I’m not one for new year resolutions, what with me being willpower intolerant and all.
Don’t mock me now, it’s a genuine medical condition. The nurse diagnosed me as such at my over-forty health check. I think. She definitely mentioned something about willpower, the rest was a little hazy. To be honest I was still reeling from her suggesting my blood sample was 90% butter.
Then there’s the blackouts. Just this morning I came over all dizzy at the thought of a banana for breakfast. Weirdly I regained consciousness in a café with a full English breakfast in front of me?
Despite this chronic condition I’ve still set myself some goals for the year.
I’ve already started my learning to draw journey. Yep, I’m calling it a journey. If you’d seen my previous artwork you’d realise I have an X Factor producers wet-dream worth of sobbingly sad back stories for it to qualify as such.
Last weekend I went on a ‘Can’t Draw, Won’t Draw’ course at the Lowry. They confidently claimed they could teach anyone to draw. Anyone! I went in with a genuine fear I’d be the asterisked disclaimer on their future marketing. I left having increased my drawing ability of a four-year old to that of a six-year old … ish.
Now you might see this as a badly sketched trainer. For me it was the equivelant of nailing a Whitney Houston ballad. What can I say, it’s been emotional.
As such I’d like to take this opportunity to say a few thank you’s. To my family for never losing faith in me. To my friends for all their encouragement and support. To God, obviously. But most importantly to Janet, who when I was at my lowest artistic ebb inspired me to carry on by not only paying for this course, but also some time ago giving me this profound and thought-provoking quote when looking at my artwork …
“What the f*ck is that meant to be?”
2015 will also be the year when I step away from social media.
Facebook shouldn’t be a problem, it’s become little more than a portal into the racist minds of people I once considered friends anyway.
Twitter however might be more of a problem. I admit I’m a little addicted. I realised this when I overheard this conversation,
“He’s gone for a Twitter!”
Seriously, when your five-year old considers Twitter a synonym for having a poo you really need to take a long hard look at yourself.
And then there was this,
“Yay, it’s a Daddy bath! Daddy runs the best baths!”
That’s because Daddy gets distracted by Twitter, forgets it’s running and gives them an infinity pool. Regularly.
And my last goal is to listen to more new music, and encourage the boys to do so too.
I love music. I thought I had good taste. I was convinced I’d pass this on to the kids.
Then I joined Spotify.
Sonny immediately set up his own playlist. It’s largely made up of songs he hears me singing around the house. Now I’d love sit back and smugly tell you it’s full of Radiohead, The Smiths, Arcade Fire and Prince. It’s not.
Let it Go – Frozen.
Deeply Dippy – Right Said Fred.
The Frog Chorus – Paul McCartney.
I Want to Break Free – Queen.
Reach for the Stars – S Club 7.
Boom Boom Boom Boom – Venga Boys.
Don’t Mess with my Toot Toot – Denise Lasalle.
This is what goes around in my head. This is what comes out of my mouth. Every day!
I’m nothing but a muso charlatan; and not of the Madchester variety, because that would be way too cool for this embarrassing Granddad of pappy pop.
But if nothing else, Spotify at least gives me a grasp on some new music. Enough to hold my own when discussing it with the younger hipster dads on the playground. Or so you’d think.
Last week I told one such dad that I really liked the new Hoosiers album. He looked at me dismissively.
“No seriously, it’s really good, nothing like their old stuff”, I said.
Hozier. I meant bloody Hozier! He’s cool, right?
How the hell do I claw that one back? I could chase him across the playground tomorrow shouting,
“Hozier …. I meant Hozier …… HOZIER GOD DAMN IT!”
But that’d be the actions of a sad and desperate man. Instead I’ll stick with being forever known as Hoosier dad. Because everyone knows being desperately sad is better than being sad and desperate. Don’t they?