Have been to Mersea, Barcelona, Dublin and that London since last I managed breath to post, some of which more later, but I wanted to get today's beef off my chest first.
What is t about gyms that requires the lowest denominator of entertainment be broadcast to the sweating masses? I will expand........
........ which is apt, as I only go to the gym because I am expanding. I turned forty reasonably fit, and still enjoyed having the crap beaten out of me at Shotokan karate (the full fat version, much more bare knuckle boxing than the ballet favoured by some of the weaker variations), but I was getting so slow that 12-year-olds were putting me in A & E on a regular basis, so regular that my then boss ordered me to cease my interest, and with it the amount of time he was paying me to be mended in hospital.
So I turned to the brainless agony of the gymnasium, and with it learnt that these places are populated by boneheads of both sexes, and the entertainment of choice is invariably, God preserve us, local radio. And I hate it, stupid local DJs wittering on about Kylie's bum, Celebrity Big Brother or some such, with a playlist of about ten tunes that pluggers have paid large amount to have the oxygen of airplay.
I then made the realisation that there is a protocol, as long as it is noise of some sort. So I made sure I turned to earlier and earlier in the morning until I made sure I was first there, and then enjoyed glorious silence. But that only lasted until the first moron turned up, and without a by-your-leave, turned the wireless onto Idiot FM and set the volume to the degree that ensures blood trickles out of one's ears. I tried saying that I was listening to my John Cage CD, but that fell on deaf ears (I vastly prefer John Cage to Mike Batt's pale imitation - although it is interesting that the courts ruled against the estate of John Cage because they couldn't prove which 2 minutes of Four Minutes and Thirty Three seconds that Batt had plagiarized). Then I thought I would hang a sign on the wireless saying 'SILENCE IS A CHOICE'. Most of these idiots can't even read, anyway.
On one occasion, I was asked why I hadn't turned the wireless on, and I replied 'Because I am a musician', but even that didn't prompt further debate on machine-produced muzak.
So I set my hat towards being as selfish as everyone else, and tuned into Radio 4, and then propelled myself into endorphin heaven on the cross trainer. Funnily enough, no one who subsequently arrived went anywhere near the wireless, until I was in the process of signing out, when Idiot FM was instantly dialled up.
I think I am going to have to subscribe to the modern age and get one of these Ipod devices and download 'Pick of the Week' for some private pleasures via headphones whilst blowing my brains out on the rowing machine
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3 comments:
Genie and I had a mate who for years worked in his kitchen on an ion ray gun, in order to disrupt loud raidos in cars and being carried by young people on the street... unfortunatly he was also a major canabis farmer, so, much of his work was compromised by his mellow drifting in his work... hours spent contemplating the tip of his soldering iron... dreams of the thing finished etc. He was a great painter... wonder what happened to him, long and short, we never saw his ion ray blaster on the street, so I supose it was never completed, or he (now must be 90) is still working on it in a haze of smoke...
Hey, Lor, if you ever find him again, please send me the plans, I think I could use an ion ray gun against speed cameras!
Speaking of growing grass, there is now a tale that can be told of a strange cargo in a barge hold in Tollesbury Creek many years ago, I'll attempt its telling soon.
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