Ten Easy Pieces

Dear Chroniclers,

so who knows where time goes ... ?

It seems like just a few moments ago I was celebrating the arrival of my half-century, but so much has happened since then. Not for the electrofried's the slowing waters of middle-age - everything in our lives right now appears to have been turned upside down, and you find us spinning like some Pooh-sticked flotsam and jetsam well out from the left bank of humanity's torrid and ever-hurrying stream.

Downwardly Mobile

If it had been just one thing it would be taken in its stride, but no, change assaults us on all sides as loudly as the competing banshee wails of shop-soiled muzak that assailed our ears this very morn as we made our way though the market-stalls of Little Wittering in search of some new mobile-phonery for my dear mrs. electrofried.

Regrettably, the half-brick that occupied much of her hand-tooled marmoset embroidery bag these years past, had all but given up the ghost. We took teenygoth with us for protection. At least she was sufficiently proficient in the language of the street to interpret the strange guttural grunts and techno-speak that passes loosely for speech these days. Just what is a "mega-pixel" and why does every telephone appear to come ready-equipped with blue dental-wear? Life is just too darned confusing!

A Puzzling Affair

Much to teenygoth's mortification, mrs electrofried seized upon the spottiest of the spotty work-experience shop-assistants who staffed the cacophonous shop we ended up in. Meanwhile, I took up position on the side-lines, pointedly ignoring the entreaties of the strangely pneumatic lady manager who spotted me dawdling in the aisles.

"Can I help you, darling?",

is perhaps not the best of opening lines in life's endlessly amusing catalogue of sales-pitches. I turned the other way, and set to with my Sudoko whilst mrs electrofried and teenygoth merrily pressed buttons and compared memory capacities. Frankly, the whole thing was a complete mystery to me and I contented myself by pencilling in a few random jottings to the squared puzzle before me.

At length, the transaction was completed. Money exchanged hands and mrs electrofried emerged blinking into the daylight from the blackened abyss of "Phones'R'Us" clutching a carrier bag containing the spoils of her foraging.

The swirl of time

I mentioned life has become a spinnying eddy of late.

Family issues spring up like the gaily-coloured daffodils and tulips that currently adorn the grounds of the House. We've moved churches too, and become Methodists, though I've yet to summon up the courage to announce this to the Vintners of Little Wittering who depend so much upon us for their livelihood. The credit-crunch will appear little more than a minor book-keeping blot in the annals of their balance-sheets once the endless stream of alcohol-related orders from the House dries to no more than a trickle. And time in the horology factory is ticking slightly faster than the norm.

But even amongst all this chaos, there is hope. Teenygoth has taken to purchasing the NME at regular intervals and in a recent, unguarded moment confessed a passing interest in the contents of the electrofried music-library. At last, a scion of electrofried who may be fit to inherit her father's burgeoning collection! So tonight, as I sit in my bath-chair sipping a restorative glass of the finest triple-strength Chimay (yet another sin to be confessed come the morn) I've set my mind to ""Ten Easy Pieces", a short catalogue of electrofried's life to date, as set to music.

This posting is accordingly dedicated to my youngest ... and I shall await, with no little trepidation, to see if she deigns post a comment in response. Welcome then, darling teenygoth, to the music of your father - the rhythm that has restored, enthused and enthralled me through a half-century and more.

And so here it is "Pop-pickers"!

10. Fresh in at no. 10, the sound of Siouxsie and the Banshees live at the Tynemouth Plaza, on their very first UK tour. I won two tickets on a (non-mobile) phone-in by spelling, "Siouxsie" correctly - not a particularly difficult task given my infatuation with her kohl-stained cheek-bones. Your mother, no more than a teenager herself, was embraced tenderly to the cascading feedback of "Mittageisen"!

9. The theme to "Midnight Cowboy", a sound tracked memory of a film that even now reduces me to tears just thinking about it. Is the reverberating harmonica of life just a last post to a sad existence, or the turning point to a bright new future in the sun? Discuss. Alternatively, you could watch the DVD once you're old enough to satisfy the British Board of Film Censors.

8. "I'm only sleeping". There has to be a Beatles song in there, somewhere. And what could be more apposite for a somnambulant father whose cat-napped existence is punctuated by the most piercing of snores?!

7. A non-mover at no. 7, the chiming guitars of "The Byrds" with, "Chestnut Mare", a particular favourite of your mother.

6. When I was but a teenager myself, I stole on occasion into my elder brother's bedroom in search of a particular album that still thrills me to this day. As you practice guitar up in the East Wing of the House, dear teenygoth, reflect on the genius that is Jimi Hendrix, and his stunning debut, "Are You Experienced".

5. "T Rex", is, I'm afraid, yet another sound of my youth. My very first foray into the purchase of music involved an off-line transaction behind the school bicycle-sheds, in which money changed hands and your father acquired a second-hand copy of the inaugural album of the freshly abbreviated, "Tyrannosaurus Rex". I sense an imminent negotiation with Master Amazon to acquire this afresh once I've finished with my tawdry list of musicology.

4. Over the last few months you have borne stoically the depletion of an ever-dwindling inheritance as yet more Miles Davis box-sets have made their way to the tradesman's entrance of the House. When you are much older yourself, spin "Kind of Blue" in memory of your father, for he found much peace amongst the space of these crystalline modal forms.

3. David Bowie, much like Miles Davis, mastered many a transformation in his time. "Heroes" is, forever, a favourite of your mother and I.

2. Sometimes life has shades of darkness, and in "Joy Division's", "Love will tear us apart", there is no finer.

1. But, as always, there is hope too! I think it unlikely you will ever chance upon the full King Tubby extended mix of this glittering jewel, but you will find the original version of "Love is a Treasure" on a Pressure Sounds' Carlton Patterson compilation called, "Psalms of Drums". It's secreted deep within the electrofried music library - enjoy, for love is indeed a treasure ...

... and much love to you, darly teenygoth!


as ever,

electrofried (mr)

p.s. mrs electrofried has passed by briefly to view my random jottings en route to the bed chamber and a relaxing infusion of Horlicks. Ears have been soundly boxed concerning the omission of anything by the Doors, the Clash and many others besides. Anyone for an extended electrofried Top Twenty?

electrofried (mr) finds himself in choppy waters

Dear Browsers and Browserettes,

I do trust you've had a good day. Here at the House of Electrofried I regret to say "choppy waters" have been encountered.

The story unfolds

It all started innocuously enough, as things often do, during morning ablutions. Fetlock the Butler had run the bath early, our plumbing having coughed up its customary tepid discharge in suitably bad-tempered style from the innermost workings of the House boiler. Young Fetlock, however, had an effluviant surprise in store, courtesy of mrs electrofried's most recent visit to the Little Wittering branch of "Body Shop".

It took the form of a bath-based scud missile that delivered its bizarre payload of scratchy-bottomed bath salts and mouldy rose petals whilst yours truly was in search of mr duckie and the yellow submarine. Bath toys are one thing, weapons of mass distraction quite another.

At the Breakfast Table

"That Ann Summers woman has much to answer for!", I remarked over the subsequent breakfast table, recalling the impact of "Body Shop's" super-strength bath suppository on my morning ablutions. I suspect, from the barely muted chuckling of teenygoth (the youngest fruit of our loins), that a case of mistaken identity was a distinct possibility.

Undeterred, and breakfast kippers having been duly despatched, I resolved to take refuge for the day in the House laboratory facilities - the concept of bath-time entertainment having sparked off, eureka-like, an idea so cunning you could pop a snout on it and call it mr fox of foxville.

A day of banging, sawing and general mayhem

We will pass lightly over the travails of the day. Suffice to say, intemperate expressions such as "Darn you, Sirrah" and similar such expletives punctuated the air at regular intervals as work progressed apace within the House laboratory.

Mrs electrofried will bear witness to my somewhat limited practical abilities, but notwithstanding, the task was at long last completed. I made haste toward the electrofried "en suite" with invention in tow - the time had come for the grand launch!

The "Unveiling"

A little over an hour later, the assembled populace of the House was ushered in by Fetlock, Cook having been instructed earlier to lay on a small, but tasty spread, to mark the maiden voyage.

"What on earth have you got up to this time?" enquired the good lady, mrs electrofried, as she took up battle with one of Cook's newly-minted cucumber sandwiches. Teenygoth, meanwhile, snorted derisively, as only young ladies of her age can.

"It's a natural, but innovative development of the i-pod, my dear." I announced, tugging off the tartan blanket that covered my newly-constructed artifice. "Behold, I give you the ... u-pod!!"

"Oh my goodness ..." retorted mrs electrofried as she cast eyes for the very first time on the gleaming metal-framed contraption that occupied much of the electrofried bath, "... what have you done?" I opened the taps full cock and the waters began to rise inexorably.

"The u-pod, my dearest, takes the humble MP3 player to the next level of enjoyment. It combines the very latest in multi-media technology with more traditional bath-time related entertainment."

With a grand flourish I unfastened the small leather valise by the side of the bath and drew out the remote control mechanism. Gripping this miracle of micro-technology firmly in both hands I pressed the master switch. To the collective gasp of the assembled populace a small, but familiar bath-time toy emerged from the top of the u-pod to the strains of "Yellow Submarine".

Shipping in Water

It was at this point teenygoth began to giggle. The metal-framed artifice now sat in several inches of tepid bathwater and she had noticed emanating from its base, a small, but persistent, stream of bubbles.

Pointing to this gaseous escape, she observed pithily, that my beloved u-pod appeared to be suffering from sub-aqua flatulence. I was not best amused, particularly as the dulcet tones of the Beatles had now taken on a somewhat less than jaunty air.

"Looks like you've sprung a leak, dad!" and indeed the young lady was right - the u-pod was shipping in water in Titanic proportions.

Rushing across to the bath, I rescued the u-pod from a watery grave and set it to rest in the middle of the floor. The metalled artifice sat forlornly in a spreading puddle, its internal workings now stilled and silent. Grimly I reached for my complimentary Ikea Allen key and began to unbolt the master-panel at the front.

"Electrofried!!" shrieked my good lady as the master-panel fell loose revealing the contents within. "What's my Victrola doing in there?????"

Tears before Bedtime

Sadly, the fortunes of the House of Electrofried seem unlikely to be restored by the u-pod. Brilliant though its design features are (and how many modern-day devices can claim a walnut-clad music-centre as their beating heart) the test-launch suggests considerable further development work is required.

The Victrola now stands drying before Cook's Aga. Mrs electrofried's weekly DJ slot at the local Womens' Institute ("Loud, Proud and Home-baked") is but a few days away and without her trusty phonograph to fire up the massed boom-boxes of Little Wittering all will be lost.

Meanwhile I have been banished to the Tower as penance. I await the arrival of teenygoth with stale bread and, doubtless, an ironic mug of stale bath water. Pray spare a thought for me as I set my mind to the next cunning invention that will secure the ongoing viability of the House.

best regards.

electrofried (mr)

p.s please do forgive my somewhat random addition of the photograph of an Alium head at the beginning of this most turgid pasting. It comes from Volume 98 of the electrofried family album and an overwhelming sense of curiousity, having just discovered inadvertantly the "photo-add" function in Blogger. Would readers like me to add further photographic offerings in due course?