The Real Life of Anthony Burgess

“In his dreams, a flood of snakes and horse shit would cascade into the bedroom from behind the picture. He would wake up screaming, but his aunt would not take the picture away.”

-Andrew Biswell on Anthony Burgess

A couple of years ago I bought The Real Life of Anthony Burgess, a biography on the Manchunian novelist, at Manchester Reads the Sixties, an event at 2010's Manchester Literature Festival. 

I got around to reading it recently. It's a fine book. Everything you could want to know about the author of A Clockwork Orange- the man raised in Harpurhey, Manchester and went on to become one of the most influential novelists of the 20^th century- it's in here, right down to his masturbatory habits. Serious. The parts I found most interesting were the details of his apparently random decision to take his wife on a sightseeing trip to Russia. This developed his knowledge of the Russian language, which- along with a knack for other tongues- set him in good stead for his travels.

His Russian was a main influence in his creation of the NadSat language. This was a speculative dialect he developed for use by the teenage tearaways in his most famous work, A Clockwork Orange- a book he grew to hate once he was thrust into the limelight after Stanley Kubrick's 1973 screen adaptation.

Dr Biswell's book is a comprehensive insight to the man's life, and the research that has gone into it is incredibly deep. A must-read for linguiphiles or Burgess fans.

Footnote: I got the book signed by the author a few weeks ago. Check it out.

Hot Creations Lawsuit on the Horizon?

Here's Hot Creations' new floor-filler- Hot Natured & Ali Love's Benediction.

Four years prior to this song's release, however, Ultra Records released Funkerman's instant classic Speed Up.

Is that a copyright infringement case I smell?

Fluffy's Way

Terence the Lovebird lies in Fluffy Oakes’s lap, nuzzling into his thigh. The tiny but vibrant bird is overwhelmed with life in general.

I’m a little more optimistic. “I’ve asked you a lot about yourself over the last few years,” I tell Fluffy. “I’d like to ask you about me, if I may. I think you could point me in the right direction.”

“We’re nothing but animals,” Fluffy points out, “as The Bloodhound Gang once divulged.”

“Indeed.”

Terence rolls his eyes.

“I moved out two years ago now,” I say, “and I’ve had to battle like a motherfucker to get the kind of direction and help that I needed- but you’ve given me most of that help along the way. There’s just a few minor things I’d still like to ask you about.”

“Anything, man.” His head tilts. An eyebrow raises. “Anything.”

I shift. “Okaaay…” I flip my notebook. “I’ve been using this Keda Black cookbook and-“

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts. “Too complicated. I admire your bravery for ploughing into it, but I can sense you’re losing your enthusiasm for cooking. I would, if I’d been ploughing through Keda.” He glances to Terence, who’s oblivious. “So to speak.”

“What then?”

“Do Delia Smith first.” He pulls out How To Cook Volume 1, flipping it over in his hands so the cover faces me. “Much simpler. It’s for everyone. Keda generally didn’t go into enough detail at each step, I gather from your posts. And the meals were a little unusual. I mean, why put the mind-bending Bechmel sauce as the first recipe? Weird. And why leave the simplicity of scrambled eggs until page 14, in comparison? Lets see a few blog posts based on Delia. It’ll be good because- as I’m sure you’ve noticed- there isn’t much info on the net about people with memory difficulties learning to cook. You’re carving that niche. But I would say, make it obvious in each post that the memory issue is something that is a factor when YOU cook, and how it makes your cooking and learning experience different to everyone else.”

“Can do. You know, I kind of slacked off with cooking as so many of the meals were so complicated, and I felt robbed of time by performing the recipes. It took me maybe an hour or two to cook a meal that I’d devour in ten minutes flat. I’m hoping Delia won’t rape me in that way, you know?”

Fluffy bites a sunflower seed, shelling it, and feeds the rest to Terence, who continues to stare into space.

“You’re a competent enough chef,” says Fluffy. “There’s little chance of Delia raping you in the near future.” He wipes Terence’s beak. “Sorry if that disappoints you, though.” He winks.

“Yes. Well.” I shuffle notes. “Oh. I wanted to ask about phones. My contract’s coming to an end, and I wanted to ask someone who knows about memory as to which phone or contract would be best. My current phone crashes all of the time, which is why I’m not going to GiffGaff- I need an actual handset with more memory and a better camera.”

“Well, I don’t have, y’know, more knowledge about phones in particular, but I know that newer phones don’t crash as much. Now- when do you use your phone mostly?”

“All times. Internet during the day, an occasional call in the evening, texts at all times, although not as much now I’ve got Facebook Mobile.”

“No landline at home?”

“No.”

“Do you Skype?”

“No, but I probably should.”

“You should. Skype to Skype calls are free.”

“Facebook Webcams do a similar thing too.”

“Facebook cams are ran with Skype software anyway. So, if you used those two instead of your phone, whenever possible, you’d hardly need any call time at all, which will reduce your bill exponentially. But here’s what I’d do- Three are going to phone you to get you to renew your contract, so take the hard approach with them. Tell them you’re thinking of going to GiffGaff and they’ll start throwing deals at you. Keep it at £20 a month. Tell them you want unlimited internet. There are places doing that now, so Three should if they want to keep your custom. List out what you want. Tell them if you don’t get that, you’re going to GiffGaff. They’ll come up with something. They’ll have to.”

Terence airs his wings and delicately starts to climb the arm of Fluffy’s tweed jacket.

“Erm… The only other thing… I wanna mention…” I scratch the side of my head with a pen. Something twists in my stomach.

Terence is now standing on fluffy's shoulder- not muzzling his ear or curling into himself- he's standing tall, chest out and chin high, like a parrot should. He's waiting for me to continue.

They both are.

Hot Creations at The Warehouse Project

Manchester super-club The Warehouse Project is incomprehensibly large.

Having moved from the disused Boddingtons Brewery building in the centre of the city, the new club dwarfs the original location considerably. The club, now based in Victoria Warehouse in Trafford Park, has a capacity of 5000 and a line-up including Bassment Jaxx, Laidback Luke, Ms Dynamite, Yousef, Radio 1's Zane Lowe and Chase & Status.

Last night I went with friends to sample Hot Creations Presents Paradise, a one-off event headed up by the producers that brought us this House anthem:

As fans of the song, we had to check out the night. The site's calendar indicated that the event had sold out, but we found a tout near the venue willing to give us a bulk discount on tickets. These people are worth looking around for.

The music was a lot heavier than the House that I'd normally go for, but WHP is a SERIOUS clubber's venue- dirty beats, heavy basslines and just as many technicolour laser beams as there are dance-mad clubbers. The sounds and the atmosphere become addictive, and you NEVER stop dancing.

Amidst the clubbers, an army of huge doormen strolled through the club in hi-vis jackets and latex gloves. The beams of the MagLites they carry are masked by the club's lasers and lights, so it's easy for them to inspect the patrons as they're dancing. I spot one doorman snatch a tiny bag out of the hand of a wasted clubber. Keeping eye contact on the lad, who was miniscule in comparison, the doorman emptied the bag onto the floor and crushed the pills under his boot. Then he walked off leaving the clubber with only his drink in his hand and whatever was left in his bloodstream.

One downside is that the end-of-night queue for the cloakroom is horrendous. A friend of mine left the venue with his jacket still stored in there as it would have meant at least another hour before we got out. My advice is, try not to wait 'til the end of the night before joining that swarm.

The 7 hours we spent in The Warehouse Project flew by. But the atmosphere, the music, the sights and most importantly the pleasure of good company will stay in my head.

Three Strikes and You're Out

A confession: I can’t just “go to the gym”. I don’t exactly have a set routine and I jump between different machines a lot. I’m always trying to beat personal bests or work to a deadline to improve my body in some way.

Since I finished the abs project earlier this month and then followed this with Reading on a Step Machine, I’ve been in need of something I can work on- or work through- whilst at the gym. That’s why I came up with the Three Strikes project.

I’ve recorded my personal bests on around 50 movements at the gym. I’ve been keeping these records for years. Some I’ve beaten recently, some have been standing for a long time.

What I’ve found with gym work is that my progress when working out reflects the progress in the rest of my life, whether it be in my career, home life, social circles or in my writing. When I hit a stumbling block in life- a family problem, or an occasional dispute with friends- my fitness hits a plateau.

Things right now are pretty good- I’m in touch with old friends, I’m doing better with women and my outlook is pretty bright. But I'm stuck in a rut at the gym. So now is the time to smash a few records, and along side this, get some writing published, possibly get a woman on the scene and- deep breath- go back into education.

So- each time I can't lift a certain weight or beat a certain length inside ten minutes, I'll mark it as a strike. I'll try it again in my next session. If I get three strikes in a row, I'll drop that movement and focus on others.

This blog will now have weekly gym-based updates (which I'm sure will make fucking GREAT reading) alongside every other noteable personal achievement.

Urbanite

Outside, the slate sky

Contrasts the lush greenery

Potted, by my desk

Reading on a step machine

Continuing the zany marrying of two of my favourite pastimes, I decided to again try to read a novel whilst working out. This week I tried the step machine for some endurance and fat-burning.

And for the literature? Don DeLillo's Cosmopolis, a tale of a young billionaire whose night-time limo ride through Manhattan exposes him to a world of terrible dangers. This very short novel contrasts the lives of two men- one ultra-rich, the other ultra-poor, and the disastrous way in which they are connected. The book is a short, sharp shock to the senses, and DeLillo's use of language- as always- is beautiful.

Legendary weirdo director David Cronenberg has recently adapted it for the screen.

Something tells me it's one of those films that just doesn't work, because the content of the book is largely thoughts and opinions, with little action. This works in a novel. It doesn't always on the screen. Cormac McCarthy's The Road, for instance, is an incredible book. But as nothing physically happens throughout most of it, the film edges on tiresome.

I managed nearly two hours of straight stepping. You've got to break eventually, though, and I did for five minutes or so before ploughing on again. After a further 40 minutes I found that my legs were seizing up and I could no longer focus on the meaning of the words. I was about three quarters of the way through the book. As you might expect, I read the rest at home, lying in bed.

If you're going to give this a shot, here's my advice:

Hold the book out in front of you as to not drip sweat on it.

Keep a bottle of water on hand and keep swigging it.

Keep the pace of stepping at a steady level. Don't go all out: This is about endrance. You'll feel the burn eventually.

I performed a total of 160 mins workout time. Fat burning occurs after 90 minutes, on average, meaning the project gave me 70 minutes of fat-burning time. I'll have this six-pack back in no time.