Yur Mum ‘SWEATSHOP’

I feel that certain principals, or indeed laws, of physics apply to the non-physical world. Specifically in the emotional and well-being remit. What goes up must indeed, eventually, go down. And down. And dooooooown. For my own personal situation, things are good. Work is going well. I’ve got a grip on most aspects of my life. I think. I also know that I won’t, at some point. That, my pedigree chums, is how the proverbial cookie of life crumbles. What’s effecting me right now are the people around me, or rather the hard time that presently a couple of them are going through, like they can’t quite catch their breath despite trying to. Whilst I’m rather blessed with a contingent of confidants, some ye olde and some ye newie, that keep my mind and heart vaguely intact (or at least tell me when it really isn’t and I’m so out of my mind that I fail to realise it myself, which actually is most of the time), I appreciate that perhaps some of those people ironically don’t have the same luxury. Not everyone is like me or can actually follow/obey that narrative of “let’s talk about it”. Maybe they don’t fucking want to talk about it. This time of year is laden with senses of obligation and how things need to be just right, especially when it comes to keeping up certain appearances. Burn-out rears its ugly face every couple of weeks instead of every couple of months. So, rather than being overbearing in the traditional sense of trying to psycho-analyse my closest compadres, I have instead reverted to being as annoying as humanely possible as a perverse form of encouragement that no matter how bleak things may seem, those “things” inevitably change. They must. For example, last week in what seems to be the opening gambit of me utilising horse-playish insults to other folks in the office (take note, HR), in this instance directed at our live manager and resident emo-boy Sam Hong, utterance of said insult and subsequent searching of the same phrase on Spotify led us to the current holders of the Track Of The Day heavyweight championship belt Yur Mum. Man. How the fuck have this lot not scaled the same dizzying heights and ascending to the same glowing glowy-ness of contemporary punky peeps IDLES. Or Slaves. Or, shit, there’s elements of Distillers and Nirvana here. They’re playing in London on Friday, at The Grace fka Thousand Island fka Upstairs at The Garage. I can’t make it because of reasons, but if you do go, send me a video or something. Cos I gots to know.

• Ach