.
She texted me late last night and again this morning, a gentle, witty enquiry about why I've gone quiet (in comparison to our normal volumes of communication). Because sometimes I think this isn't going to work, I didn't say. "Not at all darling - just wanted to reply to your lovely emails properly x".
I was moaning about this to my housemates, who met on a beach in Croatia four summers ago and are still together, and Stefan cheered me up a bit when he confidently said "It will work. If it can work between Croatia [where he lived] and Hungary [whence Csilla was on holiday], it can work in Leicester."
But never mind, at least I can go into Saturday's meeting with Mary-Ann knowing how to flirt using my socks. An article in the local paper, "Does He Fancy You?" includes the following hitherto unrevealed secret of the subsconcious flirter.
He'll fiddle with his socks and pull them up. If a guy pulls up or adjusts his socks in your presence, it's an almost 100 per cent sign he's interested and trying to look his best.
Unfortunately, "adjusting" his socks may be the last thing of any subtlety of which he is capable, for the tips continue thus:
He'll let you see him checking out your body. Some experts call it 'visual voyaging' - his eyes take a little cruise around your body, stopping momentarily at the prettiest ports. Here's he letting you see him do it. The message is 'I'm considering you!'
Considering? What a strange word for slathering lechery. Whilst, to be honest, I must admit to have been on the occasional visual voyage from time to time, I can't say that I've ever used sock adjustment to demonstrate an interest in a woman.
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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person
M / 61 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].
"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.
WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.
There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic
I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008
The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek
Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons
I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner
La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes
Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to
mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards
the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity
would be able to use the word again.
John Whale
One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010
The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011
Rummage in my drawers
The Comfort of Strangers
23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning
If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.
63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Crinklybee Defunct
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll
George Szirtes ditto
Infomaniac [NSFW]
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
On The Rocks
The Most Difficult Thing Ever nothing since April
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Wonky Words
"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006
5:4Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
NewMusicBox
Purposeful Listening (né The Rambler)
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained
