My Words

Just read it and think

[ianbanksjones]

Fragments- Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It wasn't unusual to see Derek around town. He'd lived around this small town for as long as anyone could remember. Leamingford. A sleepy, dreary, run down town, very close to the exact centre of nowhere. Derek was much the same really. A portrait of semi grandeur, thirty years past prime, slightly shabby, but no worse than others around. Derek had a scruffy twinkle to him though. I suppose it was this that drew me towards the idea of working for him in the first place.

Over the years, he'd built up quite a little empire for himself, an incongruous hotchpotch of business interests. Unnoticed to virtually everyone, Derek had been playing a sort of literal monopoly in Leamingford. He owned two shops, one selling music, books and retro clothes, the other selling restored furniture, a hairdressing salon, a bulk pet food warehouse, a fish and chip shop (that didn't sell fish) and a small, chic pavement cafe. He also owned and ran a pub. My local. The bull. Just a typical local suburban pub. Only it wasn't, at least not for me.

My name is Jonny. I'm 29. I spend my days designing graphics and websites for various clients, and my evenings writing and playing songs. Sometimes for fun, occasionally even for money. I've lived in Leamingford all of my life, and despite its faults and flaws (of which there are many) I'm proud to call it my home. On the whole, it's a typical small town, with all the usual incestuous local issues and seething undercurrents of class struggle. I suppose that kind of makes me feel a bit like an outsider, I consider myself a regular guy; but the gentle sprinkling of normal, regular people and the muddled up bunch of unusual characters mean I don't have to see it constantly. Derek definitely falls into that category. Here he was standing the wrong side of a barrier, nearly losing his ankles to the passing traffic, whilst staring wistfully, perhaps idly at a large semi derelict building. I had a lot of time for Derek. He had offered to help me out when I reached a particular low point. But I'll tell you more about that another time.

When it came to the Bull, it was fair to say I had an affinity with the place. I'd worked behind the bar, cooked in the kitchen, booked functions, DJ'd, organised the quiz nights, played for the football and pool teams, got drunk, fell asleep and pretty much lived every aspect of life in there. My favourite job was always booking their music. Two for a Friday, usually originals, one, a previous favourite and one newer band, and a covers band for a Saturday. I still do this bit, despite being busy with all sorts of other stuff. On a Monday I arrange a jam night. I have done for years now. I don't really work in the Bull any more, but I still do the Monday Jam. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be.

On this particular day, Derek was stood staring on the corner by the old cinema. In its heyday in the 20's and 30's it had been a proud art Deco inspired building with beautiful sweeping curves and cream plastered walls. Inside it had been palatial, or so I'd been told. I'd never seen it at its best. You can tell the age of a Lemmo' from what they call this place. All the old people call it the Roxy, and talk fondly of the famous bands they saw there in the 60's. I've seen great black and white photos of household names of 60's music in the streets near the Roxy. There's something magical in those photos. It's hard to describe. Electricity is the closest word I can choose.

For the Leamingford 40-50 something's, it was the Odeon. If I wasn't too squeamish to listen, I'd probably have heard more stories from my parents and their friends of cuddles and kisses on the back row whilst they were supposedly watching the main feature.

For me, it was known as the Movierama, until the big multiplex on the edge of town opened in the late 90's. By the time I was 17, it was Kool Katz, a scuzzy nightclub full of barely dressed, but dressed up girls. All smelling of sweat, booze, fags, cheap perfume and sickly sweet body spray. Older lads gathered and seemed to hunt for the girls in packs, probably carrying their quarry into the night for a drunken fumble in a shop doorway. The music was generic, and very loud. Sweat evaporated and rose, and condensed on the remnants of ornate, nicotine covered plasterwork, falling in random globules of yellowed toxic rain. The only discernible advantages were that KK's was cheap, and that they weren't too fussy about formalities like I.D. "Those were the days." I smiled to myself as I approached Derek, eyeing up the exterior.

"It's a scruffy bugger, but what do you reckon?" Derek didn't even turn towards me

"You or the building?" I took pleasure in having a little dig.

"The cinema, you cheeky sod. What do you make of it? It really is a little cracker." The corners of Derek's mouth began to rise to meet his slightly reddened and plump cheeks.

"What's it matter to you? You've not been shopping again have you?" The burgeoning smile began to become a full-blown grin, showing off Derek's wonky, yellowing teeth.

"This is the big one Jonny. The acquisition of a lifetime. I saw the Stones here in '67. I met my first wife here in '69 and we, erm... well, let's just say I have a special feel for the place. I feel like I've bought back part of my youth." I guess that Derek's eyes would have looked misty, but I couldn't see beyond his oversized designer shades. "A lifetime of working my wotsits off, and it's all been for this place. I can die happy now."

"What do you want to do with it? Nightclub? Apartments?" I prodded.

"This, my boy, is paradise in stone and plaster. You might see crumbling bricks and flaking paint, but I see a stage. A cinema. A bar with a tidy little brasserie. Rehearsal space for bands. Office space for fancy creatives. A couple of swanky studio flats. This is it. My dream. Has been for years."

Derek would have eulogised for hours if I'd let him. Clearly he'd lost his mind.

"And how much will that all cost?" I tried to bring him back to reality.

"More than a couple of quid, but it's all been budgeted. None of that fag packet accountancy either. I mean, I might need a hand with the painting, and financially it'll be dead tight, but every single penny and every single hour of work will be worth it." Derek turned to me and removed his sunglasses. He looked very earnestly at me. "This place, if we run it properly is an absolute goldmine. This will be my pension!"

I studied the ramshackle building with its metal plates covering the doors and windows. Discoloured paint flaked indignantly from the walls. It obviously had potential, but it had issues too. But I believed in Derek. He'd created diamonds from coal before. This would be by far his biggest project, but experience had taught me that it was unwise to bet against him. I wasn't about to start. I began to bid him farewell. "Good luck mate, but I've got to go."

"Okay Jonny." He went back to looking at his building. "Do you want to manage it for me? Lock stock, from top to bottom."

I was amazed, but not totally surprised. Derek had a tendency of making outlandish offers to people he trusted. Like the time he offered a 19 year old with hardly any experience the chance to run his coffee shop for three months. I obviously hadn't disappointed him that much back then either.

"Let me think, and I'll let you know. It's a big job." I said, feeling rather overawed.

"No rush Jonny, it won't be open for a couple of months. See you later boy."

And with that, I was dismissed into the busy afternoon street, with an awful lot to think about.

[ianbanksjones]

#EP #northnorthwest #indie #rocknroll #music #newmusic #manchester #madchester #modchester #rock #onsale

[ianbanksjones]

Get ready. This is set to be released this weekend! #debutsingle #mixingsecrets #newsong #indieband #northnorthwest #rock #newmusic #indie #acoustic #music

[ianbanksjones]

England no longer expects...

Everyone will opine over the next few days as to what is wrong with the English game. No doubt the newspapers tomorrow and for the next few weeks will tell salacious tales of misadventure and carry in depth critique of where each footstep was misplaced. I, for one am not interested. Our issues are deeper than any red top will acknowledge. May I have my few penneth now? 1. Lack of depth. Nasri cannot make the French squad, Tevez doesn't get a look in with Argentina. Who is our best player not in Brazil? John Stones? Adam Johnson? Jermain Defoe? There are too many imports into the premier league, and... 2. We don't speak the lingo Only one of our squad plays outside of England. And that is Fraser Forster, the Celtic keeper. Look at the Uruguay squad. There's a Juventus player, an Atletico Madrid player, plus a fair smattering all over Europe. They have learned and understood a whole new culture, lifestyle and style of play. As well as that... 3. You've gotta have a system They bring the knowledge of different styles and play, and then combine that with a definitive type of play, that is usually endemic through the whole national game. Italians have discipline, Spanish have Tiki Taka, the Dutch have pass and move, the Chileans have hardwork and determination, and a strong team ethic. Even Honduras had a plan, to kick everything as hard as possible. We have, erm... well... What do we have? 4. There's always [insert name here] This time (and for the last 8 years), it's been Wayne. Before that it was Becks. Before that it was Gazza. Before that it was Lineker. Before that it was....well, you get the idea. We cannot afford to be a one man team any longer. On the positive side, at the time of writing, we aren't out of the competition yet, and our U17, U19, U20 & U21's are all quite promising. Failing that, there's always the ladies. England probably won't always be this bad, but it won't happen overnight.

[ianbanksjones]

Liverpool: Why you should be disappointed they didn't claim the Premier League

Fair play to Man City. Their fans know hardship. Before their amazing last gasp win in 2011-12, they hadn't won a thing in decades, barring a couple of promotions. Their football is effective and not unattractive, although perhaps a little sterile, and they have fought their way to the top of one of the most hotly contested leagues not once, but twice in three years. Good on them. Their players, and their fans deserve it. As a Liverpool supporter that remembers the good times, I should be miffed at how we lost it, I should be furious how my sporting heroes bottled it, I should be distraught at how we threw the chance of transcendental greatness away. I can't be, although many 'neutrals' think that I can't possibly feel anything else. I cried when Michael Thomas robbed us of the league in '89. I have genuinely believed that my beloved club would disappear into the also-rans too. Look across Stanley Park. It happens. It isn't pretty to watch, but the financial rigours of the modern game mean that every team is one or two seasons away from a fiscal abyss. There will be another Leeds, or Portsmouth, you mark my words. If I was a United fan, I'd be seriously worried that the Glazers might lose interest without a massive swing in fortunes next season. If they don't turn it around next year, it will become immeasurably harder. So, Manchester City. The big boys. Top of the shop. Financially secure, and looking down on everyone else. Only they aren't. Their footing is based on massive investment. I won't go into the pros and cons of overseas ownership, but the idea of a local boy made good as chairman is now little more than a pipe dream. Their success is, however, built on money that they haven't earned, nor will they be able to easily recoup. This isn't fair (U.E.F.A. have agreed with me) or good for the game. It is also, in the long term, totally unsustainable. And I find that really hard to swallow. Liverpool have a young squad with a fair splash of homegrown talent. There are also a wealth of players just beyond the fringes of that squad who are not only homegrown, but relatively local to Liverpool. Manchester City cannot boast anything like the same setup, and with their financial backing, it is unlikely that this will change any time soon. As much as I hate to say it, you have to admire Alex Ferguson, and his class of '92. That is what is missing from most English teams. It is also becoming less likely to occur, at least organically, as time passes This past season has seen Liverpool as the plucky underdog. The expansive, beautiful and intelligent football has appeased many fans, and converted a fair few neutrals. Of course, it has drawn the ire of some narrow minded individuals who would secretly see their grandmothers clocking up the bids on eBay in exchange for the same at their club. Surprisingly, it isn't their success that people have despised, but their ultimate failure that they have revelled in. I guess this is the nature of the modern day supporter. Again, it isn't right, but I don't foresee any immediate change. It won't be as easy next season. An extra half dozen games or so, coupled with a few new squad members will make things much tougher, even before the added value of the Liverpool scalp is factored in. It is easy to say, but if I was a neutral, then I'd be cheering on Liverpool. They play football in the right way, funded with sensible spending, based on a spine of the best UK talent. You might not agree, but that's your perogative as a supporter I suppose. All the same, I'll still be tipping the reds next season. The football will be attractive, it will be with more than just hope in my heart, and I know I will never walk alone.

[ianbanksjones]

Britpop: The years we ruled the world

The unabridged version.... Let me start by dispelling a popular myth about the beauty of youth. Nobody told us we were young and beautiful. We didn't realise. Neither did we realise how fleeting it would all be. Nobody told us. It wouldn't have done much good if they had. But, like many generations before, and all since, we were beautiful. In our own way, we were brilliant, aware, clever, open. We were truly fucking gorgeous. We got it from our parents. It wasn't in our genes, but more in our nurture. By in large, our parents were baby boomers, born into a post-WWII, Cold War austerity. They had parents that had often faced death head on, without any certainty of victory, or even a tomorrow. But our parents grew up with them. They had often poor, often difficult upbringings. You can look at it now and say it was inevitable that it led some to rebel against them. The older brothers and sisters had swooned over the malifluous hips of Elvis, and the sneering self awareness of James Dean and Gene Vincent. Our parents gained The Beatles, The Stones, The Who and a million other names that have been cited for decades. These acts were greeted by our grandparents in a sort of managed disapproval. My mum tells a wonderful story of my nan discovering the real meaning of Norwegian Wood by the Beatles. Apparently it was a mix of disapproving mumbles and outright hysterics of laughter. It may be an exaggeration, but our parents may have invented the teenager. When our generation turned teen, we were armed. Unlike our parents, by in large, our parents understood what we wanted and needed. Despite the Thatcherite austerity of the 80's, they were often financially able to directly, or indirectly give us it. We really did have everything. Except smartphones, social networking and file sharing. We didn't need it though. We had music. We really had music. Blur are often cited as the pioneers of britpop. A quintessentially british sound, with a semi-faux Thames estuary accent, singing about every day events and stories. It was this celebration of the mundane that elevated them to super stardom. Looking at it now, they owe as much to the likes of Harold Pinter or Alan Bennett as they do to the Kinks. But they were good. Really good. Listening to Oasis was like the best party you could imagine. Cigarettes, alcohol, loud music, a covert whispering of class a's and a slightly dangerous undertone. Despite their desire to be the Beatles, oasis were the Stones reincarnate. It was all so relatable though. These bands, with Pulp, OCS, James, Cast, The Bluetones and a million others were able to be the last cultural zeitgeist. And they kept it for a good few years. My teenage years. This was, is, my music. This was my party, my zeitgeist . I say the last, because over the next ten years, the mass media would shatter into a million tiny shards. Each person had access to their own particular demands of media. More opinion and choice has led to less of an ability to penetrate public conscious. It all falls to the lowest common denominator. YouTube means we're more likely to watch a monkey on a dog on a skateboard than a bunch of four guys singing out the truths of everyday life. I lapped up Space to Spacehog, The Divine Comedy to David Devant, Rialto to The Real People, My Life Story to The Manics. I could sing you a thousand songs right now. Don't worry, I probably won't. You may have seen the BBC's top 40 Britpop songs. Rather good it was too. But this was just the surface. I wanted to listen to it all, I wanted to feel the music. It wasn't to the exclusion of all else, but this was for me. My party. It is the main reason I write songs. It is the reason I still sigh when I see a pretty girl in a skinny fit band t-shirt with flared jeans and trainers. It is the reason that, even twenty (really?) years later, I'm still very much in love with music. You see the thing was that mostly, we didn't need to rebel. Britpop was about a universal truth. Sure, it was managed and cajoled in a way that was only possible back then. Sure, each band considered their actions and releases with an eye on commercialism. All the same, our young, beautiful selves were able to enjoy, and identify with it. So could our parents though. I remember copying a tape of Ash for my mum to enjoy in the car. My Dad was quite partial to a bit of Shed Seven when the mood took him. On more than one occasion, I saw the music press (no names here, but think of initials) deride bands as being a bit 'dad rock'. Who cares? These are ace tunes. Unfortunately, something I don't think I voiced loudly enough at the time. I don't miss my youth. I do miss that feeling though. The feeling that we ruled the world, that we really mattered. Where did it go? Where did this juggernaut of creation and honesty crash and burn? Well, it didn't. It only fractured into smaller pieces. Time wasn't on Britpop's side. Things got heavier, or more acoustic. Beats got faster or more produced. Melodies became more saccharine, and more mundane. That isn't to say we didn't have gems along the way; take Parachutes by the much derided Coldplay. That, was, and indeed is, Britpop. Our chosen musical form still exists, but harvesting it has become harder in our joined up, disjointed society. Where everyone can say, see or hear anything anywhere with anyone, yet so few can impart anything of note, and only those who are chosen can say something to everyone. It is there though. Echoes of things here, murmurs of melodies there. Britpop didn't so much as disappear, it just stepped outside for a while. I still think it is just so so sad that at this party, the party that was my life, that Britpop was able to just skulk off to a quiet corner without anyone noticing. Well, you can come out now. Everyone has missed you.

[ianbanksjones]

On Vocals (or not...)

One thing has always been a given. There are literally billions of things that I can't do. I'm quite proficient at finding things that I am unable to do. In fact, I think of it as something of an art form. Other than the ordinary, I have always had one skill, one extra card on most people. My given. I have a voice. When I open my mouth, a sound which is a rough approximation of that that I want comes out. It's a functional voice, rather than fireworks, but it suits me fine. I can manage a fairly big range, being able to sing both vocal lines of 18 With A Bullet, or The Lion Sleeps Tonight comfortably. On Monday, I climbed into the car to go on holiday. My wife in the other car, kids in the back with their DVD player. A chance to let rip (vocally speaking). iPod on random. First Song, Maybe Tomorrow by The Stereophonics. I begin to sing. Nothing comes out. Must be a freak. Try another song. Same response. I feel like a plane in a climb, stalling. I'm falling now. Was it shouting at the kids? Is it years of general abuse to the voice? Is this permanent? However you look at this, I'm scared. For the first time in a long time, I'm actually scared.

[ianbanksjones]

Theft

Hungry for poetry I steal a few words

From Here And There

Like a verbal shoplifter in the vegetable aisle at Sainsbury’s I run outside (chased by imaginary security) The buzz The excitement The thrill Joie de vivre I peruse my pointless pilferings

Flowerpot Banana Existential Plunge

Disappointed now Useless Futile Dejected Rejected I can’t even make word soup

[ianbanksjones]

The Artist

Sketchbook in hand I stand. Painting the view in front of me. I see sun Warm flecks of gold falling, filling An endless sky, trees. Spruces standing like soldiers, a stream. Bubbling, beating, babbling, the bank. Grab my pencil, trying to capture the scene. Serene. A couple. Youngish pair. Nice teeth, nice hair. Not a single care. Kissing, canoodling, cavorting. They touch, tease, squeeze, please. "Please, please, more, more" I stand. Drawing My own conclusions. Ian Banks-Jones

[ianbanksjones]

Manchester- Not just a city...

My first experience of Manchester was in the mid 1980's. To be honest, other than the imposing buildings and the stupidly large portion of chips I had, I remember very little of my day trip. That's the funny thing about the brain of a five year old. It is very good at remembering only what it wants to. We had been staying with friends in Liverpool, another city I adore, and had decided to go to Manchester. I remember Lime St Station, and being taken to see the huge, slab sided engine that would have the honour of powering our journey. I remember the rhythmic clickety-clack on the old jointed rails. I remember being held up to the window to watch the train as it snaked into Piccadilly. Other than that, it is mostly a blur. I say mostly, as even my five year old senses could pick up something different. Manchester was something different. It had the feel of a sleeping giant. The Liverpool suburbs told a tale of near terminal decline (that, fortunately, has since been turned around) whereas Manchester had hope. The next time I was lucky enough to visit was when I was taken to the MoSI. It was the early 90's. Manchester was in flux. Everywhere was either under scaffold, or behind temporary wooden walls. The buzz, the pride, the emotion of the place was palpable. Last year I went to see the Stone Roses at Heaton Park. From the first time I had heard them it was love. Walking the streets of Manchester on the day of the gig was incredible. Manchester felt like a volcano, and everyone seemed to know that it was ready to erupt. This town had given me James, Joy Division, New Order, The Happy Mondays, Ren Harvieu, Oasis and a constant stream of my favourite artists. Each one seemingly speaking to me. Musically, this was my whole world in one town. I was totally overwhelmed that day. The dry bar is as close to heaven as a bar can get. The buzz is constantly with you. Oh, and then came The Stone Roses. Dear Manchester, I think I'm in love and I wish for it to be requited. So, why should I make this declaration now? Why do the events of the past twenty-eight years bear relevance to now? My reason is simple. In two weeks time, I shall be excitedly heading to Manchester. I shall be meeting up with my best friend, who has lived there for a couple of years. The plan is to soak in as much of Manchester as I can, then spend Saturday writing and recording. Maybe, if we get something worthwhile done, we'll share it. Maybe if we're done early enough, we can visit the dry bar again, or find somewhere else to drink it all in. Manchester isn't just a City, it's a feeling. In fact, more than that, it's a way of life. (Having said that, I will never support either Manchester football team!)

[ianbanksjones]

Christmas? Really?

Before I begin, perhaps I should state quite clearly that I am an atheist, and I'm proud of that. This isn't the ideal time of year for atheism as, I suppose, technically I shouldn't be worrying about presents, decorations or festivities. I do, of course. As most atheists do. And I know plenty of people who do the same who are Muslim, Hindu or Sikh. Christians the world over I feel, are screaming that I'm missing the real message of Christmas. I beg to disagree. So, we all know where Christmas originates. Son of god, born in a stable. Piggybacked onto a pagan festival to celebrate the end of the year and new life. Where do presents come into that though? Well, they don't really. Nobody ever buys you a present to celebrate someone else's birthday in the usual way, so why should Christmas be any different? This is the first Christmas without my Nan and the second without my Father. They both got it. They both realised the TRUE meaning of Christmas...which is why it'll be so hard without them. But all that we used to do at Christmas is so memorable. I'm sure that it will stay with me forever Once a year, arguably more often, we should all celebrate being here. We should all celebrate being with the people we love. We should show them that we care. Don't spend thousands. Think what people actually want, not what you can afford. Spend time, give love. Talk. Listen. And most of all, enjoy. Have a happy Christmas everyone! Xx

[ianbanksjones]

Where the world got it wrong

Today's grain of sand around which my pearl of wisdom is based is a fairly universal concept. Put into simple terms that paraphrase the experts. How the world got so screwed up Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin. Once upon a time, most developed countries had an ethic that was based upon hard work, service and standards. Admittedly, much of the hard work was slave labour, and latterly sweatshop labour, but this was the (slightly dubious) foundation upon which society was built. Times changed and fortunately, much of the forced labour became a thing of the past. Western civilisation kept it's morals and service ethic and everyone was happy...for a while As time has gone on, service has become secondary to targets driven by sales. On the surface, who can blame an employer for that, but slowly the service element of this simple equation has been eroded to the point of an afterthought. In other words, when your line manager checks if you're doing a good job, what he really wants to know is are you being as profitable as you can be. It's understandable, his boss is doing the same, and so on. There are of course exceptions, but as yet I have struggled to find one. So the world has become a melting pot of ultra-competitive super capitalism. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some red flag waving socio-communist who says money is the root of all evil either. I think that that is just as dangerous. There should be a middle way. Where the importance of a customer, or employee is not measured by his or her ability to be profitable, but by how well they can be serviced. Profit should be considered, but satisfaction and happiness are of more concern And there it is. The forgotten concept. Most people are naturally set to be helpful rather than profitable. I'm sure that this whole conditioning against nature thing causes much of the stress that people feel. So people are less happy knowing that to go further they have to be more efficient A couple of years ago, BP were accused of cutting corners to be more profitable. This may have, allegedly, caused one of the most devastating disasters that the world has seen. Now this is an extreme case, but I'm sure that those of you in the workplace have seen some cost cutting or money saving excercise that basically means that you have to stretch further. I beleive it is properly known as an efficiency saving. What I'd really like to know is, how does this actually improve anything? We should have been more careful in the boom. Isn't hindsight just wonderful. But a collective greed seemed to get in the way. The thing is I think that waiting for the storm to blow over is a bit like waiting for someone else to put your shoes away when you live on your own. We need a change of attitude, probably on a global scale. Now, I think I've established one of societies major problems, and you might look at this and say that you already knew this. The solution is to wean ourselves away from targets and sales, not completely, but enough to let service come back on board. Now, the method...any ideas that would work would all be seen as too radical, too leftfield, or too left wing. But we need to think of something, or we're all off to hell in a handcart. And there you have it. Where the world got it wrong.

[ianbanksjones]

Bottlenecks

Stuck on a train into Euston station. Standing shoulder to shoulder with a thousand others, including my daughter. Arrival in London sees me surrounded by the familliar sights and sounds. Inexplicably I feel at home here. Surrounded by so many strangers somehow feels so invigorating to me. I love boggling my own mind at thinking that each one has just as much information about them, just as much of a story to tell. each one has their own reason for being here, their own journey as to how they got here, and their own infinite realm of possibility as to their interaction with everyone around them. Sometimes it feels cool to feel so unnoticed. Suddenly, I spot a small handful of work mates, people I know and recognize. People I immediately feel comfortable with. My cocoon of anonymity is destroyed. Orla (my daughter) feels comfortable, as daddy is looking after her, and I feel good as I do my dad duties. It is surreal as we walk through the subways to the tube ticket hall. I am totally comforable with my company and surroundings. Yet I am having a totally alternate to ordinary experience. As Orla and I bid farewell to my workmates, slowly we merge back into the crowds. Once again we are anonymous to everyone. Once again, after this bottleneck, our lives diverge.

[ianbanksjones]

First Blog Post

Well, Hello. I'm just a regular guy who does normal stuff and normal things. I have lots of odd thoughts about all sorts of things. Life, love, politics, religion, music, popular culture, sport and plenty of other stuff. I write music, which I might post here, and I take pictures of things that interest me. I might be prolific, or not. Time will tell. I might swear, or say controversial things, but in the main I'll be SFW, although maybe not for kids. Although to be honest, they probably won't find me that interesting (my own don't!) Anyway, when more stuff is added, you can enjoy it. Thanks! Ian