Nothing to see here. Move along, now.

Is there anything worse than summer? Well, probably winter, but you know what I mean. Apart from holidays and festivals, there’s nothing happening. There’s nothing to watch on TV, though a major sporting event helps fill any empty schedule. There are no concerts or plays to take in, unless you either live in, or are willing to keep travelling to, our nation’s capital. The Edinburgh International Festival, the Fringe, the Book Festival and a whole host of other festivals could keep me occupied 24/7 for a month, if I had a regular income that didn’t have to come from a 9-5 job. I manage to get to the occasional concert every year or two, but don’t feel like I have either the patience or the time to go trawling round pubs, decommissioned telephone boxes, disused public toilets or wigwams trying to uncover the next Eddie Izzard or Jeremy Hardy. It’s not just patience, or time or money I need. I could have had a couple of hours there on each of the last two Saturdays, but I’m just not interested. Some of you would think I’m not making the most of my life, that I lack courage and imagination, but what sort of life is it when you’d rather walk up and down the street eating a cold pie from nearby Tesco rather than go into a crowded restaurant or bar for a meal before a concert? What’s the point of humiliating myself? Mind you, I do that on a regular basis. This life is becoming steadily more unpleasant. Is there anything worse than that?

How strange the change from major to minor

Some things, keepsakes, you take with you on your journey through life; a teddy bear, a photograph, the ticket from your first concert, a present from a long-dead grandparent, a card or letter from your first boyfriend; long-cherished memories. I’ve travelled this road with nothing tangible, just thoughts and feelings, and Frank and Ella for company.

There was one song I loved to sing along to when I was quite young, around 3 or 4 years old; ‘High Hopes’, written by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen, and sung by Frank Sinatra, featured in a film called ‘A Hole in the Head’. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen the movie, or would want to, but the song was on a 78rpm record in my mother’s collection, and I was forever asking her to play it. It was one of those songs with a motto; nothing is impossible.

Next time you’re found, with your chin on the ground
There a lot to be learned, so look around

Just what makes that little old ant
Think he'll move that rubber tree plant
Anyone knows an ant, cant
Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes
He’s got high apple pie, in the sky hopes

So any time your getting’ low
’stead of lettin’ go
Just remember that ant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant

When troubles call, and your back’s to the wall
There a lot to be learned, that wall could fall

Once there was a silly old ram
Thought he'd punch a hole in a dam
No one could make that ram, scram
He kept buttin’ that dam

Cause he had high hopes, he had high hopes
He had high apple pie, in the sky hopes

So any time your feelin’ bad
’stead of feelin’ sad
Just remember that ram
Oops there goes a billion kilowatt dam

All problems just a toy balloon
They'll be busted soon
They're just bound to go pop
Oops there goes another problem ker-plop

I’ve never had a positive outlook. It comes from bitter experience. I’ve never found that I could move a rubber tree plant or punch a hole in a billion kilowatt dam. I’ve never had the strength or the guile, or someone else to do it for me. The immovable is object is just that. The unbreakable is just that. The impossible is just that. Immovable. Unbreakable. Impossible.

The song that my mother always wanted to hear was ‘Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye’ written by Cole Porter and sung by Ella Fitzgerald. The first lady of popular song, like Sinatra, has been, from that early age, an ever-present, towering figure in my musical life, my consciousness, my heart, my soul. Ella and Frank speak to me today in the way they always have. They sing to me my songs of joy. They are my port in every storm. They are immortal. They stand firm when everything around me falls apart.

Ella’s song didn’t mean anything to me back then, or for a long time after. How could it? The tune, the arrangement, those warm tones were all it needed to make it a classic, but the lyrics can only have meaning attributed to them if you’ve lived and loved and lost.

Everytime we say goodbye, I die a little,
Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little,
Why the Gods above me, who must be in the know.
Think so little of me, they allow you to go.
When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it,
I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it,
There's no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor,
Everytime we say goodbye.

I’ve never really lived, or loved, but I always find myself having to say goodbye. Without going into detail, I was out the other night with someone I’d not seen in ages. I say ages, but two and a half months feels like an eternity when you miss someone you love. I say miss someone, but we barely know each other. I say love, but I’m too selfish and self-centered and scared to love anyone. Although I should be pleased and excited, and concerned, for someone who may be on the verge of leaving to go on a great adventure (and I am, truly, all of those things), I’m falling apart because of what it means for me, only for me. A good night watched over by the spectre of something I always thought would happen, but just not so soon. The positive, anything’s possible, punching a hole in that billion kilowatt dam balloon is burst by the cold steely pin-prick of unyielding, pitiless reality. There’ll be time enough for Whitney Houston to wail ‘I will always love you’ but for now, Frank’s high hopes are brought crashing to the ground, and how strange the change from major to minor.

Operation catch-up

It’s a bit tidier round here, but the work’s not yet done. I’ve been distracted; by the Olympics, by the heavy rain and thunderstorms, by the Internet. I’ve started bringing my blogs up-to-date:

I’ve written three posts on football on Sent To The Stands and one post on July’s concerts in Best Seat In The House

Just four or five of the travel blog entries to sort out and everything will be ship-shape. The writing in a ‘journal’ or a 'diary' loses its impact if not written at the time. First impressions are contaminated by subsequent encounters or the passage of time or a poor memory, or combinations thereof, but I have photographs to help me remember at least some of it.

Those participating in the Olympics, and those lucky enough to have obtained tickets, will remember the last eight days for a very long time. Great Britain and Northern Ireland, or teamGB as it is known, has exceeded expectations, so far, in terms of its medal haul. There are over twenty TV channels showing wall-to-wall coverage of as many of the sports in these games as its possible to broadcast, and I’m not near a TV or streaming media all the time, so I’ve missed most of it, including some triumphs for GB. As I type, Great Britain is third in the medals table with 16 Gold, 11 Silver and 10 Bronze. No one is expecting significant additions to those totals, as we are currently relatively poor in track and field, but where there’s life, there’s hope.

This good feeling is only temporary, though, and doesn’t mask the current Government’s victimisation of the poor, the sick, the old and the underprivileged by its systematic dismantling of the Welfare State. Politicians are queuing up to stand alongside our sporting heroes. They’re happy to live vicariously through others and bask in their glory, whilst at the same time, cutting funding for grass roots sport, selling off school playing fields, taking money from local authorities which then cut community facilities and coaching, and so on. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they won’t be.

Congratulations to all those who have won, those who came close, those who lost and all those who didn’t manage to compete. There’s something in me that runs and jumps and swims and cycles, that goes higher and faster, but it’s not my body. All I can do is watch, and admire.