Pink My Ride

And just how many muppets had to die to upholster the interior of this monstrosity?

Good News

God, that last post was a long one, wasn't it? And a load of rambling nonsense as well. I'm tempted to delete it, but I think I'll let it stand as a warning to us all (well, mostly me) that post-pub blogging is never a good idea.

Anyways - got some damned good news this week. One of my best mates asked his girlfriend to marry him. And she said yes. Which is great.

The two of them have been together for a while, so I can't pretend it was a surprise, but it was still the best news I've had in ages. I've known this guy for more years than I care to remember, and I can honestly say I've never seen him as happy as he's been since he's been with this girl. He's one of my closest friends, and his fiance (as I'll have to start thinking of her now) has been really good for him, and the more I've gotten to know her the more I can see why. She's turned out to be one of that rare breed - a really honest, genuine person, and I'm glad to say I think of her as being a really good friend of mine before I think of her as being my friend's fiance.

They make an almost sickeningly lovely couple. Just to make the saccharine-fest complete - last Saturday, they asked me round for a few drinks. Halfway through the night, apropos of nothing, my mate turns to his wife-to-be and says - "Shall I ask him now?" She nods almost imperceptibly, and I'm smiling fit to burst before he can even say the words. "Martin - will you be our best man?"

I think my exact words were - "It would be a fucking honour." I had a wall-to-wall grin at the time that was knocking ornaments off shelves. No words could I find, but I think I mimed that a group hug was in order. It was a good hour and a half before my Cheshire smile subsided.

How good is that, though - two people who I dearly love are being joined together in love, and they want me to be a part of it. That's truly an honour. It's the most important commitment they'll ever make, and they want me to be there and have a hand in the whole process. Plus it's another chance to wear a kilt, and show off my scrawny knees to all and sundry.

Music

Funny thing, music. Or maybe it's just me that's funny about music. I dunno.

Anyway. I've got this theory that only five percent of anything is actually any good. Bear with me on this one. Of all the music, movies, books, etc. that get released in any one year, roughly (and all these figures are quite rough. Haven't scientifically tested this theory yet) 50% are utter garbage. Offensive to the ear/eye/both. Maybe 30% will be tolerable, and won't be physically painful to experience. Perhaps 15% will be quite good - but there's never more than five per cent (and even that figure could be a bit generous) that are actually excellent. Things that your life feels richer for having experienced.

Sounds pretty grim, I know. That's a pretty slim percentage. And of course that five percent is different for different people - what's in my five percent won't necessarily be in yours - but here's the good news: that five percent of true quality stuff is being produced year after year, right across the globe, so if you're prepared to do a bit of digging, that skinny wee five percent mounts up to a rich seam of excellence that you can spend your whole life mining.

Think about it - walk into a bookshop and it's immediately apparent that there are too many books there for you ever to read them all. And the staff will throw you out if you try. I tend to gravitate towards authors I've read before, but I'm (alpha) betting that that stops me finding a hidden gem that's lurking somewhere in the "Q" section. Modern bookshops are laid out for people who already know what they want to buy before they walk in - they're not designed to help you find new, surprising authors saying things you didn't even know you wanted to hear.

Second-hand bookshops and (even better) charity shops are a much better bet. Walk in determined to buy something and, at least five percent of the time, you'll walk out with something you would never otherwise have bought. I found "Blindness" by Jose Saramago that way, and, thanks to the kindness of strangers, I'm also working my way through John Buchan's adventure novels (I could probably buy them all in a oner from Amazon, but that would kill the sense of achievement of finding them all one old mildewed copy at a time in dusty charity shops).

Movie-wise - well, I've always been a huge fan of foriegn films. "Carandiru" is still unsurpassed. Only five percent of Hollywood films are any good, but there's a huge raft of other films being made across the world. And the ones that get released over here are sort of automatically good - subtitles are such a huge turn-off for UK/American audiences that if a distributor releases a film with such an albatross round it's neck, you can bet it must be pretty bloody good already. It's obviously already made its way into quite a few people's five percent.

But music is an odd one. A completely personal taste. T'was only a hundred years ago or so that if you wanted to hear music you'd have to corall a few actual musicians together in the same room. Now just a couple of second pressure from my thumb will make my MP3 player jump into life, and I've got an instant soundtrack for my life. Music is so ubiquitous these days that it's easy to overlook.

God bless the Internet. Of course, I'm not condoning such behaviour, but I have heard that there are illicit web-based applications where you can just type in the name of an artist or track, and download it at your leisure. Sounds great.

Completely unconnectedly (m'lud), my musical tastes now range far and wide. From Skip James singing "I'm So Glad" and (officially the saddest song in the world) "Hardtime Killing Floor Blues", to Norwegian folk band Varttina's "Katariina", via Jewish Kletzmer music ("De Vuurvreter Van Sassari" and "Odessa Bulgarish" by De Amsterdam Klezmer Band being my particular favourites) to African Mali music, my musical horizons have been broadened significantly. To the point where I can no longer stand to listen to radio stations anymore.

That five percent snakes its way through time and across many continents, but it's well worth the chase. Your 5% will doubtless be different from mine, but it's well worth the time you spend digging it up.

That said, at the moment "Yellow Sun" by the Raconteurs is fast finding a place in my affections. We had a wee wink of sun today in Scotland, and this song has already nominated itself as my official song of the summer. Whatever that means.