Back in England after a very relaxing week and a bit in the Costa De Blanca / Murcia region of Spain . A wonderful week. The weather was mostly baking, the beaches beautiful, the food and wine plentiful, and the company very good. We were staying in a lovely villa in the El Pinar De Campoverde urbanisation (click here for a map of the area, nearest town Pilar De La Horadada). And it was soooo good to spend a decent amount of time with my girl, after months of snatched days here and there. And now I am back in England, in a different town, still bathing in her afterglow, but missing her immensely.
But enough.This site isn't here for the personal things in life. Baring my soul will now bring about the reconstruction of the time machine. It will not bring about any reunion tour of Viper Squad Ten. It will not get any Dieticians Featuring Fat albums back on the shelves of the world's record stores. It will not get Hormone Hell into the multiplexes.
But then, maybe I'm too caught in the present to escape this timeframe anyway. Too addicted to the early 21st Century. Too stuck on its popular culture.
Talking of popular culture, one of the greatest things about holidays, is freeing up the time to actually read. I started reading Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk whilst on a skiing holiday in Vail, Colorado earlier this year. Loved it to death, an immensely satisfying read. And a much more edifying read than Chuck's previous, Choke, where, as warned in the first chapter, you just weren't going to like the central character. As Palahniuk's books are mainly written in the first person, if you are in the mind of someone without many redeeming features, it can be tough going. The anger and raw visceral primitive instinct-led narrative of that book totally contrasts with that of Lullaby and Fight Club, where the narrator's are (seemingly) more witty and intelligent. Lullaby's character, Carl Streator, a journalist, is written in the descriptive style of a hack; details matter. The structure of the book plays with the reader. Whilst Choke's self-loathing could sometimes suffocate the reader, perhaps appropriately. But then, only two-thirds of the way into Lullaby, and I've got a feeling that anything could happen.