Seating Psychology.

Dearly Beloved and I went to the cinema last week to see 'Gone Girl and I'm due to go again in couple of weeks with my good buddy and all round excellent fellow Neil to see something a little more manly. I must confess to being quite fussy about where I sit. I like an aisle seat so I can get in and out easily and I'm not boxed in, somewhere near the front so I don't have to look over peoples head's and to the side away from the slurping, chomping and general chit chat of the great unwashed. I think where you choose to sit says a lot about yourself.  

For example, a gregarious party person would probably sit right in the middle surrounded by cohorts and hangers on. The same would apply to any military dictator or mafia boss. It is a well-known fact that anyone up to no good would be sitting right at the back. This is a hangover from school days where the trouble makers, the talkers and the slackers all sat at the back of the class room or bus on school trips. It's a rule of thumb that anyone at the back is up to something they shouldn't be. This also applies to newly dating couples whose interest is more in each other than the film. 

Any wannabe celebrity would no doubt sit right in front thereby making sure that as many people could see them as possible and gain maximum exposure. On the other hand, a genuine 'A lister' would be sitting to the side by the door trying not to be recognised, Unfortunately this would also mean that they are sitting amongst the folk with weak bladders and persons who have to pop out for a nacho refill halfway through the film. Shy people wouldn't sit in the middle of a row because they would have to ask people to move if they needed the loo. Anyone sitting about a third of the way up and bang in the middle is probably using an illegal recording device. You can always spot the people with anxiety issues; they will be the ones sitting next to the fire exit.

The management have started a seat booking system now at our local cinema which is particularly annoying as I don't know where I want to sit until I'm in there. I like to sit away from other people if possible. On last week's trip we sat in the front block which was empty until four teenagers came in and sat immediately behind us. had they not had to pre-book the seats they would probably have sat further away. I can see cases of Seat Rage occurring when people start arguing about what seats they ought to be in. I can't even see any reason for it unless it's a prelude to charging extra for aisle seats and more leg room. 

I've no doubt that most people don't give a fig where they sit, wouldn't give it a moment's thought and just plonk themselves down randomly. Although it's possibly not as random as they think on a sub-conscious level. What my seating preference says about me is that I don't like crowds and would rather have the place to myself. Perhaps what this also says about me is that I would be better off at home with a DVD and a bottle of wine. 

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Crumbling Cookies

Dearly Beloved and I had a great day yesterday. We woke early in the morning with the sun streaming in through the window and the birds singing in the trees outside. We had our usual light continental breakfast at the large kitchen table washed down with a pot of tea and then she went outside to feed the geese and ducks and tend to her small cattery cum rescue home. She doesn't really make any money out of it but she enjoys it. I took the dog for a walk across the fields and didn't see another soul, just me, Bruno and the day. When I came back I went to my office to do my mornings writing which went really well. I always find the view across the valley from my office so inspiring, I never tire of it.

I finally emerged from my office about eleven thirty to the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen and feeling quite pleased with my excellent day's work. The postman had been and brought another royalty cheque, this one for £250,000.I thought back to the days when money used to be an issue and felt quietly relieved that those days had gone forever. I feel quite sorry for Dave our postman because we have a drive that's about a 1/4 of a mile long. It deters the most intrepid of double glazing salesmen or Seventh Day Adventists from bothering, and just in case they don't get the hint, There is a large and particularly ominous 'beware of the dogs' sign with a picture of a spectacularly evil looking beast. Of course Bruno wouldn't hurt a fly but they aren't to know that. We also bought one of those new phones that recognises sales calls, answers it and then pretends it's you while automatically switching to a premium number. In a good month BT owe me money. 

The lads came round in the afternoon so Dearly Beloved went shopping with her best friend. We messed about in my music studio and knocked out a few numbers, recorded some drums and put the finishing touches to last week's track. We don't take it too seriously and it's just a laugh but I must confess to being quietly proud of some of the tracks. Apparently ours sons rang yesterday and spoke to their mother. The middle ones over the moon as the Hot Tub company he started as just made its first Million. No doubt there will be some ribbing between him and the eldest as he made his first million a couple of years ago in IT. We were even graced with a rare call from our youngest in LA.  He says they have renewed his contract in the hit HBO TV series so at least Dearly Beloved will be able to see him on TV each week even if not in person. 

There are several restaurants round our way we go in the evenings when I'm not committed doing local gigs. Last night we went Italian with Dom, Sally, Rachel and Angus, We had a brilliant time and I don't think I have laughed so much for months, in fact I think someone put a complaint in as we were a bit loud but I expect Gio ( Giovani, the owner) would have given them short shrift. 

We were back home by ten and I took Bruno for his evening walk, I love that time of the night when it's quiet, just the stars for company and the fields seem to go on forever and you are the only person alive. Bruno and I went back home, I did my evening routine and went to bed. I fell asleep with the full moon shining in my window and the hoot of owls somewhere in the distance.

I woke up this morning in my own bed in my own house in the middle of a housing estate to overcast skies and pouring rain with the prospect of another day at work before me. None of the above is true and even if I had the money, that's not the way the world works. Unfortunately, that isn't the way the cookie of life crumbles.

The Y Factor

Dearly Beloved and I went to Great Yarmouth last week to see some relatives. For those of you that don't know Yarmouth, it's stuck in a time warp. Until recently you couldn't walk down the high street without being reminded that Elvis is still the king but I'm pleased to say they have shifted forward now to sometime in the mid 70's. The town is still home to many of those small street corner pubs with a separate public and lounge bars where the decor has changed little in the last 50 years and neither have the patrons and It was in one of these we saw our first pub band for many years.  

I say band, it was more of a rabble. I don't think I have ever seen such an odd mix of people. The bass player looked like an elderly accountant who had turned up after work, whipped his tie off and started playing. The female drummer with goth overtones was probably still at school and the singer was on the wrong side of 30 and dressed in the rock tradition complete with Axel Rose style bandana. The two guitarists were a study in themselves, the old and the new. One was of indeterminate age with an elegantly wasted style that would give Keith Richards a run for his money playing the classic sunburst Les Paul through a Marshall amp whilst the second ,much younger, was clearly from the newer thrash metal school with an Ibanez and an array of pedals. They may have looked a mismatched bunch but they could all play and they ripped through their set of old hits from the 60s, 70s, and early 80s with no problem.

It was one of those bands where the more you drank the better they got. The bar we were in was tiny and the 5 piece band took up half of the floor space with the audience crammed against the bar. The audience themselves were a motley crew of die hard rock fans and they loved every minute off it. The local character turned up in his wheel chair sporting a cap saying 'Rock God.' The band let him get up and warble his way badly through ' teenage kicks.' He forget the words and lost his place in the song but he had a good time regardless. Due to the noise and lack of clarity of the vocals you often couldn't tell what the song was until they got to the chorus but nobody cared. The young guitarist put a solo into 'You Really Got Me' which bore no resemblance to the original and would probably have made Ray Davies drop his guitar in shock. Was anyone fussed? Not a bit. Did they manage to make all the songs sound pretty much the same? Yes they did. Did anyone care? No.

None of the band would have made it through the opening stage of the X Factor because they don't have any of the requirement for being a modern pop star. They don't have the look, the attitude or the swagger although the talent seems optional. However they managed to entertain a room full of people who had an excellent night out and that, dear Simon, is what it should be all about. 

The Breakfast Policy.

A full English breakfast is a wonderful thing. I have had them all over the country, sometimes not even at breakfast time. But what actually constitutes this legendary repast? Most places describe it as a 'full English' but what you get varies enormously. Sometimes it's one sausage and a slice of bacon, sometimes its two of each. Sometimes you will get black pudding, most times not. Many places ask you to choose between tomatoes or beans bizarrely. Does it need a slice of fried bread to qualify? It seems not. You can't take a breakfast at face value, you have to read the menu; just like an insurance policy.

I have just had my buildings and contents policy renewal through and they seem to have put the price up, however, when you read the small print, not only have they put the price up, they have added a huge compulsory excess to the water damage clause. To use the breakfast analogy, this is akin to robbing me of a sausage which is a fundamental element in my breakfast. I don't mind them putting the price up a little every year but I don't want to have to check the menu to confirm that they haven't skimped on the beans and fried egg since last time. I rang them up and they advised me that it was 'unavoidable' so I 'avoided' it by taking my business elsewhere.

What I want is a JD Wetherspoon's policy, double sausage and bacon and just about everything else you can think of including chips if you want them all for a fiver, fabulous. Unfortunately no such thing exists in the insurance world. It's an annoying waste of time to have to re-broke the policy each renewal but the insurance companies themselves leave me no option. You can't even rely on those cuddly meerkat fellows they only tell you the upside, not the downside. Sly buggers those meerkats. 

If you enjoyed this, look out for the next in the series: Rocket science and the Sunday Roast.

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