Keep On Keeping On

There is a double celebration of fiesta-ing today in the Diary, and a good job too.  The llamas have had three weeks off and Enrique has started panicking that if they have any more time off, their muscles will all seize up and they'll never be able to do those high-kicks again.

To mark the glorious occasion, they've decided on a very spectacular stunt.  Miguel has bravely offered to be a llama cannonball!!  Ricardo has designed a lovely red sparkly cape for the occasion. It'll be the finale sequence to the fiesta and I'm sure it'll be a breathtaking sight!

The first reason I'm celebrating is, after a week off and not really following the diet strictly at all - it turns out I've lost a whopping FOUR POUNDS!!!  I'm now just 1 1/2 lbs off having lost 3 1/2 stone!!  For those still keeping track, I've lost 47 1/2 lbs in 23 weeks.  Which is still quite good going.

*AAARRRRIIIIBBAAAAAA!!!!!!*

The second reason for celebration is that I have actually managed to get tickets to see Michael Nesmith - after a very dramatic turn of events this morning.  It nearly didn't happen at all - but eventually I got two seats.  They're back row, I grant you, and when I had the possibilty of seats in the third row at first, it does sting somwhat, but there are only 12 rows in total, the venue only seats 460, and I think the hall is laid out in such a way that there's really no such thing as a bad seat.  I mightn't get to see every whisker on his face but I'll certainly know it's the right fella.

WOOOOOOOHHHHOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

*dances round like a mad eejit*

133 sleeps, apparently.  According to my calculations, there were 136 but I'm reliably informed there are only 133.  This is very exciting news.  I just hope by then I'll be as close as possible to my target size.  I've got four and a half months to lose three dress sizes.  I think I can do it.  I hope so.  Even two would be great!! 

Anyway, back to Slimming World.  My mum joined last night!!  This is great news.  Partly because I get in next week free for introducing someone.  I really hope she makes a good job of it.  She only wants to lose the same amount I've already lost.  And I've managed it so she can definitely do it.  Hell's teeth, she's had five kids, losing a bit of weight isn't going to cause any problems!!!  Apparently Andrea the Consultant kept telling mum (and the other newbies) to listen to what I told her because I'm doing so well.  How embarrassing!!!  I wish Mum hadn't told me, I'm not a fan of all this attention. 

I'm so excited I really don't have the brain to type any more.  Let's see The Llama Cannonball in action for the big finale to end this very exciting and hysterical blog!!

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*wince*

Ricardo, you really ought to check that you're not firing that thing off anywhere near a wall....

*sigh*  We're a llama down, ladies and gentlemen, but don't worry, it isn't fatal - he just needs a good rest and he'll be right as rain soon.

Join me next week, when hopefully I'll have calmed down slightly, and I'll give you an update on Miguel's progress.  Hooves crossed he's well on the mend by then!!

Harmony Constant

I don't think this will really get it out of my system, but here it is anyway:

29 OCTOBER!!  SOMEWHERE IN MANCHESTER!!!  ROBERT MICHAEL NESMITH!!!!  AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I found out the news via Milton Keynes' finest export first thing this morning.  Normally I'm a miserable old sod of a morning.  I don't do conversation, I don't do eye contact and I certainly cannot smile before at least my second coffee.  But this morning was different.  The overcast drizzly British summertime morning seemed bright and breezy.  A song filled my heart, my eyes brightened, the smile on my face spread from ear to ear. 

Needless to say, the first thing I did when I arrived in work was book the time off.  It's happening.  It's finally happening.  Me.  Nesmith.  Same airspace.  In the words of Dusty Springfield - I just don't know what to do with myself.  I'm so excited it's beyond ridiculous.  I'm already trying to decide what to wear and realising that I might just be at my target size by October and I don't know how well I can cope with the dual excitement of Nesmith AND skinniness...

I need to link my excitement over the forthcoming Nesmith gig to a recant of my adventures at the weekend.  And I can't do that in a particularly smooth manner.  So... er... I won't.

I went to see Westlife on Saturday with my pal Sue.  She's a huge fan and was so upset that they'd announced they were splitting up before she'd had chance to see them live in concert that she thought 'to hell with it' and ordered two tickets, she didn't care where they were.  They weren't together, but they were on the same row - and I, in an unselfish act of kindness *removes tongue from cheek*, agreed to go with her to save her husband the trauma of spending the evening in a room with 16,000 screaming women.  Which is understandable.

They were actually very good.  Of course, I've liked them since they won the Smash Hits! Pollwinners Best New Act as Westside in 1998, and I used to be absolutely mad about them until around about their third album when I just became far too 60s for anything modern at all.  It also sort of coincided with the time they started to be marketed as a sort of Housewives' Choice act and, well, I'm not a housewife so I suppose I'm not the target audience any more.  I went to see them on their first arena tour back in 1999 (I think), when they were just another boy band as the boy band trend was dying out - and 90% of the audience was made up of 13 year old girls, and they were pretty good then, but naturally, over the years they've just gone from strength to strength and are genuinely a very good live act.  Vocally they're all absolutely spot on and their crowd interaction was brilliant. 

Everyone had a good night.  It was pretty emotional for them, it was their last gig as a group in Manchester.  I suppose it must be a bit weird if you've been doing the same job since you were 18/19 and then you get to 32 and decide it's time for a change - this tour is sort of them working their notice period.  Must be really bizarre for them. 

They did, however, at one point do a cover of 'Don't Cha' by The Pussycat Dolls.  I think the phrase "least said, soonest mended" would apply here.  I don't think the reaction they were after was hysterical laughter, and I'm not proud of myself for it, but it was hilarious in all the wrong ways.  Just... no.  Really.  Just.  No.  Someone will have put it on YouTube by now, and I'd recommend you take a look just for the comedy factor.  Which I have a feeling wasn't quite intentional.

All in all, though, it was a great night, they did very well.  It's strange that it's all over.  It's like they were the last of the great boy bands of the 90s (anyone who is of the mindset 'there were no great boy bands of the 90s' is simply wrong - the 90s were the decade of the boy band, it's like saying there were no great beat groups of the 60s!!).  There's quite a large chapter of my teenage years that's been closed by their breakup.  I'm not sad or upset or anything, it's just a bit sort of... strange.  Still.  Onwards and upwards.  They'll probably get back together for a reunion tour in five years anyway!!

I have no news on the weight loss front.  I'm pretty much back on it now - I discovered yesterday that I'm drinking far too much diet coke and it's made me a bit poorly, so I've quit that.  Herbal teas and water all the way it is, then.  Serves me right, of course.  If I'd only been sensible in my eating and drinking habits in the first place I wouldn't be in this situation now.  Still, if I didn't need to lose weight, I wouldn't have started this blog and what would you have to while 10-15 minutes of your day away with?!  Exactly.  You're welcome!!

Join me again on Wednesday when I might've calmed down slightly from the Most Awesome News Ever In My Life.  But don't count on it...!

Nathan Persad In Colour

The llamas have been shaking their little furry hind quarters to Nathan's new album over the last few days.  Miguel says it's a hoof-tapping delight.  Ricardo says he thinks he might be a little bit in love with him.  Enrique liked it so much he said that listening to it cured his athlete's hoof immediately.  The power of pop music, ladies and gentlemen.

I've known Nathan for... erm... ever, I think.  It certainly feels like it, anyway - or at least it feels that before Nathan and I became friends, my life was merely a case of waiting for him to burst into it like a joyous ray of sunshine, shaking up my world and ensuring that nothing would ever be the same again.   

Not long after Mr P and I became pals, he sent me a copy of his then latest album, The N in R'n'B.  I really wasn't sure what to expect, after all, I was 19, had been stuck in a 60s timewarp from the age of 12 and had by this point not listened to any modern music since approximately 1998.  I really didn't want to hate it because he seemed like such a nice guy, but I'm so fussy about music I knew it'd have to be pretty special for me to really dig it. The first song on the album was called 'Sweetie'.  The intro started, I liked it.  The verse began, he was singing about a beautiful girl with long dark hair - I was in!  The chorus kicked in - it was a sort of spiritual, life affirming moment.  I was hooked.  I must have listened to that album so much that I knew the words better than Nathan did!  Since then I have been proud to be one of Nathan's staunchest supporters.  The man is a musical legend, and it absolutely tears me up that he hasn't hit the big-time yet, in this deplorable age of music that is more about sound engineering wizardry than solid songwriting and musical prowess.  One day, though, it'll be different.  One day.  I just know it.  Especially now as he's actually signed to a label.  A small label, but a label nonetheless.  On 4 June, his second official album (although in total it's his sixth album!) was released through Mile High Music and I have very high hopes for it.

There is a reason for me telling you about this.  'Sweetie', the song that began and cemented my adoration for Persad The Musician (my adoration for Persad The Man was cemented long before that) has been re-recorded and features on his new album, Nathan Persad In Colour!  My cup runneth over!

The opening track, 'We're Back On', is a drum-heavy beat standard detailing the joy of a rekindled romance that really sets the scene for the rest of the album.  Shades of early Hollies and Herman's Hermits shine through and if you're not on your feet by the end of the intro then you're either dead or, as I was during the time of my first listen, driving. 

One of my all-time favourite numbers by Nathan is the wistful 'I Don't Wanna Surf Alone'.  A surf ballad in the 'Don't Worry Baby' ilk, It first featured on his second 'unofficial' album, Maximum NPP, and hasn't really changed much in its arrangement since then, but it didn't need to.  The story is about a successful surfing partnership that blossomed on England's beaches, only to be dashed to pieces like an errant surfboard smashing onto the rocks by one throwaway comment from the song's protagonist.  Realising he can't possibly continue a surfing career without his partner, he begs for forgiveness, declares her the real star of the show, and asks for another chance, "Let's do it again - starting with Skegness."  A beautiful song and a true highlight of the album.

Time and space will fail me if I continue to list all the great moments of the album, but '(I'm Not A) Love 'Em and Leave 'Em Guy' is definitely worth a mention.  An unashamed nod to New Jerseys' finest exports, The Four Seasons, he even mentions Frankie, Tony, Nick and Bob - listen carefully to the backing vocals during the plea, "I'll give you ten reasons why you should stay and love me for all Four Seasons".  His falsetto work is spectacular and would definitely make Frankie Valli proud.

I'll force myself to speed through the next few tracks on the album and pause for 'A Slow One'.  I've been listening to Nathan's music for almost ten years, but this is probably the one track that's surprised me most from him.  It's a bluesy number, with a solid drum beat and some stunning guitar licks, in truth probably only a slight deviation from his unique brand of melting-pot, cross-genre work, but it really sounds as though he's starting to take his music to a new level entirely, one that I didn't know I was ready for but one I love nonetheless.  It's still very Nathan and his own particular turns of phrase will always keep his songs fresh and fun - but this is a bit of a curve ball in comparison to anything you may have heard before by him. 

Time will truly fail me if I talk about 'XB-100', 'Johnny Echols', or the Batman/Searchers bassline section in 'Let's Get Going!' - but suffice to say, Nathan's new album is truly everything I hoped it would be and so much more besides.  I can't recommend it highly enough to you.  If you've got £6 that you'd like to invest wisely, there can be no finer way to spend it than on this album.  There are also some pretty dashed funny liner notes on the back of the album that should help you while away a good five minutes or so!

Join me on Monday, when I'll be well back on the straight and narrow diet-wise again.  Have a lovely weekend, everybody!!

The Lancashire Midget Greenie (1945-2012)

"7A."

"What number is this, Chip?"

"SEVEN - AY!"

"Okay, don't mean it, don't get excited man!  It's cos I'm short, I know."

You all know what comes next.  Daydream Believer is a timeless song that has touched the hearts of millions and been turned into football chants across the globe. 

It's very difficult to sit here and try and pin down all the ways that The Monkees have influenced my life.  After all, I wasn't even an idea back on September 16 1966 when The Monkees first aired in the US.  I didn't buy Monkees Monthly or subscribe to the fan club.  I didn't queue outside record shops to get my copy of Headquarters.  I wasn't there on 3 December 1967 when they played the UK's first ever stadium gig.  They were not, strictly speaking, of my time.  Yet, it is a complete truth to say that if it hadn't been for The Monkees, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

10 April 1996.  No idea why I remember the date.  I was twelve years old and just starting that awkward, self-conscious, not fitting in stage (still in it!).  Although, in fairness, I had never quite fitted in anywhere.  I am ten and a half years younger than my closest sibling.  My parents are old enough to be my grandparents and I've always described my situation as an only child with five parents.  Because I was always with my parents and their friends who were all 40 or so years older than me, I never really had much in common with my peers - after all, what self-respecting adolescent really wants to be friends with a precocious, squeaky voiced, bespectacled, fat, ugly Jehovah's Witness kid with a 30,000 word vocabulary at the age of 12?  I just felt as though I'd always been on the periphery of everything.  I'm not saying I had an unhappy childhood because, hand on heart, I had the best childhood anyone could ask for - but I've never really been quite old enough or quite hip enough to fit in, or I've been too old and still not hip enough.  I've never acted my age because I'm not sure how a person my age is supposed to act.

Channel 4 had been advertising the fact they were going to show re-runs of The Monkees on Sunday nights at six o'clock.  I'd never heard of it before but it looked bright and fun and funny and my curiosity was piqued.  I'd planned to watch it.  I asked Mum and Dad if I could watch it on the little portable television in their room after tea and they'd agreed.  Six o'clock came.  The first thing I saw was a tiny fella, with longish, shiny brown hair, wearing the smallest pair of red shorts I had ever seen in my life.

"This is it.  I love it!" I declared.  Before a word of dialogue had been spoken.

By the time the opening scene was over, I was hooked.  I can still remember vividly, being sat on the end of Mum and Dad's bed, the first time I saw those opening credits, and just knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.  I still remember, week after week, being unable to breathe with laughter as Davy, Micky, Mike and Peter got into and out of all kinds of scrapes in the most hilarious and zany ways.  I counted down the seconds from the end of one episode to the beginning of the next each week.  They were my show, they were my boys, they were my music, they were my sense of humour entirely.  They spoke to my soul on so many levels - I finally felt that I had something that could belong to me, that I could belong to.  That, even though the show was 30 years old, being a bit different, being seen as being a bit weird, not fitting in didn't matter; just being who you are - that's all you need to be. 

Through The Monkees, it naturally followed that, four or five years later, I broadened my 60s horizon and embraced other bands - starting with The Animals and then moving on to The Who-> and Hermans' Hermits... in fact, I'd discovered most of the 1960s before I even gave The Beatles a second thought.  The Monkees are my Beatles.  They're where it begins and ends for me.  Not just musically.  Although I've always loved writing stories, it wasn't until I became a Monkees fan that I ever even considered writing comedy of my own or putting it into a script.  They broke so many boundaries and inspired so much creativity and were behind so much of modern popular culture - it's easy to just dismiss them out of hand as a kids' TV show.  But they were so much more than that - and they still are.  It wasn't until yesterday that I realised just how much they've affected so many people, and how much people still love them - especially the little one with the shiny hair and the tiny red shorts.

My brother broke the news to me yesterday that Davy Jones had passed away.  It had only been a few weeks ago he'd said to me that he had been a Monkees fan right from the beginning and had watched their show while he was growing up, long before I was born - but now, whenever anyone mentioned The Monkees, he always thought of me.  I must've had ten text messages all saying how sorry people were - one even said 'I'm sorry for your loss', which was so sweet - as though I'd really lost someone so close to me.  Perhaps I have.  I'd hoped that, when I finally heard the news about one of The Monkees - as I knew I'd have to one day - I'd be in a different position.  I'd be settled down, probably married with kids, and that I'd have other things to concentrate on, that it would just be a sad piece of news but that I'd still get on with my life mostly unaffected.  I hadn't expected to still be the oversized kid that didn't quite grow up and who still doesn't really fit in.

The tears haven't come too badly yet.  But I have a feeling they will.  I know I didn't know him.  I know it was 'just' a show and they 'just' made some great music and he was 'just' a person.  I know it's silly to feel his loss so deeply, as though he was really my friend, when I know he wasn't.  It sounds melodramatic and ridiculous, I know - but the truth is, when I'm depressed, I watch The Monkees and they take my pain away.  They never get the breaks and they never get the girls - but they always have each other and they never give up hope.  They're my sunshine, my warmth and my heart.  And a very, very special part of my life has gone. 

I may be a Nez girl through and through - but the true Heart and Soul of The Monkees has gone.  All my thoughts and best wishes are with his family and friends at this tragic time - and especially to his three brothers-in-arms, Mike, Peter and Micky.  My boys.  My music.  My Monkees.  And they always will be.