You might be forgiven for thinking I live in the past. After all, I do talk about my career in music a lot and naturally the ignorance of those who haven't the talent or inclination to risk all for fame annoys me a great deal. But all these reminisences aren't really the point. I do live in the past, just not the past you might expect.

Let me explain. In our modern world, we live according to timetables. The workplace dominates our daily schedule, but domestic and social issues often force regular activity as a matter of course. We even entertain ourselves according to schedules too. Our lives are essentially gridlocked into a regulated urban enviroment.

This stems from the days of the industrial revolution. Mill owners paid their employees by the hour for the first time in human history, with strict adherence to the clock as a tool of authority. This came as quite a shock to the average worker at first. Prior to the industrial revolution people got out of bed when they darn well chose to, governed by the rising and falling of the sun, the changing of the seasons, and whether there was anyone around with a big stick.

Does this sound familiar? It should do. Welcome to the world of the unemployed. Although I like to retain a routine as much as possible - we are creatures of habit - I have nonetheless reverted to some extent to the mindset of those pastoral days in our past, when life was at a slower pace. The pace of my life is almost stationary these days. I feel like a tv character, stood in front of the camera whilst the busy street scene unfolds at fast forward, people buzzing around like flies, clouds rushing overhead. I move only to avoid a snail sliding down the pavement on his slimey way. Watch where you're going, you maniac!

Yesterday morning I woke from my slumber. The sunshine was evident from the bright glow through the curtains. Being so used to a fixed routine I automatically got out of bed, got dressed, got washed, got brushed, and went about my business totally unaware I'd awoken four hours early.

Failure of the Week

The list of recent failures of domestic and electronic appliances in my ome over the last month has become impressive. My computer, my keyboard, my fridge, and now my gas boiler (the reason I logged on late this morning).

The claims advisor asked me how I was doing when I sat down to sign on. I gave her a woeful tale of endless stress and expensive repairs. She nodded, "Yes my cooker doesn't work either" She said.

Talking about living in the past, if this sort of thing carries on I'll be burning twigs to keep warm this winter, agonising over whether I should finally succumb to hunger and eat my last turnip. On the other hand, I could just make a phone call. Oh hi... I have a gas boiler that's not working. The display says...

"Sorry mate, but we don't work for your letting agent no more. You'll have to phone their office"

Oh... Right... So it isn't dangerous then? Oh... He's hung up... So later the gas fitter turned up and quickly diagnosed my ailing boiler as suffering from lack of gas. Some idiot with a dodgy brain cell had turned the supply off overnight for a laugh. Clearly that person needs a busier lifestyle.