Doug Blog

In case you’ve been wondering what I’ve been doing for the past few months, I’ve been acting.

Let me clarify.

I joined a poetry group back in July. One year ago today. I met some nice people, wrote some cracking poems. And some duffers, but that’s by the bye. A couple of months down the line, Dave, one of the guys in the poetry group, is talking about a film script he wrote, and how he wants to make a film. Jokingly at first, I offer to direct it. He takes me up on the offer. Meet me next Monday at 8, he says. So I do.

We start to make a film. Casting is an issue, but things fall into place. I play a minor role, all the time focusing on directing. I’ve never had any experience with directing films, but I always like to imagine new music videos for songs, so putting 2 and 2 together, I apply the same logic to the film.

But holding down the level of performance and consistency of approach week in week out starts to prove difficult. The challenge of keeping one’s hair to a sufficient length, for example. An actor, previously cast in a key role, leaves the group after ‘professional and personal differences’. I assume the key role. We effectively need to start from scratch.

Dave then switches the film to a theatre production. Now the work begins, but also the fun. I start to hone the role. A take on another, try some more out, in different productions.

And here we are, a massive jump to the present. 4 performances in. 1 to go. Great feedback after a shaky start. Room for improvement, but positive. Making a name for ourselves, collectively and individually. Setting the ball rolling for the future. A tight knit group, 10 people, equal male and female, a good age range.

But here’s the thing. Here’s what really does it for me. Despite the nerves, the dodgy stomach, the panic, the anxiety, the tension and the tempers, I love acting. I mean, REALLY love acting. I get such a buzz, and it makes such a difference being in costume. I feel high. Elated. Euphoric. I can’t wait to be on stage. I feel like all eyes are fixed on me, and I love it. It fuels me. It’ll be weird not performing or rehearsing throughout August, but I need a break, and a holiday. A time to relax. Take stock.

I never thought I was any good at acting, all the way through school and University. I never got picked for any character roles, just the narrator and a shapeless extra here and now. I swear blind, that one year, I never got picked for anything at all. Just left out completely, all the damage done so early on. This meant I never got a look in at any of the next schools I went to, mainly because my confidence and self-esteem were so low: I never believed I could remember lines, or act convincingly, or speak loudly enough.

But I was wrong. So was everyone else who never gave me a chance, mind, but I don’t feel overly tempted to raise two defiant fingers to them. I need to stay humble, after all, this is my first real outing as an actor. I have proved to myself though, that I could do it. I don’t feel the need to justify to myself my litany of failures. I feel I have changed as a person, become more positive, more outgoing, more flirtatious. My performances have helped my family to feel that the chances they weren’t able to give me due to lack of money etc weren’t in vain, that in fact I have achieved something now. With more to come. One of my performances even helped to re-establish a friendship. This time it will be ok. All of it. With everyone.

There will be bad performances, I’m not denying that. There is also the distinct possibility that we may go our separate ways, that the group loses cohesion over time. But all of this is academic when you’re up on stage, feeling the heat and the sweat and the blinding lights, and the applause, and the love, and the pain, and the ecstasy.

I want to be an actor. This is where it starts.

I love football. Don’t get me wrong. I love watching it, playing it, playing simulated versions of it. I love club football. I love international football.

I also love the World Cup, generally. There isn’t a sporting event quite like it. A genuine buzz of excitement in the days leading up to it. The colourful strips and make-up of the fans. The nice people that smile for the camera. And of course, the football itself.

However, there are several things that make me sad, when it comes to football. And this year, it took the shape of England.

Ah, England. Where to start? On paper, the England team appears to be one that any country would be proud of. World class players, we’re told. Playing in The Best League In The World. For the Biggest Club (s) in the World. Apparently. And now, a manager, with an unblemished qualifying record (up to the point after we’d actually needed to qualify of course), and proven European class. A stern, sensible head on his shoulders. A star striker, the epitome of English wunderkind. A delectable midfield, brimming with talent. Some good subs. A steady back line. A genuine custodian.

This would have been terrific. A joy. It should have been. Maybe the *fill in time-related gap* years of ‘hurt’ will be coming to an end. Maybe football will be ‘coming home’. Maybe.

English football can be summed up by ‘maybe’. Maybe England are good enough. Maybe they will win, this time. Maybe Rooney will score a hat-trick, maybe Gerrard will smash a 40 yard volley. Perhaps. Perchance.

But this is reality. The 21st Century. We wheel out the past winners, conveniently forgetting the facts of 1966 (home turf, Pele kicked out of the tournament, kick and rush football, a goal that probably should never have stood, a ball so heavy it broke goalkeepers hands, I could go on) and never accepting that in fact, this time, we should get real. We pepper our papers with ‘quotables’ - Rooney: England Can Win World Cup, Beckham: We Can Win World Cup, Carlton Palmer: We Can Win World Cup (ok, maybe not, but you get the point), drive our ‘fans’ into a frenzy of patriotism, coupled with thinly veiled racism about ‘Yanks’ and ‘The Former Soviet Republic of Bulimia’, to the point when even the most ardent cynic has trouble keeping the vomit down holding back the emotion. We keep repeating the same mantras about the Premier League being the Best League in the World.

Ok, so this may be ranting rhetoric. It may not. Let’s look at the facts. Throughout the World Cup (which, incidentally, was won by the best team in the tournament, on paper or otherwise, but more on that later), all the Premier League players had shocking tournaments. Bendtner, Kuyt, Van Persie, De Jong, Torres, to name but a few. The others didn’t play, burnt out shells from the brutish physicality of the gruelling non-stop season. No composure, no skill. No visible class.

Then we have the success of the Champions League winning sides. 2 trophies. Liverpool and Manchester United. Liverpool winning on penalties after a Milanese capitulation, and United beating Chelsea courtesy of a John Terry slip. On Penalties. Hardly stellar. Compare that to the other times English sides have faced European opposition in finals. Both Liverpool and United humbled by their more elaborate and successful counterparts. Arsenal perhaps a tad unfortunate but victims by their own design.

And then we come on to England, who were by far one of the worst teams in the tournament. Contriving to throw 2 points away to a USA side devoid of creativity (people blame Rob Green, but what was he supposed to do, run down the other end of the pitch and score 2 goals? No, that was the job of Rooney/Heskey/Lampard etc (I’ll leave Gerrard out for now as he did actually score in that game)), failing to beat an Algerian team so negative they barely managed a handful of attempts on goal in the whole 3 games they played, and scraping past a second-rate Slovenian team, but not before a goal-line scare eh? Good old England, keeping the toilet-roll manufacturers well-fed!

Then , the second we come up against a team with something resembling class, we fall. Spectacularly, as it turned out. Our midfield seemingly incapable of passing the ball to a team mate, more than once without panicking. Our strikers, so addicted to shooting on site you would think they were trying burst the ball and kill the journalists behind the goal (although perhaps I don’t blame them for that). Our defence, whose positional sense was so poor they managed to be out-paced even with a 10 yard head start. And no plan B. People blamed the manager. Maybe they were right. But then hasn’t every English manager been blamed for his failure to get the best out of ‘World Class Players’? Perhaps he is, and the players are just mediocre at best. The Premier League: exciting, yes. Technically proficient, no. Physical, yes. Intelligent, no. When was the last time an English player had a good Champions League game? I mean, really took it to the opposition? Gerrard in 2005? Or maybe Andrea Pirlo went missing?

We’re not the only ones. Italy do it. France do it. Netherlands have turned it into an art form. But even they got to the final, beaten by the one team who, historically, had out done them in terms of under achievement. We can say it was probably justified. Raul was a terrific player, for one. Spain have clicked, they know how to win. Their players are gifted, intelligent, graceful. They know when to play the right kind of game. And they have more than one, contrary to popular opinion.

I could go on. But I’m losing faith. I’m losing faith with England. When will people stop rating our domestic and international teams as the best in the world? When will the pundits do some research, and stop being so patronising? Yes, the players play for teams that don’t end up on Match of the Day or the Champions League Manchester United/Liverpool wankfest that is ITV, and you know what? They’re better than us. Better. More skilled, patient, erudite (on and off the field).

These are the facts we have to face up to. And the World Cup will just be even more painful next time if we don’t.

I admit, I messed up. I just left it far too long. I am sorry if, for some reason, you visited my blog in the vain hope that something new would be posted, and saw only nothing. It’s slack.

The main reason for all  this is that I really don’t have that much to write about anymore, certainly for the blog in its current form. I don’t want to write boring posts, and I don’t feel that the subject matter I had previously based my posts on had much relevance to my life any more. This is partly down to me, partly down to my circumstances (whatever they may be).

The other side to the coin is this: my life is subtley changing, at a fairly rapid rate. My personal life takes almost daily twists and turns, no one day is different. The projects I am involved in shift and evolve before my very eyes, sometimes betwixt blinking. Sometimes I don’t notice the changes until they have already shifted. Work is too transient to comment on, too exhausting to want to.

Maybe some of my previous posts had alienated some of my readers. I can’t tell as such. I feel like I’ve become more isolated from the past practices, the longing and anguish that plagued me about one thing or another. These feelings have been replaced. If anyone felt as though they were being overlooked or put down, I apologise unreservedly. There were just some elements of my past that I had to face on, and sometimes a full clear-out is needed. I was facing some home truths, tackling some crippling issues and, by all accounts, beating them hands down.

Maybe the future will bring something different. I feel as though I could continue writing again, although I would have to make the blog less about me, and more about the world in general. My life has been my focus for far too long. I feel as though I am growing up. there are better ways to explore and find yourself than through self-obsession and pointless flagellation. it’s been a long journey, but I am getting there.

So what’s been new in the world we live in? An imminent and looming election, for starters. Maybe a change in government. Certainly, the media is preaching the result before any votes have been cast. A foolish move, in any event. The British public is unpredictable and predictable in wildly disparate measures. You never know what people may feel like doing on the day.

We also have a fairly important but ultimately anti-climactic sporting event to follow in the summer: the World Cup. Can England win it? Possibly. Will they? No. I’m calling this one now. Rooney or no Rooney, England have enough quality to get to the semis this year, and in reality, 3rd is probably the best they can hope for. A fair reflection of their talent. Brazil can always win, but may struggle if their top players don’t perform. Argentina have the world’s best player in Lionel Messi, and so could win it off the back of a phenomenal run from him, but it’s unlikely. Spain are my favourites, mainly because they have strength in depth, particularly in the midfield. France are nobodies, Italy are too old, Portgual have one decent player and no strikers, Germany are always a shout but don’t have anyone that catches the eye this time, and what are we left with? Holland. Who never win.

Perhaps I should do a football blog.

The scratches of a dark night
The rashes of foresight
And I wanted you
ooh-hoo-ooh

The weight of my freezin’
I have come to you
The face I was given
I have no similarities to

The spaces in the law look
Like the faces in a word book
I get by
I get by

The matches of opportunities
Ihe last thing I’ve never seen
And I scream to you
ooh-hoo-ooh

The pain i was needing
Was sort of true
The one aim I was clearing
Was the walls that grew

The crazes I overlooked
The leans into the cook
And I did
And I did

And I was screaming bloody murder
And I was one with pain
And I stopped by the roadside
Cos it’s from were I came

An my god
But its so far away
It would seem accidents
Have gone straight to you

And you’ve changed you point of view
And the places your going to
I get crowded
I got crowded

And I’m so glad that your mine
Twist up the fabric of time
And I’m useless
Yes I’m useless

And your faces are bodies
And your hands are feet
Let me roll around
In things I can’t believe

But I tried
Yes, I tried
And I tried
No I tried

words and music by John Frusciante

Another Christmas has passed us by, with its promises of snow, and festivity. And by and large, it was rather pleasant. A few drinks, a slightly larger than average roast dinner and lots of terrible wrapping paper (which seems to get more and more unusable every year), all culminating in a warm, pleasant glow of self-satisfaction, as well as a bit of a hangover the next day (that will be the red wine…). Yes, it was Christmas alright.

And with the passing of Christmas, comes the inevitable grind towards the New Year, and looking back at another year pissed away through a fog of mediocrity and boredom. We’ve all done it. Sat and analysed the past year, wondered if there was anything we could have done better. And there probably was. As with every year. So it leads me to present unto thee my Review of the Year. How very blessed you all are.

2009 wasn’t a bad year for me. Not that great, but not that bad. I saw various people’s lives torn apart, but I saw people make great strides toward achieving their goals, as well as general happiness. my heart went out to them in equal and relevant measure, when needed. Reciprocation was never necessary, I don’t operate on that level. I merely plod through, plans slowly formulating in my weary mind, extricating the very fibres of hope from the muddy pool that is life.

I made several discoveries. I discovered who my friends were. Not that I ever really didn’t know, but the true symbolism of friendship was reinforced with alacrity to me. It didn’t go un-noticed. I also discovered some music that had previously passed me by. Artists I really should have been into a long time ago.

Here is a list of who and what did it for me in the public eye:

Best album: Crack the Skye by Mastodon. Now, this was a somewhat difficult choice between this and Octahedron by The Mars Volta, but there was something about the mid-tempo prog-metal based on a somewhat baffling concept that did it for me, more so than the synth and silence heavy balladry of the Volta’s latest effort. It was certainly better than Muse’s ambitious but ultimately flawed effort The Resistance, and also out-did that perennial favourite David Gray, with his latest magnum opus, Draw the Line. Crack the Skye had power, it had pace, and most importantly, it had soul. From the ominous openings of Oblivion, through the banjo-led power chords of Divinations, and the squealing riffs of Quintessence, the album took us on a journey of astral projection and body-possession via Revolution-era Russia, whilst at the same time dealing with teen suicide and a grief so powerful it could rend the heavens. In short, the moment all other bands sighed as they watch metal’s number one performers stack up the cards and knock them down with a breath.

Best film: Frost/Nixon. It was basically either a choice between The Wrestler and Frost/Nixon for this. The over-hyped Slumdog Millionnaire was great, but not worth all the hysterical plaudits that have been launched its way. Frost/Nixon provided some of the best dialogue in recent memory, as well as two excellent stand-out performances. That Kevin Bacon wasn’t one of the film’s star turns says it all. The engrossing vigour of Frank Langella, combined with the earnest intuition of Michael Sheen made this film a must-see.

Best sporting moment: Ryan Giggs winning BBC Sports Personality of the Year. There were more dramatic moments, more spectacular ones surely, but few people deserved more than Ryan Giggs. The definition of Model professional, he seems to be as old as the Earth itself, yet is still playing at the highest level of football. He’s scored in every premiership season ever (a feat that will never be bettered), and has never let his personal life intrude onto the field. The great shame is that, beign Welsh, he has never played at a major tournament. Wales came close in 2003, when they narrowly missed out on qualification for Euro 2004 by means of a controversial play-off with Russia. Like *that* other great black-haired winger at Manchester United, the world stage never witnessed his talents. Still, countless domestic trophies, plus 2 European Cups speak for themselves.

2009 also saw a high level of famous people depart from our fair world and enter the next life. Here are just a few (in no particular order): Michael Jackson, Patrick Swayze, Keith Floyd, Darren Sutherland, Nicholas Hughes, John Hughes, Vic Chestnutt, Brittany Murphy, Stephen Gately, John Updike, David Carradine, Henry Surtees, David Vine, Jade Goody, Daniel Jarque, Les Paul, Ted Kennedy, KimPeek. Apologies to anyone I’ve forgotten.

My review of the decade will most likely follow. When I’ve drunk less beer…

Again, let me apologise for the lack of regular posts of late. Maybe the last post holds some clues. Maybe it doesn’t.

So where were we? Absolutely nowhere, that’s where. Yet again, avenues that opened themselves shut themselves pretty quickly. But new ones have since resurfaced and surfaced and buzzed around the periphery like, well, flies. They come and go.

What has been a constant is the slow acquisition of perspective, something that most people sorely lack. Sometimes you are forced to accept that, hey, everything isn’t as maudlin as it first seemed. But at what cost. It’s certainly something I would never say to the perspective-givers. They have suffered enough, without my inadvertant arrogance.

Still, where one thing closes, another opens. Poetry group is undergoing something of a transformation of late, punctuated with some rather hysterical (in the non-gender-specific use of the word) and unnecessary bickering. Mountains springing forth from molehills etc etc. I have remained largely silent on the issue, except in private, and will continue to do so until those concerned realise the error of their ways, and that the sole objective of the poetry group is to write and critique poetry. make that objectives. Either way, I was under the impression that all of the group were adults, and that I was the youngest and therefore the least mature. Apparently not. Anyway, I have bigger fish to fry. Maybe everything will resolve itself. I hope so. For the sake of certain individuals, who are clearly not deserving of the relentless cavalcade of idiocy that has sprung forth of late, festooning my inbox with drivel.

I digress. Film, on the other hand, is moving in completely different direction. We are now probably going to be a theatre group, and put on a cabaret show. It looks as though the Brighton Festival may be the time period for such a show, but I will keep you all posted, as I know you will have reached salivation point by then. In any event, we could always use some extra bods to help out, or maybe even act. there are parts going. Hit me up via reply or something. Fo’ shizzle.

I am also the proud owner of a new laptop. Yes, I bit the bullet. I went ‘portable’. The fact that I have rigged up my monitor, mouse and (new) keyboard notwithstanding of course. So it’s basically a flat desktop. A quieter one too. But usable as a literal laptop, replete with wireless capability (how thoroughly modern). Aren’t I with it? The price was the most arousing element of the whole experience (until I take ‘moderate safe search’ off), at a perineum-tingling £75. Ways and means, people, ways and means. It works like a dream, but it’s still early days. Plus I have acquired a stand-alone hard drive for my music, and some films. Good times.

As for my poetry, well, I’ve been dreadfully slack of late. I need to start writing again. And try not to zonk as soon as I finish work. I need to enter a competition at least. Prove myself. I’m not a writer yet.

Music wise, I have become rather enamoured of David Gray’s latest album. It has an hypnotic, alluring quality to it. And, dare I risk flagellation for this, is probably better than Muse’s latest effort, the Resistance. It just is. I grew attached to, and tired of, La Roux, all in the space of about 2 weeks, I still love Nick Cave (and just missed seeing him by about 5 mintues the other week! Darnit!), in particular The Boatman’s Call and Your Funeral… My Trial (the latter being simply superb), as well as the effortlessly listenable Octahedron by the wonders that are The Mars Volta.

I’m also loving work.

Is that enough? I shall resume normal service shortly.

A true legend.

I’ve found myself in something of an interesting situation lately. One where I am having my attention diverted by at least three different people, sometimes at the same time (well, perhaps not the exact same moment), often in the course of one day, and mainly through music. It’s rather confusing, and sometimes I just wish I could make my damn mind up, say whatever it is that’s on my mind and just deal with it.

But of course, this being me, I can never be straightforward and simple, I have to complicate matters. And they remain far too complicated and open to discuss in explicit detail. The end result of which was just end up alienating and hurting quite a few people. So there we have it. That is the last I will mention of any cryptic longings or distractions for a long time, for the foreseeable future at least. Unless one of them becomes a reality (possible with one, unlikely with another, nigh non-existent with the other), I shall forthwith keep my lips sealed.

Moving on, the film group has taken an unexpected turn, one which has seen me promoted to lead actor, as well as director. I shuddered at the thought originally, but it looks as though I will be more ‘assistant director’, as being an actor is so time consuming. Self-serving yes, but also hard work. particularly the character I have to play, a psychopath with a messianic-level god complex. I have to be arrogant beyond belief. Can I do it? If you think I can, why not let me know. Comment is free!

I also discovered something about love. Love is about making sacrifices for people, we know that, most people know that. But love is also about embracing those little inconveniences that most people discard and turn their noses up at. Just so the other person can be happy, or can be spared hurt or pain. However trivial they may seem. A friend of mine told me he undergoes such an inconvenience on a regular basis just so his beloved isn’t reminded of a painful memory. And he sees no hardship or disruption in doing that. In fact, he wants to do it. Because she means the world to him.

I also realised I’ve never had the opportunity to get to that stage with someone, anyone. When I have had opportunities, part of me has always shyed away. or maybe there was no chance of the other person ever appreciating any such gesture, or maybe they just pushed me away before I got the chance. Either way, I’ve never been able to fight for someone, or even inconvenience myself in any great way, not for any length of time.

I know what standards to try to attain though. How to know if I have found ‘the one’. If such a one exists. Whoever they may be. I think.

People in love, I salute you. How good it must be to love and be loved in equal measure, for a long period of time. Perpetual adoration, not anchored by circumstance, but free to circle and embrace the very nature of your beloved. To breathe someone, not because you want to, but because your very being could not exist without theirs, intertwined in yours.

Maybe one day…

I talk, think and write about music quite a lot, so I thought I would give you a list of albums I like, love, and can’t live without. Plus a few others. So here we go, in no particular order:

Idlewild - The Remote Part, 100 Broken Windows

Dr Dre - 2001

Nick Drake - Five Leaves Left

Antony and the Johnsons - I Am A Bird Now

Anything by the Mars Volta

Anything by Muse

Death Cab for Cutie - Narrow Stairs

Keane - Under the Iron Sea

Rage Against the Machine - The Battle of Los Angeles

The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age of the Understatement

Anything by Incubus,

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig Lazarus Dig, The Boatman’s Call, Your Funeral My Trial

Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon, Atom Heart Mother

King Crimson - In the Court of the Crimson King

Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan - Ballad of the Broken Seas

Jeff Buckley - Grace

MGMT - Oracular Spectacular

REM - Automatic for the People

Radiohead - Kid A, In Rainbows

James - Seven

Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid

Mastodon - Blood Mountain, Crack the Skye

Bloc Party - Intimacy

Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip - Angles

Eminem - The Marshall Mathers LP

D12 - Devil’s Night

Rammstein - Mutter

Depeche Mode - Violator

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Californication

The Beatles - Revolver, Rubber Soul

Rufus Wainwright - Want One, Want Two

Metallica -…And Justice for All

I think I’ll stop there…

First off, apologies for the lack of any tangible posts lately. I’ve been somewhat busy with getting a new job (as an administrator for a financial consultancy company), and also making a film, and all the while attempting to write some poetry (failing miserably), going to see friends, trying to reignite my social life, and other such stuff.

So here we are. A new, fresh start. A chance to re-invent myself, in actuality and in the eyes of others. Yet still maintaining my original flaws and rampant excesses with a select few, that have, by and large, remained constant since the heady and halcyon days of University.

There have been one or two changes, notably in the relationship department, but everything is in a nice place. Not too nice, mind, before we get into the whole ‘tempting fate’ business, but it’s by and large comfortable and satisfactory. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get a place of my own? I’m very much my own person these days: no significant other, no ties that bind me to any one place, as long as I can get to work with relative ease I’m fine. I have to try my best at the new job, so I can be taken on as a permanent member of staff, but hey, I’ve never been in a job before now where I actually look forward to work every day. And, indeed, on those dark and depressing Sunday evenings, when before I would feel the weekend literally sliding away from underneath me with increasing despondency, now I crave interaction and a cerebral challenge.

Then there’s the film, which I’m keeping under wraps (for obvious reasons), but that I’m hoping will be a pleasing success. No doubt the warts-and-all story will emerge once it has been pressed and cut. It’s challenging but rewarding, and definitely something I’d like to do more of.

There are still the odd moments when I can feel my old demons resurface, and indeed the ones that have never delved below the depths. The problem with all this is that it makes me feel like a complete fraud in most of what I do, but I’m slowly working toward a place where I can deal with the burdens that rest within, and maybe even use them to my advantage. Perhaps my gut-reactions and natural instincts will be used for good, and I will fight the cowardice that has plagued certain areas of my life thus far. Or maybe I won’t. Who can say?

I have, however, had to make some rather ‘no-going-back’ decisions of late, ones that have involved me cutting ties with a few figures from my past. I feel there will be more to come, but I haven’t been troubled by them of late. There comes a point when you sit back and realise that everything you had become was wrong, and that you had risked alienating the one person that means more to you than anyone or anything else, simply by not standing up for what was right at the time. By your own internal failure, you realised you had compromised a very part of your soul.

And so, the tie had to be cut. The incision had to be made. It wasn’t easy, but it was a relief to finally break contact completely. There are a few adjustments that still need to be made, a few suitable aesthetic replacements garnered, but all one needs is some photo paper. And a nice range of photos.

Cutting ties has also helped to clear up what could have blossomed into a rather confusing situation in general conversation, but thankfully it’s all resolved now. The long term outlook is perhaps less predictable that first imagined, but let’s put it this way, Charles wouldn’t have married Diana Parker-Bowles…

Still, like I say, all is pootling along at a fairly decent pace. I’m slimming down after getting a bit too podgy around the belly area (stress-related I’m told, as well as beer, junk food, lack of exercise etc etc), making a film, enjoying my job, plus keeping in contact with the core group of friends. I’ve even met a new friend with whom I can chat about all sorts of stuff, and who likes the same music and me (to a certain extent of course!).

I feel content.