Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening

Welcome to Lager Time and welcome anyone who is listening via Apple podcasts or Spotify for the first time. Last week I clicked a few buttons and then BOSH – just like that, the whole Lager Time back catalogue was dumped onto both platforms.

It’s a little bit daunting to be honest but if those emails Spotify send me every month, telling me who’s streaming the one song I’ve got up there – are anything to go by, I’ve got little to worry about, mate. It does feel like it’s slowly building though, not just the numbers but me figuring out what I’m doing with it, how I’m recording it; like life, it’s a work-in-progress, mate.

So this week has been a bit of a write-off. I’ve been struck down with gastroenteritis, which has been pretty grim. Perhaps the pain-gods thought I got-off light with the two bouts of COVID I had and have kicked my arse with this. I’ve had to cancel all my work this week, which has included a gig on Sunday which I was really looking forward too. And of course, I’m self-employed so I don’t get paid. But I guess, the trade-off is that I get to go to TK Max during the week and take my time in a half-empty store.

On the brighter side, I do feel a lot better than I did at the start of the week but I’m still pretty tired and my tummy is still very delicate. I’ve been eating dry toast and plain chicken and as someone who is married to a Goan; this is a cardinal sin. But needs must. Large up my upbringing, because when a geezer needs to go bland with his eating, I don’t even think about it, mate, it’s built in.

As I hope you understand, I’ve done no creative stuff this week, so what I thought I’d share was something I’ve been meaning to do – which a post I wrote in 2016 in the run-up to taking a show to the Edinburgh Fringe called The C/D Borderline (Which you can on my You Tube channel) It’s that time of year when everyone who is taking shows are busy getting them ready.

I’m contemplating taking the Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best show up there, maybe next year but despite being very aware of the huge pitfalls, the Edinburgh Fringe has this strange draw for me (and probably many others) maybe it’s a moff-to-a-light-thing. Alas

No music this week, so after the Edinburgh bit, that’s your lot. As ever, hope yous all have great weekends.

Pea and taters, Paul

Count up to Edinburgh #1 Doing my own head in – originally published on paulcreewrites.blogspot.com 1st May, 2016

Fuck sake. As much as I often talk about how much I enjoy the solitude of writing and all the other stuff that goes with it, in any given week (often daily in fact) there is without fail several moments where I want to rip off my own head and drop kick it over the garden fence and off into the distance, hoping that it lands in a Biffa Bin somewhere and some kind of salvage hunter finds it and turns it into something actually useful, like a car battery. So I'm going up to Edinburgh in August for the Fringe festival with this new show called The C/D Borderline. Let's have it right, I'm glad I'm going, I want to go and this time I'm doing it off my own back, partly to see if I can actually do it, as in get the thing up there and pull it off, what with all the stuff that's involved with putting on and promoting a show. It's a lot, it really is, especially for someone like me who really does lack those essential organisational, admin and marketing skills. I'm not worried about getting the punters in (well not at this stage), I have zero expectation on that front, I just want to go up there and put on a good show, with good material and if that's to a handful of people everyday I'm cool with that.The show itself draws on a lot of my experiences from school, how difficult I found it and how I've struggled as an adult more or less ever since. Those same traits that saw me bunking off, dicking about in class, struggling to understand what the fuck was going on when I actually was trying, mentally withdrawing from whole entire lessons, sitting down at home to do homework but just staring at it on the table to numb to even lift a pen, are all coming to the fore with a vengeance in the run up to this. It's like diamond hunters sifting through the mud, except they're not looking for them precious shiny things, instead it's something shit like, I dunno, used scratch cards or something. I'm probably juggling to many balls at once, as I have a few other projects on the go plus a regular job Mon-Fri. It's a bit nuts but it's always been like this with me and most people I know are in the same boat, a lot of these have children too and that's a whole another level so what am I getting so wound up about?!I can look at it and see how ridiculous it all is and often I can laugh about it, as you'll hopefully hear in the show, but it's just when I'm at home, on my todd, with a ton of things to do, I'm sat at my desk and suddenly I freeze. My normally hyper active mind just goes blank like someones pulled the ariel out of the telly and before I know it, I've loaded up yet another grime video or a Fire In The Booth freestyle that I've probably seen a hundred times, or I start working on something totally new which has nothing to do with what I'm supposed to be doing.

Even when I am concentrating, I still seem to mess-up really important things. Twice in the last month I've had to reply to emails regarding the show, one of which if I hadn't there would be no show, so I spent ages on them; making sure there was no mistakes, re-read them a hundred times, sent them and then bosh!: Surprise-faackin'-surprise I've missed off a vital piece of information on both emails that almost messed up the whole operation! And I'm left, as ever, embarrassed, humiliated and really fipping' annoyed with myself. But what's worse, is that someone else at the other end is affected and could quite understandably now think I'm an idiot, well meaning, but an idiot none the less. This has happened before...No idea what the neighbours must think, what the with the random: FUCKKKK OFFFFFFFs most days as my computer freezes or my phone starts wigging out and I slam my fist down on the desk remembering that I've forgotten to do something, very important, again.

The amount of times in the last month I've visualised myself going into Wolverine Berseker mode and smashing up everything around me, before ripping my clothes off and running into the woods to a live a feral life away from humanity, living off Squirrels and Parakeets (as long as I've got Mayonnaise, I'm fine.)

Thankfully, I've not smashed anything up, it rarely gets to that stage but I've been close of late. In my school days I used to punch-up a lot of walls and I've put my fist through a few toilet doors (probably in the year 11 toilets in C block, few times I think, apologies) and I've probably damaged my right fist from doing that, which is very stupid considering I use that hand to write, type and grip microphones.Anyway, this started off as a few lines just to vent a bit, but then I got the idea to make this into an Edinburgh blog, documenting the journey and that, so every cloud has a silver lining I guess. Even if no one reads it it's been kinda fun doing it and certainly better than putting my fist through a door.

I also wanted to write about the other side of things a bit. As in the writing / performing stuff. Most of my online activity is either promoting gigs or talking about gigs I've just done and how great they were. To be honest, as cheesy or insincere as it all may seem, that is genuinely how I feel after most gigs, I like doing it. It's been a few years now (my entire adult life actually, plus a bit more, I'm 32) and I still very much enjoy it. But with the smooth of course comes the ruff, and sometimes it's a sheet of discarded sandpaper on the toilet floor when you've just clocked that there's no bog roll and the post man is ringing your doorbell with a recorded delivery of that car battery you so desperately need to get your muggy show to Edinburgh...Peas and taters

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening

1st of July, mate. Summer’s here. So’s hay fever. Deal with it. I’m dealing with it. Dealt with it. Done. Still got it, mate, alas.

Had COVID last week, weren’t too bad. This week, back to normal, I’m still a bit tired but we crack-on, none the less. Never had that TWIX in the end but I’ve been booked-in for a bit of work in Manchester at the end of the month, so I look forward to purchasing an overpriced mega-Twix from the on-board trolly-service when I flex out of Euston on the Inter-City. (Assuming here that it will be staffed and running of course) Do they still call it in the Inter City service? Or have I just had a temporarily replace into the days of British Rail? It’s either that, or too much football-hooligan nostalgia that those algo-riddimz kept selecting for me. They must be mistaken, mate. I liked the clobber but not the cobbering. Speaking of avoiding conflict…

I’ve attached another one of the pieces from the Make Your Own Bed show I’ve been working on for what seems like an eternity (about 3 years and a squillion re-writes to date). It’s from when I was doing debt-collections for an asset finance company, having previously done it for a bank.

A criticism that often came up of me in these times, was that I was not assertive enough and to be honest, I think they were right. I don’t like confrontation, both verbal or physical. There was a lot of confrontation in that work. I probably beat around the bush in the conversations I had but trying to extract dough from people that often don’t want to pay it, morals aside, a certain degree of conversational ruthlessness is required to get the necessary results. I just didn’t have it, mate. Still don’t. Never got those results. Never do. Never say never, ok, sorry Ahhhh

I try not to duck conflicts these days, as much as I don’t like them, sometimes they need to be had out. Marriage has taught that. And I don’t mean that in a stereotypical ‘she’s always nagging me’ way, towards my wife but we are two people who’s lives our intertwined on many levels;  sometimes we have to make decisions and sometimes we don’t agree. I still suck at arguing, though but I’ve gotton’ better, and I’ve cherished those few little wins I have had, like a lower league football  team topping the premier-league giant in a major cup upsets but ultimately insignificant to the big team. Writing helps.

So I recently asserted myself, sort of, in an exchange where I politely (I think) declined two gig opportunities. Basically I said no. For probably a number of different reasons, I don’t tend to do to many spoken-word gigs these days. I genuinely love performing and I miss it. Knowing that world, as I do, or more to the point, did; I know it turns over quickly. I think due to the accessibility of it as an artform, new nights spring up all the time, as do new performers and of course new audiences.  I don’t tend to go many of these sort of nights but regardless of any of any stripes I’ve earned in the past, I’m always keen to get back out; especially when there’s whole new audiences to connect with.

So I got contacted to perform at two different events, from two promoters I didn’t personally know but I was happy they reached out. Both the gigs looked decent, good previous crowds and good-looking venues but they asked to come and do their open-mike sots. Immediately, my ego kicked in, feeling a little insulted. but then all the rationales of above over-rode those and I thought, ‘well, new audience, new opportunity and if I smash the open-mike maybe they’ll give me the full feature’ which is of course what I want.

I have an ego as big as anyone else’s but I think it’s kept in check (most of the time) with often crippling self-doubt and the fear of coming-across as a prick. I’ve seen egotistical pricks; no thanks. I’ve also seen how much of an inhibitor to it can be, to making good art. So I didn’t want to be a prick here, and I want to perform. I spoke to a good mate of mine, told her the situation. It helped to iron out the pros and cons and in the end I said no, to both. Maybe I’m a dickhead for missing out, maybe I’m sensible, as it would wind-up costing a fair amount of money to do it, travel, food etc, for potentially little gain.

So it boiled down to what I think my own value is, verses what I think the quote-on-quote market value is. My own value is a fair bit higher, though my stock may have dropped in that sense, Facebook keeps throwing up these memories from 10- 12 years ago, of all these gigs I’ve done, running round like a loon jumping on any mike I could, I’ve done that, mate. So I politely declined and wished them the best of luck with their events, which I’m sure will be just  fine without my 5 minute appearance

For the record, as a performer, might be controversial to say these days but I’m not against working for free, at times. Depends what the gig is. All to often, I hear younger artists (without the stirpes) parrot more successful artists in refusing to work for free but in an entirely different context. I fully understand the demand for money, when an established artist is asked to perform at some dry-arse conference or whatever, which has clearly got big-budgets but if it’s a decent grass-roots gig, that doesn’t make the dough but they can give you a decent audience, a good venue, stage etc and maybe in a place you ‘aint been before, I’m all for it, mate. My good pal Conrad Murray sums this up well in the Making Hip Hop theatre book, which you can purchase here, if you click the link in the text.

This went on a bit longer than I intended this week and we aint even got to the piece or the music yet! Ah yes, music. As per last week, I’m going to stick anther track on at the end. It’s going to be the 5th and final track on this forthcoming EP I’ve been working on, called Toast In The Machine. I’ve had the EP planned out a good while ago, it’s just taking me ages. I get side-tracked, I’m lazy but I’m only doing this for myself, as a little hobby, so when a bit of paid work comes in, it gets put to the side.

The EP was initially going to be 4 tracks and I had the bones of them laid-out before I went to America at the end of last year. But then I got COVID whilst in Dallas and got very bored, so made this simple track with a video, which you can watch in the link. Came back, then thought it would work well as  final, 5th track but would need a bit of work and a second verse, so it got put in the long quw for things I needed to do. But then I went and got COVID last week, again. So it felt like a good time to write the second verse and re-edit the rack. Hence the name – Dallas-Stone, two bouts of COVID, two countries, six months apart. That’s real. Or something like that.

Cor-Dear. We got there in the end. That’s me over and out. Large up the new subscribers. Hope you stick around. Have a banging weekend.

Peas and taters

Paul

Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best: FCP story

I’ve been seconded to debt collection

Like out of favour squad player

Sent out on loan

My department has been squeezed

Less money to lend

Less workers they need and

I’m the most expendable

Slash least valuable

Maybe there’s a case for redundancy

I don’t think I’d turn it down but

then what else would I do?

who would employ me in these times?

I’m hearing there’s hundred of applicants for every job

Maybe my Lloyds experience saved me

But I’m back doing a job I hated

This time though there’s no automated phone service

I have a spreadsheet to manage and do

The dialling myself

All 1s and zeros

I’m told I’m not assertive enough on the phones

Fail to hit target each month

Often when I tell customer how much money they owe

On a car they don’t even own

The say they didn’t know

They didn’t own the  vehicle

Took out HP out for a boyfriend

A wife or girlfriend

And are now lumbered with an over-inflated

rapidly depreciating asset that

they can’t sell cos it aint their’ s and that

person they took it out for is

nowhere to be seen

that’s kind of how I feel like

25 and not that young anymore

Feel like I’ve already had enough

Looking at life ahead like an old school telly with the Ariel pulled out

I got stacks of letters from customers I need to read

Some of them are desperate

Don’t have the time to reply

We get emails saying there’s people who want our jobs

Who will do it for less

Is that supposed to be motivational?

it seems to have the reverse effect

evenings my time is taken up with open mics

And now a theatre, course

I’m in a show

Found it by chance and

Took a chance and

I’m loving it

They give me encouragement,

it’s hard to believe if they mean it or are just being nice

but it feels good

That and the overtime means I’m out 5 nights a week most weeks

Sleep is tough

And it hurts it when I wake

The next day

Shattered

I live for my lunchbreaks and

The walk to and from work down Victoria sreet

practise freestyling, or words I’m learning to perform or listen to beats

Last week

I went to church

Westminster cathedral

Just sat inside and

Enjoyed the quiet

It’s been a long time

But it felt right

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour what’s happening

Another week, yes indeed. So I’ve been home most of this week, ostensibly because of the rail-strikes but then I went and got COVID, again. Yea, COVID, who remembers that?

I must have a mild-form of it because, touchwood, it’s not been too bad, just a bit tired and throaty; bit of a headache. Seemingly spent a large of chunk of yesterday keeping an unsociable distance from my wife and scrolling on my phone. I’m not much of a scroller, normally more of a YouTube Video-Clicker-type. Seems a lot of people I vaguely know are at Glastonbury, having a decent time of it.

Anyway, felt pretty unhealthy after a good-day of doing that and it reminded me how easily I succumb to unstructured behaviour and how it makes me feel; rarely good. A couple of emails I needed to reply too and this little blog, was enough motivation for me to get off my arse and do something. There’s a fair amount going on right now, which requires my attention and sweeping it under the rug because of a bit of COVID is not going to do me any favours and it’s not like I’m doing any back-breaking labour. But self-care, Paul? Relax, I might have a Twix.

Speaking of labour and work, I had to cancel two of my regular gigs this week due to the train-strike, which I don’t get paid for but I’m happy to forgo that. Large-up the strikers; from what I gather striking is a last resort, best of luck to them. I’ve been enjoying seeing clips of Mick Lynch talking on the telly. A lot of modern, mainstream-politics, seems to me to just rely on window-dressing via tokenistic policies and meaningless platitudes. It’s refreshing to see a bit of genuine pushback, with someone that doesn’t sound like a PR auto-bot, with real-world-results. A timely reminder to Labour, perhaps, about who they’ve been ignoring, for the last thirty years or so?

But we crack on. Amidst price hikes, wars and stagnating wages, we crack on. What else do we do? Sit on our blowers, mindlessly scrolling? No Thanks.

So this weeks writing-offering is the piece I mentioned last week about chairs. I like a good chair It’s in slightly better shape than it was but I’m still sure not sure about it, so I welcome any feedback. I’ve also tagged on a song at the end. Something that I recorded with my good pal Conrad Murray about ten years ago, who produced it.

If this blog was partly about me pushing myself, I should be including music in that. I’ve been making music for a long time now but aside from that theatre stuff and the odd gig, I’ve largely kept it separate. Mainly because I overthink how people will react to it, as if there’s not enough overlap between the two worlds and they’ll think it’s weird; when really, who cares? Silly, I know. Fear of other people’s opinions is something that’s always held me back. Be brave, clench fists, as Mike Skinner said.

All this is in preparation for an EP that I’ve entirely self-produced; that I hope to have released by the autumn. I plan to start drip-feeding some of the music into this. One of the tracks is already out, you can hear it here. Because, Why not?  

The song is called Another Day, you can stream it on HERE

So that’s it for this week, bit long-winded I know.

Despite these turbulent times, I hope you all have a decent weekend

Peas and taters

Paul

CHAIR WARS

The set up for our form-tutor was three rows.

Single-desk-row on the sides

Double desk-row in the middle

Our little firm hugged the first four desks on the

Right-hand-side if you were facing

the front of the class, where Mrs

Khan sat, our tutor

Kells and Luko held the front desk

Me and Gary the second

Ram and Rhino sat behind

Shane and Danny at the back

We held it down during registration and the

other random tutor group things we occasionally

had to do like PSHE, whatever that was

This and PE were probably the only time

mixed ability kids, actually mixed

gearing us up for the future

Mrs Kahn was the form tutor

Fairly stern but liked a calm class, with the occasional giggle

There was never any set places for anyone to sit at

No formalised desk plan, we were year 11’s

With a gnat’s eyelash of independence

Technically, you could sit where you wanted, technically

The whole tutor-group seemed to tick to have their

preferred spots and stuck to them

The prime real estate was the bottom left

Back of the class

you had the windows for a good-look-out

I liked a good-look-out the window

The back unit which you could lean on

Or leave your bag on

It was a sweet-spot

This highly value piece of land

was held by a crew of girls who were legion

about 8 of them

in any other lesson they wouldn’t be sat at the back of the class

They were all nice girls and high-achievers

Back of the class was for tough kids

And nobs, like me

Who weren’t tough but

Still mucked about

Until we got told off

But occasionally gave a bit of

Lip back to teachers.

I wasn’t happy about these unwritten rules

No where was it stated that we had a seating plan

Mrs Khan didn’t roll like that

She valued that gnat’s eyelash of independence we

Were afforded, as did we, as did I

Technically, you could sit where you wanted, technically

Yet we all fell into line

I’ve always questioned things

I’m an ideas guy

I felt it unfair the girls had a monopoly on that timeshare

It was only fair that us boys should share it

Share and share alike and

Maybe don’t give it back

Once obtained

It was out time

Action needed to be taken

I called it on

I said’ listen boys, we should take that space’

‘Tomorrow, we’ll get into class early’

‘And claim it as ours’

So when the girls arrive, we’ll already be camped-out

Firmed up, having changed the locks, like squatters but

With the impact of revolutionaries but importantly

Done legally, we’d just be asserting our rights

Because, technically, you could sit where you wanted, technically

Next morning I arrived

nervous but cocky but scared and ultimately unsure what I was doing

pretty-much a default position for me

at any point during my life

counting on the support of my peers but

not guaranteed of it

Just another day

Gary arrives

he held a lot more weight than me

People respected him more

He wore Kickers and a Kappa puffa-jacket

I had imitation Kickers and an Esinegger jacket

Barely respectable

But sometimes Gary listened to me, sometimes

The girls-group all travelled in from the same place

Their bus was nearly always late

So we had time on our side

Me and Gary nodded heads

picked up our bags

We made our move

knowing that when the other boys arrive

The takeover would be complete

Bowled over like heroes that

No-one had noticed

Plonked my backback on the back shelf unit

Had a good gawp out the window

The world looked a grey sheen of fine

Put my feet up on the chair next to me

Breathed the air

tasted the moment

It tasted good but

It didn’t feel right

Butterflies?

Felt wrong

But what was wrong?

Technically, you could sit anywhere you wanted, technically

We got a couple of looks from the other people in the class

No one said nothing though

Probably because Gary was there

But we held it down

It was ours

Rhino and Ramo arrive in the door

They clock us, then looked away

And sat in their usual seats

I felt a feeling rise within that wasn’t t nice

Like I‘d been dis-respected

A familiar feeling

I casually smiled like

I hadn’t noticed it

Just butterflies

Just butterflies

‘pussies’ I said

‘Don’t worry Gary they’ll be over in a minute’

Gary looked non-plussed either way

I think he was just enjoying something different

Kells and Luko arrived

People were scared of Kells

He wasn’t scared of teachers

Often disruptive

Didn’t care much for order

He was cerited to join the ranks

he looked at us, then looked away

Kells. How?!

Like the other two

I called him a pussy

But kept it to myself

My sense of fairness didn’t extend to mates who

Could chin-me

The girls arrived in the door

The moment of reckoning

Stay strong

They came in force and stormed

The bottom corner of the class

outraged

kicking off straight away

One of them tried to grab my bag

I pulled it to my chest and retreated my legs from the back unit

‘ can see sit where we want’, I said

‘Free country’ without any understanding of

What that meant

One of the other girls was pulling on the sleevs of Gary’s puffa

He no longer looked amused with it all

With just one scowl the girl then backed-off

Then they turned their attention to me

I tried a Gary-like-scowl

Pretty sure that girl I aimed it at laughed

I could feel myself wilting

Held on

They then deployed their greatest weapon and

protested to Mrs Kahn

with the fervour of student activists with the

right accent and vocabulary

Mrs Kahn looked up at us

Then back down at her register

Sighed

And ordered us back to our seats

I protested to Mrs Khan

Asserting some reason

‘Technically, we can sit where we want. Technically’

‘It’s not fair miss’

Mrs Khan waved away my pathetic protest

My dignity, my human right to free expression

And the right to sit where I wanted in the tutor group

With a casual authoritarian override

No one coming to my rescue

Though deep down I was sure they all agreed

‘Na, I’m not going’ I said

Even though I knew I was going

Mrs Kahn stands up

‘Stop wasting my bloody time, you silly boys’

My face goes red

Picked up my bag, pushed further into my chest

I took one last look out of that glorious window

And trudged back to my usual desk

The other boys looking at me

I smiled to hide the humiliation

Kells grinned at me, turned to Luko and

made a wanker sign

Ram and Rhino said nothing

Our revolution was short-lived

Gary looks at me, ‘you nob, that

Was never gonna work’ he says

Bu technically, you can sit anywhere, technically

‘just shut-up man’ he says

Mrs Kahn calls the register

I put my head on my bag

Deflated

Kells turns round and laughs at me

‘You wanker’ he says

I never was a leader

I had the ideas but lacked the execution

but a permanent point to prove

like a car, a destination but no driving skills

I had drive, though

Just a shame it was all as useful

As that cheap pencil with a forever

Breaking-tip, that sat in the inside-pocket of

My school blazer

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?

Basking in the sun, melting in the shade; it’s all got a bit blazing, mate. I’m at home today, in sunny Maidstone. Don’t know what it is about the current-bun coming out. It can seemingly bring out both the best and worst in people. Seen a few sun-soaked-punch-ups in my time, heard a fair few domestics and in my younger years; it always seemed a prime-time to get robbed.

Veering on the mostly good, though, I guess it makes people slow down and enjoy the finer things. I like a good afternoon cup of tea when it’s hot – seems counter-intuitive – but it’s strangely satisfying. Polished a lovely pint of San-Miguel last night at Victoria station, after a long day of workshops -which is fitting, considering the poem that follows this.

It’s taken from a nice little moment back in the early 00’s – when I worked at Gatwick Airport. With poems, or the sort-of poems I try and write, for me , it’s just about capturing small moments. I liken it to a postcard. On one side, you’ve got the picture of the beach – capturing the moment – which  I treat as the poem – then on the other side you’ve got all the details of your lovely beach holiday. On Monday we ate Ice cream – On Tuesday I fell over ­etc which for me is the story bit. There you go, Paul’s my very own definition of the difference between a poem and story. Who cares? Answers on a postcard. See what I done there?

The piece I wanted to put up this week, was both, postcard-picture and postcard detail. An amusing memory from secondary school that I recent remembered, about classroom chairs. Started putting it together this week, looked at it today – and it’s a confused mess of the two postcard sides, not really sure what it is. In other words, it’s crap. So it’s back to the drawing board with that. So I had a butchers in the archives and pulled out this one. Pretty sure I’ve not put it up before. Hope you enjoy it.

In case you were wondering – my birthday shenanigans last week were excellent. A few lagers were consumed, along with some banging curry and some tasty Drum and bass. Needless to say, I felt disgusting when I awoke the next day – the first day of the last day of my thirties. Wouldn’t have it any other way, mate.

The-how-to-blogs-and-videos always say you’ve put in a call-to-action-, if you want more traction. So here it goes – if you like what I’m doing, give it a subscribe and you can get me direct into your inboxes every week – even though that strangely sounds very wrong. Just me? Alright.

I’m looking into getting Lager Time hosted on other podcast platforms. I don’t know what difference that will make, to anyone but you know. I’m also toying with doing some live streams. I have a  bunch of these poems and some music as well. Not really gigging much these days, I miss it so doing that might help me sharpen up a new repertoire, about time as well.

Have a lovely weekend

Peas and taters

Paul

PREMIUM SPEED GHOST TRAIN

we were in the service lifts

on the way down to Gatwick’s underbelly

picking up a delivery, stretching time as long we could

Tom told me he’d gone shopping with his missus, up to Oxford Street

took the Gatwick express, flashed that staff-pass and got that

sexy 50 % discount, like I knew that was a thing

I never that was a thing

The Gatwick Express?!

Gatwick to London Victoria direct

Non-stop every 15 minutes

he went on the Gatwick express, mate

in 21 years I’d never once stepped foot on it

maybe as a kid, I’d wondered what it was like

on occasion as an adult, watched it bolt through

Horley, arms-length from the airport, fast up to London whilst I

waited for the stopper train, imagining the premium

passengers were all making wanker signs at us mugs,

looking all forlorn on the platform

awaiting the slow service

the price for speed made it out of reach and out of

reach became out of mind and despite

hearing and seeing this thing, several times a day,

on a daily basis, for only my whole life, I barely noticed

it was there, like a premium-speed ghost train that

was no longer scary, just another extra making

up the numbers in the background

I gave Tom a nod like it was nothing

meanwhile in the back of my mind I

was a plus-one at a dull wedding who’s just

realised it’s a free-bar

I designated my next day off as a

trip to Oxford Street

I didn’t even need anything

come that Monday, I flashed that staff pass at the ticket office and watched

that price drop on the till screen, like a bad day at the stock exchange

bopped down to platforms 1 and 2

didn’t even wait 15 minutes

hopped onto my waiting carriage

selected a spacious window seat and

enjoyed the vibration on the glass, as it bolted

through at speed, all the usual haunts like skipping the que

for the roller coaster, trying not to boast but

couldn’t help grinning, I wanted to tell

someone, I’m on the Gatwick Express, mate

making the most of the extra leg room

tourists wondering what on earth I was smiling about

in no time Surrey became Croydon and

Croydon became London Victoria

got off thinking that was sick

I can’t wait to go home

Next day back in the basement,

Pretending that the service lifts weren’t working again

Tom goes, what did you on your day off then?

I broke the mould mate

You what? He says

Nothing.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Bonjour, greetings, what’s happening?

I am back. Yes, indeed. Had a lovely little week with my wife in Malta, in celebration of my birthday, which is today, happy birthday me. I am @!171& *i!@ years old. Old enough to feel old whilst dancing at a pool-party in Malta to some House and Techno, but young enough to be able to dance at a Pool Party in Malta, to some House and Techno, with the odd bit of hip-hop and jungle and the occasional sit-down for a breather.

Got straight back in the mix this week, continuing my work with Dream Arts – where we’re developing a show with a group of unaccompanied asylum-seekers. We’re on the last leg of the show now and they’re doing great. However, my co-director, Catherine, is away on holiday this week and next. Catherine also runs the project, ie does all the admin, and it’s a lot! – So I stepped in this week and if you’ve been following any of my stories about employment, this is not one of my strong points!

Here's a draft of a piece I started this week, about how easily distracted I am. Once I’ve posted this, it’s Lager Time for real. Plan on putting a few lagers away tonight, with some good mates, eat a curry, then go and have it to some drum and bass in Brixton. Yes

Have a banging weekend

Paul

Fingers On The Buzzer

I like my morning read

don’t like being disturbed

focus is finite

There’s already enough noise inside my head

Don’t need anymore

Missus is away

Dogs are away

Just me, my thoughts, a book and a tea and

whatever peripheral street sounds are

Coming in through the window

Summer’s in, mate

Back door ajar, washing out

Let’s get down to business

I’m tyring to get into this book about employment

So far it’s touched on Marxism and unions and neo-liberalism

Just touches, that punch like blows to my brain

I have to really concentrate

take my time

Re-reading paragraphs

Try to make it make sense

Got the usual internal racquet distracting me with

Nonsense, throwing me off

some fly buzzes in

this thick black one that moves like a pinball on amphetamines

Notoriously hard to catch

They drive my wife round the bend

She zaps them with this barley legal tennis-racket

That produces a small electric shock

Like a whimsical execution amusement ride at 1950’s Butlins

Me, I’m not so bothered

usually

Today

I am though

It’s the final distraction

tipping my focus over the edge

to a place I know oh so well

where faded bits of homework barley-started

funding-forms and unborn projects

have a permeant home

in some sweaty purgatory of

shame and failure

the little prick has my full focus now

I’m willing it towards the window

Go on son, do one

The thing is so erratic it gets to the

Window and just bounces off the glass and

pings straight back in the opposite direction

What’s you’re objective here, mate?

Where are you going?

What are you trying to do?

Lay eggs?

Bite something?

Bang something?

Don’t suppose these flies lie in the pollination game?

Should ask my mate, Leeds

This is his territory

Alas, he’s in Greece

So what is it this prick wants?

Is it a proxy agent working for my wife?

Sending detailed surveillance notes about my activities?

Or lack of

Can’t be

My wife would never fraternise with the enemy

Her principles are titanium

As is her stubbornness

Look at this noisy prick

That’s a lot of sound for a tiny black blob

Just go away, mate

Please

Just

go

To be fair

it is a bit nuts

in an interesting way

This hairy black blob

Nipping through the air like

An Apache helicopter over a busy airbase

Prepping for war

The battlefield of my living-room

Agent-pollen dropping relief sacks onto the floor

It’s quite amazing, actually

Defying gravity like that

Fair-play you annoying fuzzy prick

It heads towards the window again

Makes it this time

Trough the crack and out into freedom

And just like that

peace is restored

I feel good, relief at last

No one was hurt in the airing of this and

I’ve now got something to write about

What was I doing before?

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Oh yes, here we are. Lager time.  I’ve actually got a lager with me today, whilst I record this. One of those massive bottles of Kronenbourg. Feel like Ice-Cube in Boyz In Da Hood, sitting outside his house, sipping on 40’s. My mate Micky T kindly bought them over to the gaff, last Saturday, much apricated

Short one this week, been pretty busy, up early every day, in bed late, hay-fever; that kind of thing. Knackered, mate. Large up the hay fever sufferers. I don’t get it that bad but it’s the drowsiness, mate. Either that or I’m spooning way too much honey into my porridge at breakfast time and having these routine mid-morning crashes. Found out last week some manufacturers put sugar in honey?! What?! I had no idea, I was horrified. That’s like putting two fuels in the one engine; just because you can.

There won’t be a Lager Time next week, as I’m away with my wife having a bit of a break. Fear not, which I’m sure you won’t. Like Arnie, I will be back, with just slightly less muscle-mass but as much, if not more, flat delivery of speech.

I’ve now fully re-written every part of Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best. Was on the late train back from Victoria, yesterday. Could barley keep my eyes open but managed to get that last section done. It was like that moment went those engineers broke through to the other side of the channel, for the first time when constructing the Euro-tunnel. It felt good. Now I’ve gotta start putting it on it’s feet, so no doubt there will be lots more re-writing and scribbling in the margins. Feel like its lacking a bit of that vital ‘heightened drama’ aspect that plays apparently need; though I don’t always agree with that. As soon as I sniff out a formula, I tend to get bored, same goes for novels. Also, my life has never been that interesting. Thus, I do worry that it’s all a bit boring and self-indulgent, like this. I make myself feel better about it, by reading about various competing 19th and 20th century ideas about work and labour and celebrating if I’ve understood a mere fraction of it.

So I’ve attached two new poems-drafts that I’ve been slowly compiling. Both half-heartedly attempting to ponder some of life’s bigger questions. I’m enjoying writing in this way, though.

As ever, if you’re reading, listening, sharing, thankyou. Hope yous all have a banging next few days. I’m no royalist but the Queen seems to me, like she has a bit of integrity and in a world of narcists and liars, I respect that. Hope the old girl has a good bash and lets her hair down a bit. And if you’re celebrating, get that commemorative tea-towel and give it to your grandkids, in a couple of years; I’m sure they’ll love it.  

I’ll be back in a fortnight

Peas and taters

Paul

Everyday is a festival

Sometimes this living gig feels like

one of those festival goers I sometimes

see, making their way to the fields

on foot, down windy country lanes

massive backpack, taking up two

thirds of their body, various

bits swinging off it, pots and pans,

sleeping bag, roll mat, wellies,

all the while carrying a big box of

beers and carrier bags hooked on their arms

like a one-man-band without the songs

they’re vaguely moving in what they

probably think Is the right direction

one wrong turn and they feel the full weight of

all that baggage

one Slight stumble and they’re on their arse

struggling to get back up

like an upside-down woodlice

trying to turn over

and there’s no guarantees it won’t rain

Good For You

Good morning

what’s good about it?

it’s just morning

or is it?

is it really good?

Rent’s due

don’t have it

I can only attempt to imagine

what it’s like waking up to war

or famine, or natural disaster

or death, I can imagine

that – and understand that

someone could fail to see the good

but the good thing is –

is that it’s another day

another chance

another crack at the whip

another opportunity to do good

put on that wash

go for a run

find that cure for that disease

something good colud happen

even if that’s slim

it’s a chance

it’s another day

still in the game, mate

and that there

is the

good

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Easy.

I’ve been thinking these last few weeks, about penning some thoughts on rap lyrics; specifically, around content, when working in a workshop-type-educational setting with young people; and the type of conflict I often come up against when doing this. So here it is. A bit of-preamble before, though

I’ve been facilitating workshops now for a number of years; mainly around poetry, rap, beatbox and theatre. Sometimes all together. I work on the premise that it’s about people expressing themselves and being able to tell own stories, in their own way. Most of which, I’d come to learn from working with my good pal Conrad Murray (you can find out in more detail about the processes we use in THIS here BOOK making Hip Hop theatre) Regardless of the medium, that’s what I’m trying to do; in a nutshell.

In the world of youth-arts, you’ll often hear the much talked about category of ‘hard-to-reach-young-people.’ Ie- kids that don’t engage with the arts so much, if at all. A lot of the time, these are the young people I’m working with. Sometimes I’m able to engage with them, using a rap context as lots of them enjoy rap music and I’ve been fortunate enough to work on some really meaningful projects.  

Rap music has been popular my entire life but gradually over the last twenty years, for a lot of British kids it’s become something that isn’t just a popular form of entertainment in the UK, it’s a thing you can actually do, in the UK.

I can remember being young and loving hip-hop but thinking that it’s something that Americans do. UK Hip Hop was a small niche but UK Garage and Jungle MC’s really helped to break down the idea that a kid from these shores could spit too and in their own accent.

These days most young people I encounter are more likely to listen to British rappers than American rappers, often rappers from their own areas even; so at the very least, it can be a starting point just to get them talking, when I’m initially trying to engage them. Rap is a broad church, I’m 38, I like what I like and though I try and keep an ear out for what’s currently popping, most of the time I don’t know; so I get them to tell me about who they’re listening too. The whole process is anchored on earning their trust and for what are probably good reasons, they don’t tend to give that out easily; hence the ‘hard-to-reach’ tag. It takes time

In this sort of work, there’s normally some kind of loose objective involved (which is often due to funding requiring an outcome and isn’t always helpful) – produce some music, work towards a performance, that kind of thing. Sometimes, it’s enough just to engage them in the street, in conversation for ten minutes, let alone getting them into a building and into some kind of workshop environment, which is what the well-meaning but often naive funders want.

Building up the type of trust required to even get them into a building and into a some of kind of structure can take a lot of time; weeks, months, years even.  So after all of that, if you’re able to get even one young person into a room to start writing lyrics, you’ve done well but you’re now into the tricky-waters of content.

I’m no psychologist but particularly with boys, they’re going to naturally want to emulate what their peers, or perceived elders are doing. In the last few years, the most popular form of rap, has been Drill. Which often talks about violence and street-crime. This is their main reference point, it’s what they know (in terms of the music), so it’s natural this is the sort of stuff they’re going to try and create; these rappers, are who they look up to.

A lot of it, to be fair, is just bravado and metaphor, which as far as I’m aware, has been around for time immemorial. Whether a rapper is rapping about how violent they are, or how many drugs they’ve sold, to how many books they’ve read and how much wisdom they have, it’s still just bravado. And it’s part of rap. This is hip-hop after all. (Where the line gets very blurred and serious, is when actual incidences are being referenced but that’s a whole another discussion.)

The problem for me comes when they start writing this stuff and it includes violence, crime and sexist lyrics etc. I operate on the basis that it’s a win just getting them into the room and giving it go. For a lot of them, it might be their first time, so the content, to me, doesn’t matter so much in those early stages. Also, they’re often doing it around their peers, so there’s all those group-dynamics to take into account. But as long as they’re doing something, I think that’s a good thing, regardless of what they’ve said, they’re using their voices and learning the craft of constructing lyrics and rhymes.

The trick is to build their trust over time and work with them, to broaden their horizons a bit and challenge them, but like I said, this takes a long time and often these projects will only run over a short period.

If I started wagging a moral finger at them from the off they’d be gone, never to be seen again; which defeats the whole object of dong this work. Lots of these projects, organisations and funders are well-meaning but naive in their aims and objectives, and increasingly idealistic. Talking to these young people about distant academic concepts, like toxic-masculinity, or heteronormativity, is rarely going to end well, yet sometimes it feels like that’s what some of these leaders in charge want me to do. They can walk in a room, whilst I’m running a session and look at or hear some of the lyrics that are being created and tick me off about it, it’s happened before; which makes me think if that’s all they care about? As opposed to the process of slowly developing a relationship with these young people over time and encouraging them to explore their thoughts and expand their thinking, whilst taking creative risks in a safe environment; without castigating them, which more often than not, is what they expect from adults with any kind of authority. 

I’d be interested to hear alternative thoughts on this, as I’m sure there’s people out there who disagree with me. I can only do what I know and what I think works and where I’ve been allowed the space to do this, I’ve seen positive results.

There are times when I’ve had to draw a line. With most young people who are used to engaging in these sorts of projects, setting boundaries is one of the first things you do but with these so called hard-to-reach kids, who already feel like they’ve been written off; it’s never that simple. A little patience and less judgement, please.

So there you go, some thoughts. I mentioned last week that I started writing this article and trashed it, because I thought it was no good. But then I reminded myself about why I started this blog, to put my work out but also to learn and try and take a few risks. I want to get better at writing this sort of stuff but it doesn’t come easily to me, it’s a craft that I‘m learning and hopefully improving.

It’ll most likely be back to the regularly scheduled program next week, ie me just putting up bits of writing that I’m working on from this show, or maybe I’ll start that Peep Show article I was going on about.

Either way, large up for reading / listening. Give it a subscribe if you like, it really helps

Have a great weekend

Peas and taters

Paul

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Meanwhile in Maidstone, I sit here writing this, pulling nails off my fingers; with the lingering taste of an unsatisfactory muffin in my mouth. Muffins are overrated, like chocolate-cake. And wot? Much prefer a chocolate-digestive, the undisputed king of the UK biscuit-game. Complete with a cup of tea, I feel like a military general with his loyal attack dog by his side, casually bowling onto the battlefield; drinking a cup of tea, just to muddle the metaphor even further. Someone get me a chocy-digestive, lively! He says.

So what’s going on? Another week done. Time is moving fast, mate, this year is almost 6 months old. Enough with the sentimentality, Paul, get on with it, son. Ok, Dad.

Alright. So this week’s offering is hope. Sort of. It’s another piece from Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best. Yep. So how’s that connect to hope? Well, a few weeks ago, writing the introduction to that days post, I mentioned how I’ve been struggling with this particular section of the show that I’m about to share. I then said last week that I’d started re-writing it, but was probably going to cut it; which was the case, until Tuesday, this week, sat on the Maidstone to Victoria train. I was out of ideas and just writing through to the end, in the hope that something would present itself.

For some reason, I got the urge to re-start it again, slightly differently and this time it just flowed out in that way that rarely happens, ie I fleshed it out fairly quickly and in a way that just feels, well right, like when I get up in the morning and let the dogs into the garden. They just burst out the door. It’s still scrappy, far from finished but it’s a satisfying feeing and has altered my thinking on the whole thing. I’d share what I originally wrote, so you could see where I’m coming form but then, like school, that would probably be a bit well boring.

A little word on the form. So this whole section of the show (none of which I’ve shared on here as yet) is written in this sort-of, list-poetry-style. I felt it lends itself nicely to the present-tense yet allows me to fill in any background information gaps, whilst moving the story a bit quicker. And I enjoy saying it this way. That’s the thinking anyway.

So that’s your lot for now. Got an idea for a little article I want to write, regarding Peep Show. That may appear on here in the next few weeks, but then again I had this idea to write something about rap lyrics and working with kids. Started writing it and it was terrible. Not that confident with the ‘thought sharing’ part of Lager-Time as yet. But you know, who dares wins and all that.

If you like, hit that subscribe. Had one new subscriber join the ranks last week, thankyou, whoever you are. Please don’t be a bot. Tortoise and the hare, mate.

Have a banging weekend. Same next time next week?

CALL CENTRE COLLECTOR

Nothing like a slice of home cooked humble pie

Stayed at mum and dads for a week

A week not at work

meaning a week with no pay

But I had mum and dad to look after me

I was lucky

I swear it was meant to be the other way around once I moved out

Wiped out with exhaustion

That’s what the nurse said

And a ticking off about recreational drug use

Told me to stick to paracetamol and aspirin

Don’t worry, I said I won’t be doing that again

I’ll just stick to booze

that feeling of fatigue has been lingering for a few months now

Got back to Brighton

Got my nut down

Moved house again

Number 4

changed jobs again

Number 4

Me and Mohammed got taken on permanently by the bank

We’re junior collectors now

Makes us sound like charity workers

If only

Were Call centre drones , mercenaries

Collecting debt on loans and overdrafts

Shifts are long

But I’m on a salary

£13.5k a year

Holiday pay

Sick pay

And wacky team building days out

the longer hours meant I had to stop the cleaning job

But now earning slightly more

And in a house share again

My bills are slightly less

I’m living with Mick and Mit

Socially it’s good

Mates come and visit

We’re making music

I’m writing more lyrics than ever

Even stories and poems, the ideas never stopped coming

I’m reading more

Getting my eating under control

I’ve started running in the evenings too

But this job is pretty gruelling

Wake up trudge out to work

Like there’s stage weights strapped to my back

Plug in my headset

Wait for the beep

Customer details snap on screen

Hello you through to Pcan I take your account details please

Another debt laden customer

Sometimes I wonder how they got in this situation

Target driven bank-selling

Pressurized Christmas spending

Adverts telling you you’re worth it

Without the apr

Sky tv subscriptions

Holidays and cigarettes

And liberal card spending

That’s how they got me

I can normally tell me within the first few words how it’s gonna go

Sometimes they’re nice

Sometimes they’re friendly

Sometimes they’re relived

Sometimes they’re desperate

Sometimes they’re angry

Sometimes they threaten me

Keep tally everytime I get called a c u n t

I’m in double figures

Someitmes they’re abusive

Sometimes racist

Mohammed gets it a lot

They hear his accent and assume his calling from India

and the amount of times I’ve been asked if I’m black

what does that even mean

and why is that relevant to the call?

Supposedly all we have to do is follow the flow chart

The great flow chart

Every call should go the same way

Either they make a payment or make an arrangement

All done in 7 minutes

So our team leaders say

bosh

That’s it

As if it’s all that simple

Bag one then BEEP onto the next one

when I take too long on a call

like the man that was suicidal

or the lady who was in floods of tears after

Getting threatening court letters when she doesn’t even bank with Lloyds

the supervisors who monitor the calls

Come round and passively aggressively tell me I’m taking too

Long on my calls,

then point to the flow chart on the walls

Then the league tables

Next to the empty motivational messages

Showing my teams stats

Whose collected the most dough

Made the most arrangements

And where I’m sat

Often on the bottom

Letting the team down

They tell me I’m not assertive enough

Punch out the code for the toilet

The carzy on my floor has been busted for ages

Have to go up two flights of stairs

Only two traps up there

and 4 floors of geezers

So If I need to bless-it

And they’re engaged

I have to wait

And when I come back

Supervisor of the year is at my desk

Asking why I took so long

When I can, I go to lunch with Mohammed

Though Our shifts often don’t align

I miss working side by side

He’s so calm

He’s not phased by this job

He tells me to not take it all to heart,

there’s more to life he says

I feel guilty when I moan

He’s got his wife and his baby

I can barely take care of me

I go home each night wiped out

But I try and force myself to do something

either that or it’s watch MTV Pimp My Ride

Mohamed’s right, there is more to life

Waited my whole life to get cable TV

what a disappointment it is

spend my time on it channel hopping

so much choice

yet so little worth watching

As much as it hurts my brain after those long days

I try to read a book or write a verse or practise

Some bars that I’ve already written

I feel I owe it to my skull

It’s the only way I know to

Fight that dull feeling that’s like

Someone  slowly pulling a tired grey

Tarpaulin over the skies

Been in Brighton for 18 months

4 addresses

4 jobs

times moving on

so should I

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Yes, yes, good day to you all

Welcome to another edition of Lager Time; whoever you are, wherever you are, if you do it all exist. So what’s been happening?

Not a lot to report from my end, I’ve been pretty busy. Working on two different rap projects, with some young people out in Bromley and Romford and I’ve resumed duties with the Friends From Afar project, with Dream Arts -  we’re working with a group of unaccompanied asylum-seekers and are slowly developing a show. I co-lead the sessions and have written a short script along with some music, I’m really enjoying it. The project hits all the three of the things I like doing.

All the while, bumbling through with my own creative projects; which are mainly this show, Make Your On bed and Hope for the Best and an EP of music I’m taking forever to produce. But we’re getting there. Sort of.

Made a little bit more headway with the show this week, just a bit though. I’ve currently got this gut feeling that I just have to write through this malaise and the bit I’m currently working on, will probably face the axe but may find life elsewhere. Like the piece below.

I wrote this some time last year when I started re-editing all the stories. I highly doubt this will make it in as it’s not in the timeline of events but either way, I enjoyed the process, as I enjoy doing this. I think I’ve worked-out how to the audio a bit better, so hopefully it sounds a little more pleasing to your ears. That’s progress. Tortoise and the hare, mate. Until next time

MYOB Draft Bits - Spitalfields

I’m at a point where I can genuinely say I don’t hate what I do for work - to earn a living - it’s just that it don’t pay much.

I’m walking through Spitalfields market - in between jobs - killing time before the next bit of work. Winter is very much here, it’s dark by four and cold most of the time, snotty nose and tickly coughs soundtrack my journeys.  There’s a lot of homeless people around here, often asking for change, on foot and sat on doorsteps or crowding outside Tesco. I’ve got a sever hankering for caffeine, sweets and stodge

I finished my school job earlier, walked to Streatham bus station and caught the 133 to Liverpool St, it always gets me here much earlier than I need to be but I know that if get on the bus in Streatham, by Brixton Hill I’m asleep, then by Liverpool street, I’m slowly coming too, dazed and confused before I get slung off, wiping the dribble off my chin, it’s a vital little bit of kip that keeps me going. And it’s cheaper than the tube.

To have enough money to get by, I need to work my school teaching assistant job five days a week, with at least two gigs or workshops in the evenings or the weekends to make up the shortfall. Some weeks I’m working all seven days, going to bed late and getting up early, to work on bits of writing, though sometimes, I just cant get out of bed for it and I feel guilty for not utilising my time.

Some weeks I don’t get those extra gigs and workshops and though its a bit of a relief to go home after school and have an early night, it just causes me to pull more out hairs from my head when the bills come

Spitalfields is busy, a party part of town and city workers and students are packing out the pubs and restaurants. I look in the windows of a few, and see smiling faces wishing I could be with them sinking a few of those expensive pints, enjoying a social life.

I’ve got just enough to dough to get home on my oyster and maybe grab a reduced sandwich from Tesco but I’m kinda holding out that they’re might be some leftovers at the centre where I’m working tonight as they get given a lof of food from Pret a Manager, which I have to go and pick up, as part of my job.

I’m a workshop assistant at a charity that works with people who are or have been homeless and we do drama. Most of these people there have lives a lot harder than mine and sometimes the sessions can be tough but more often than not, they’re fun, educational and uplifting, and a good laugh. I often leave knackered but enthused,

I think that feeling is how work could be, should be, possibly, it’s a possibility. They’re worse ways to work for living but maybe better ways to earn, especially in this city. I’m somewhere in between the two. When I’m super skint and wiped out it can hard to see the upside of it all but generally, if I think about what I was doing before, chances are I’ll leave tonight tired feeling good, feeling valued and feeling like I might have some value and they got free tea, that’s a good start

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Hello, greetings, bonjour, what’s happening.

It’s Friday. What does that mean? Not much to me. I stopped looking forward to weekends (and bank holidays) a long time ago. Maybe if I was working an ordinary job, I’d be chomping at the bit, right now. But I’m not, but if you are, sick. I’m cool, though.

Speaking of jobs, this week’s offering is another story from Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best. Based on when I worked at HMV at Gatwick Airport. I mentioned last week, that I’d hit a block with this show. I started writing the third part this week but didn’t get very far. I’m still very much in that this isn’t working phase. I’m loosing heart but will kick-on.

I’ve got a habit of getting stuck into something and then just letting it go. Even when it’s quite far down the line. I’ve done t so many times. I was learning to drive, when I was around 18. Got as far as gearing up to take the test, missed a couple of lessons then just, sort of, gradually, stopped. It’s like I go numb to any feelings about it – then sometime later, I get a delayed onslaught of negativity.

These are things I’ve noticed happening over time. So now, I’m trying to read the signs early on, so I can counteract it, which normally involves just keeping it going, even it’s in tiny amounts. A mate of mine, Physics B, once told me about this Jerry Seinfeld strategy, of just viewing it all as a chain; as long as you’re doing something each day, you’re keeping the chain going.  I’m having mixed results.

Whilst my gym visits have fallen by the wayside, at least I can say I’ve kept Lager Time going (and I’m keeping the show going) It’s been over six months, now and give or take a few weeks, I’ve been consistent with it. So well done me and large up all of you who have read, or listened, or shared; thankyou.

For lots of us that do this kind of thing; freelance creatives or whatever, COVID cancelled loads of our work and forced a lot of us to re-think what we’re doing. I was no exception. With technology, I’m quite often slow to adapt; rarely short of ideas but know-how and execution lags why behind, and I often loose heart because of it. Despite that, I made this list, around April 2020 of things I thought I could do to grow and adapt; I caled it the Level-Up list. The end-point was for me to be able to produce by own content: video’s, music, audio, images, books etc.  So I took a bunch of Udemy courses and tried to learn a few things. If you’re familiar with my work about education, or even the stuff I’ve been sharing on here, then you may realise how un-academic I am.

It’s a journey I’m still on and it’s frustrating, as with lots of it, like video, I’m still very much at the beginner stage and I do lose heart, from time-to-time. It’s taking a long time to get where I want to go but I am making progress; just very slowly. 

I’ve got the Substack up and running, a self-produced music EP, two-thirds recorded, I’m not far off filming a couple of simple point-and-shoot poetry videos and I’m getting better at recording audio. Tortoise and the hare, mate.

Speaking of levelling-up, I made this little introduction to the audio, what do you think? It’s another step towards stepping-up. Onwards and upwards. Well, that’s the ideal trajectory.  As per above, it’s thinking about moving onward and upwards, move onwards with excitement, hit an obstacle, fall over, lie on the ground for hours full of self-loathing, days, weeks, then get back up, re-trace my steps, start again, overcome said hurdle, get excited again, find another hurdle, rinse, wash, repeat. Enjoy the story.

As ever, if you’ve listened or read and got this far, thankyou. If you like it, give it a subscribe. Enjoy the bank holiday, same time next week?

HMV

Despite the redundancy and loosing the apprenticeship: getting the Golum eyes and spanking most of the payout dough on clothes and booze, being skint, unemployed, having to go through the humiliation of signing-on, not hearing back from most jobs, flopping the few job interviews that I had, no qualifications, feeling generally quite useless and that I had no tangible skills to offer anyone and no girlfriend to speak of, life was alright. Honestly. I had a roof, a good family, a few mates and I had music.

I was enjoying MCing more and more, I loved writing lyrics and raping them over beats and had started running drum and bass and garage nights in this local club in Horley, called the Liquid Lounge, with my mate Mick from college, where I’d MC. We had no idea what we were doing but we did it anyway.

The owner of the club was looking for a regular DJ, so I got my brothers mate, Dean to come down with his mate Nigel, as they were doing a lot of weddings and parties back then.

Dean worked at HMV in Gatwick, I mentioned I was looking for a job, they had a job going, so through a blatant case of nepotism and crony capitalism, I landed myself a job there.

For a retail shop, the money was good, and I cashed in on the 30% discount; got the Gollum eyes trebling my music collection, within weeks. I’d also started to read books and the discount extended to waterstones, it was a touch and I remember buying my first Michal Moore book there. I was working with people my own age, with similar interests, and it was music. I felt like I’d landed on my feet.

Pretty much everyone in my family had worked at the airport at some point. I could walk there from home, which was handy for those 5am starts when transport was limited. Pretty grim in the winter though, dark and cold outside, walking down that infamous alleyway where the street light didn’t work, so it was pitch black, only to arrive in the airport like you’d never left, like it never slept.

Super bright strip lights hurting my eyes, air-con choking my lungs, constant announcements, brutal early shifts and killer lates, stomach aches from too much caffeine and night and day cells in constant conflict, as I my body clock was always confused. The manager was a wanker too, he made passive aggression into an artform, always spoke to me like I was thick.

But aside from that I liked it. I was working with music. All that retail customer service stuff was bollox but at least I was doing something where I had a little bit of knowledge that I could contribute. I enjoyed recommending things to customers and I was learning lots, new artsts, old bands, making mates and having a laugh.

The airport employed thousands of people and you’d get friendly with the other staff there. Other retail bods, security, baggie handling. Even the old Bill with their machine guns. You could get things at the airport, loads of little under the counter deals were going on. We’d call it the North terminal crime syndicate, got myself a pair of Nikes one time for £20 cash. Lots of the local bars would run airport nights, you’d flash your pass and get discounted drinks, it was sick.

I was in charge of the dance-music section and felt especially proud when I organised it into subgenres: deep-house, funky-house, tech-house, drum and bass, garage, breakbeat, big beat and would get stumped by curve balls like the Prodigy and the Chemical brothers.  What section do I put them in. I got to order stuff, I took pride in it. Sometimes I’d have to open and close the shop and cash up the tills and I liked the responsibility. Of course I made a few mistakes and got in trouble once or twice but I still preferred it to Zepher.

I’d started this music promotion course down in Brighton, which I got on by chance, just being in a record shop one day when there the course leaders were giving out flyers. I was too old but they let me join in, I just did’nt get the qualification. We were working on putting an event on at the Ocean rooms, which was big club back then. I’d work the early shifts without a break, burn it over to the station and get a train down there and make it just in time for the afternoon session. And in-between all of that, minus the boozing and smoking, trips to clubs in London andand Brighton, and a surprise FA Cup Final for Millwall, I was still writing lots of lyrics. And Working life was alright.

But deep down I knew it couldn’t last. The money was good and I was becoming comfortable, which I’d never felt before but I knew that it was dangerous. The airport was full of older-bods who had potential but never amounted to much. They swapped that potential for resentment and would sit in the pubs boring the rest of us to death about how they could’ve made it, in whatever capacity. I had this gut feeling that I’d have to leave the area. I didn’t know how, why or what I’d do, I just knew.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com