LAGER TIME - Young UnProfessional EP 6 - Just Another Day(te)

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening

The last in this current little mini-series of Young Unprofessional is up. In this episode, Reece finally goes on the date with Alice, who he met through the dating section of the Gumtree website. It’s a little later than expected, but I explain why in the introduction.

I’ve enjoyed writing this little mini-series, it felt like the natural evolution of the Satellite Stories series, whilst incorporating my desire to start writing from the perspective of a fully fictional character, from a fictional town (even if lots of it is based on my experiences)

I’m still undecide on the form of it, so what I think I’d like to do next is sit down and look over what I’ve written and work out what’s working and what isn’t etc.

I don’t know how any of these stories are landing with people but when I get into it and start writing, I enjoy it and I feel there is more to come. They are all works in progress, as is the whole podcast, so they’re raw and rough round the edges. I have a feeling that if I can refine my process, I can improve on what I’m doing with it.

I’ve also enjoyed featuring my own music (which is handy as I don’t have to worry about licensing etc) – something which I’ve neglected to mention. It helps break the stories up at bit and can put a contextual frame round it, as well as giving a legit excuse to write more music; again, I have no idea how any of this is landing, but, I do this because I enjoy doing it, anything else positive that comes of it is a bonus.

So what next? I have a few old stories from the Reece stuff I’ve written over the years, which I’d like to put up. I’ve also slowly been compiling a load of quotes from the books I’ve been reading and have an idea to use these as an impetus to write some thoughts, in an attempt at some essays; so at some point, at least one of these will emerge.

As scatty as I can be, in my own dysfunctional way, stuff does get done; and I would like to improve that and in general, improve myself, otherwise, what is the point in all of this? I think it’s a little bit like the Reece character, he is flawed and is somewhat aware of this, and in his own doomed way, is trying to do something about it, he just doesn’t really know how.

I hope you enjoy this latest episode, if you like it, please subscribe and share it, as much as I do this for me, when someone tells me they like it, it kicks me up the arse to do more. On the Substack, there is a link to the Young UnProfessional series which you can click and have them all in one place.

Peas and taters for now

Paul

Life Affirming Moments - Part 1 (Substack blog)

This piece was originally publsihed on my Substack audio / blog - Lager Time, where you can hear it as audio. You can also subsribe there and have as an email and podcast

A young man of nineteen is rummaging

through his wallet, looking for his gym

pass. In amongst the receipts, chewing

gum wrappers and train tickets, he

finds a date-expired, unused rubber;

curry flavour. He’d bought it from a

vending machine on his sixteenth

Birthday. He holds it, he can feel it’s gone

dry and crusty. He’s still wearing too much

Lynx and the hair-gel is still slooping off

his head in wet-weather, V-Plates are

still very much intact, along with his

optimism. Never give up he thinks

The Unlicensed Diver

A few words and a little poem at the end, as per...

Originally featured on my Substack page, where you can hear it as audio

I’m a stickler for nuance, especially in the times we’re in now. Sometimes, it can be a pain in the arse - someone can state something and I find it hard to let it go without piping up, sometimes I wish I wouldn’t, sometimes I do shut-up then wish I did pipe-up, I can’t win and it probably makes me a pain-in-the-arse to be around. It’s worth mentioning, though, all of the above, I only tend to do offline, online that’s a fight I’m too afraid of, which was part of the reason I started this blog.

Some trite examples of popular opinions, in the past few years, that were often on my radar, where I  at least try to present a more nuanced point, would be The amazing feat of Leicester winning the Premier League and The amazing success of Stormzy as an independent artist to Jeremy Corbyn is a Marxist and Nigel Farage is a fascist. All these four things are nowhere near as clear or as simple as they’re made out be, some more serious than others, of course but I’m not settling for any of those four statements, as absolute truths, which they’re often presented as.

Brexit was a big one for me, as I’m sure it was for many. A binary question on a highly complex issue - I can see pros and cons on both sides. The toxicity of the mainstream campaigns and debates seemed to detract from what I thought was the original question.  It just became another battlefield in the so called culture-war and it all got a West-Side-Story.

Maybe that’s what the problem is, we’re too quick to get partisan and jump in the what we think are the best equipped camps, no one wants to be in no-mans land; expect perhaps for nobs like me who want to take time to figure things out, when there probably is no time. Trouble is, for someone like me, I can only act on what I know and whilst I do read a lot, especially about politics and social issues, I don’t always understand it and when it comes to arguing it, I often struggle to get my points across; yet that insatiable desire for a bit more nuance never goes and I can get obsessive seeking out alterative views.

At times It feels like a dangerous obsession, or at the very least a nagging one that often riles me up and I don’t quite know what I get out of it. Perhaps I’m just an aspiring smart-arse, who’s not yet earned the ‘smart’ part of that phrase.

At some dull-yet-turbulent moment in twenty-twenty, I wrote this little poem, tyring to make sense of what I’m doing. Suffice to say, on the long road to Damascus, I probably got side-tracked at a service station stressing about what flavour of crips I wanted with my over-priced motorway meal deal, when I should’ve opted for the Pan-Pipe Moods CD compilation from the bargain-bin.

The Unlicensed Diver, Paul Cree

At some point I got lost deep diving for truth

whatever that is

been learning to breathe ever since

can barely swim, let-alone dive

no tanned-man in Thailand

just read what I could

asked a few questions from the few people I

knew and the few books I had

made maps on the internet marked with x’s

got my Nike’s dirty down rabbit holes

realised some rabbis weren’t as wise I thought

just a lot of rabbit talk

I remember getting that irritating twitch back

at school, from playground spats to classroom analysis

often thinking there’s more to this than what’s being presented

just never quite knew what it was

some other texture and taste I weren’t getting from that

bland food I was instructed to swallow

got older and felt the same about the news and everyday

views I’d hear out and about

felt stupid when I aired mine

unformed and messy, like a piece of homework

produced on the bus, I’d produce my two p and

instantly feel out my depth, like I took a bath, shut my

eyes and woke up fighting a storm in the North Atlantic

convincing myself I was better off with the inflatables and the

flumes, at least they were a laugh, that and I

wouldn’t get cast out the clan for

breaking ranks

give it a day or two and the feeling resumed

just didn’t know what to do

so I took to diving, with no licence

just a bunch of erratic thoughts and a thirst for something more

I’ve unearthed a few things that muddied the water

each time I come up for air, I find the land more divided

spliced-up and taking sides

status seekers and self-publicists

political mules nudged into reactions

nudged into action

all armed with their half-truths,

cherry-picked data grenades, firing at will

desperate to catch a dart from the opposing side so they

can spin it out the stratosphere

sealing off all access routes to alternative views

dogmatic with diminishing returns

seen the distance between them turn from stream to river

with the banks threatening to burst

I’m back at school again, choking on the tripe I’m being

co-erced to swallow, thinking there’s a lot more to it, a

lot more, I’ve tasted it and I’m

barley getting started but I’m no

Olllie Twist, please sir… just

forget it

The Emperor's New Football Kit

Some thoughts on craft-beer and total football, with a little poem at the end, by, me Paul Cree

originally featured on my Substack PAGE - LAGER TIME - including audio

If you know me, or you know the name of this blog, at least, you’ll know I very much enjoy drinking lager. These days, I don’t get to do it nearly as much as I’d like but I do enjoy a pint, or five. Those that know me well, know that I’m no fan of craft beer. It’s an odd thing to say, as craft-beer is a very broad-church and that rational part of me knows it’s an irrational thing to have a gripe about. BUT, I can genuinely say, I’ve never drunk one I liked the taste of but it’s not the content inside the glass or the tiny can with the whimsical illustration on it, that gets my back up a bit. It’s the perception, in my tiny paranoid mind, that I’m being told this is better, I should be drinking this. Well, what some it, just is’nt

Certain arguments I get; small local brewery versus cooperate bemouth full of chemicals and in many cases, I can understand people’s reasons to opt for the stinky hops, but it’s not always that simple is it. I remember waking up one morning after a night on that Camden Hells and my head felt like I’d been drinking Special Brew in a park, all day. I don’t think it’s all that squeaky clean. Then when stories broke of Craft-Beer-big-bollox, Brew-Dog mis-treating their staff, it made me think of that pious man that runs Canada who keeps getting caught doing black-face. What if, SOME of this craft beer stuff, is actually bollox

In a similar way, all this can be applied to food - see vegan /organic / sour dough etc and of course, to my other favourite thing, football. I’m a Millwall fan and like most Milllwall fans, I know that being in the to- ten of the second-tier in English football, is a decent achievement and if we’re there, it means that we’re probably punching above our weight.

These days, with Man City’s brand of football being the zeitgeist, playing the ‘right way’ means having multiple players that are comfortable on the ball and can move and switch positions. Trouble is, the players that can do that, tend to cost a lot of money. Millwall, not having the financial resources of other teams, have had to rely a bit more on being stifling-boring and defensive or failing that, the trusted four-four-two, blood and guts method. Which is often considered archaic. But what if it works

I’ve sat through and endured many teams attempting to play the ‘right way’ and sometimes, they get no-where. What if, SOME of the proponents of the ‘right way’ are just, a bit shit - see poem below

THE EMPOPERS NEW FOOTBALL KIT

They say they play proper football

how the game should be played

passing the ball, from back to front

and back again, all one touch

like a slowed down pin-ball machine

gracefully pinging about the pitch

yet they never get out their own half

they don’t ever score, nor do they

ever win, but the crowd applaud and

the pundits praise, because they play

proper football, how the game

should be played

Mirror Moments

A few thoughts on signalling, with a poem at the end, called Weak Walking Shoes, originally uploaded on my Substack page, Lager Time, where you can listen to it as an audio piece

Mirror Movements by Paul Cree 2.11.21

Including the poem Weak Walking Shoes, at the very end of this    

One of the many reasons I enjoy writing, to borrow a cliché, is that it allows me to hold up a mirror to my own behaviour and by extension, others too, hopefully. When I think about this, there is one image that often flashes up in my mind, over and over again, reminding me of that particular reason.

It’s probably a compound of many memories, spent working in Waitrose as a teenager (and any other customer service type job I had, there was a few!) and witnessing some customer going ape-shit, at me, or some other hapless part-timer on the checkouts, over the condition of something relatively minor, like a tin of soup and inevitably demanding something in return for the pain of it; the attention of the senior management, a reduction in price etc. I call it the mirror moment.

Back then, I always used to think, that if you could pause-time in that moment, unfreeze that customer, like a drama improv-exercise and hand that angry customer, one of those little rectangular mirrors we used to use in school, l to measure light-angles or whatever, they could look at themselves in that moment, take a moment and hopefully think  ‘yea, maybe I’m being a bit of prick here.’

There are many more of these memories, people having overly-loud telephone barneys in pub lic, hyper-devout church attendees, out-singing everyone else and of course, the over-whelming vast array of behaviour-questioning memories that scrutinise my own actions, hence the poem in this post  but for some reason, it’s always that Waitrose one I return too; I don’t know why but I don’t suppose it matters all that much, it does the required job and encourages me to question to my own motivations.  

I guess where all this is leading too, is that in each of these examples, my amateur psychological guess, is that each person is signalling something, which may not exactly correlate with what they’re presenting, almost like they’re misleading us, the public, the audience, the viewers etc and it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like it, it’s dis-honest. Maybe honesty is in itself, a signalling thing but I still don’t like it.

In an age of social-media, this goes on a lot and yep, I’ve most certainly done it myself. I can’t turn on the telly, without some huge mutli-national corporate entity encouraging me to take up whatever moral-crusade they’re promoting, or more simply, some poet who just so happened to pen a poem on the day of some huge tragedy and immediately stuck it up on line and encouraged everyone to share it. I don’t like it.

Mirror moment, why are we doing this? And if we really knew why we were doing this, would we still be doing this? Mirror moment, why am I doing this? See below

Weak Walking Shoes

Back then I didn’t know many people into people into

outdoor pursuits, certainly not outside Ikon-Diva

Crawley’s premier late-night go-to in 01

gone 2am with a curb-side-view, scuffles on the

pavement, arguments in the kebab que

couple of times I put on a pair of clumpy walking

shoes, zipped up the ugly- fleece and attempted to

scale the moral high ground, preaching to my mates

below that fighting was an immature thing to do

Now I’m at an age, where, keep it down, yea but

I might actually enjoying walking and I might-possibly-

have considered purchasing a pair of ugly-arse walking

shoes, because they’re water-proof and comfy and …

listen, that kid my mates mate slapped that time, probably deserved it

mouthed off unprovoked, squared up, probably shirtless

and when push came to shove, I was probably deserting

knowing deep down, I lacked the right gear for that sort of pursuit

wrong sort of shoes

so I ascended hilly peaks and preached my views

convinced I was on higher ground like a

champagne-socialist one windfall

away from a super yacht cruise

Slow and Steady

This is a work-in-progress peice of writing about eating food, it’s up on my Substack page, Lager Time, where you can aslo listen to it as audio, have a listen HERE

Slow and Steady

My wife is helping me to slow down when I eat food and by proxy, control my impulses, which is exactly what I used to tell the year fours, every day, when I worked in Primary. They were nine, I’m thirty seven.

She tells me to chew twenty-times before I swallow this bite of a burger I’ve got in my mouth. I know also, that I should say a full sentence in my head, before I take the next bite. This burger is absolutely banging and at present, the concept of delayed gratification is a utopian pipe-dream. I want to murder this burger and leave no trace. When it comes to food, I’m Wolverine in full berserker-mode and this unhealthy habit of mine ‘aint going quietly, I’ve had a lifetime of practise, I’m hard wired for destruction.

Mealtimes as a nipper were difficult, I often couldn’t wait to finish. I hated the sound of people eating, knives and forks scarping on plates, food being chewed, grace and small talk. Mum and dad insisted we sat at a table most nights and eat the food mum made, hearty and simple. When mates came round for tea, they’d think I was posh, regardless of what was, or wasn’t, on the plate in front of them. Some of them had Sky TV and the Simpsons and they’d eat and watch at leisure.

I often acted-up at mealtimes, testing my dads stern authority, or I’d withdraw inside and say nothing. Most times I wanted to eat as quick as a I could, so I could resume playing football down the side of the house, on my own, enacting out games I’d conjured up in my head, continuing the long running football-saga I’d been developing over weeks and months.

Most days I’d polish my plate, double-lively, wash-up, then burn upstairs to continue playing whatever computer game I was into at the that time. As I got older, football and games were replaced by music and lyrics. it weren’t long before I had a full-time job, time was of the essence and food got in the way of creating. I leant to make basic meals, which required minimal amounts of cleaning-up and I stuck to that, though it was never quite that efficient.

Put a plate of food in front of me and I’d transform to that pack of wolves in a feeding frenzy and demolish the lot within minutes, often taking way more than I need and bloating myself out for the rest of the evening.

I like eating. Put a plate of food in front of me and a switch gets flipped. There’s this thrill in seeing it, smelling it, getting it all in my mouth. It’s like a fruit machine with every light flashing in double time, treble-cherries lasered onto my eyelids and every mouthful is a potential pay out It’s why I try to avoid buying those bigger bags of sweeties or crisps that are meant for sharing. As soon as that seal it’s broken I’m one-man-de-facto state primed for self-perseveration.

When I first met my wife, she was surprised that I rarely had food in the fridge or the cupboard and I’d be annoyed at the inquisition. Where’s the staples? Rice, bread, eggs. I bought food as and when I needed it, if I knew it was there food I’d be eating it. I had things to do that were more important to me than eating decent dinners. That slim window of post-work time was not to be wasted attempting recipes from glossy telly chefs

When we eventually got married, it hit me like a custard-pie in the face, how important to me my family was and by extension, my new family too. All those dinner times as kids, were daily practise matches preparing me for the bigger moments. I shunned them and it shows.  Which is why, I’m sat here now, at the kitchen table, summers evening, my wife, her parents and sister, and she’s having to help me learn how to eat.

Progress is slow, bumpy but mostly steady, it’s speed what did me before. Regardless of how fast I consume, this burger is still banging.  I’m slowly starting to reap the benefits, at the very least, I’m cutting down the belly aches and the gas leaks, that’s a start.

Being shit at something is no longer an excuse

WINDOW DRESSING

Yesterday, Friday 5th February, 2021, was a busy day at Cree HQ. I released a self-produced new single with a B-side, with artwork that I made myself and stuck the thing up on Bandcamp. I released the first video in a little series I’m doing which includes material from the new show. I lit, filmed, edited, and uploaded it myself. Sounds, alright, yea?

REALITY

The songs aren’t mixed very well (you can hear my breathing too much on the first track.) Apart from putting links up on my social media platforms, I’ve done zero PR for it (I don’t really know where to start with that.) The artwork, I made myself on GIMP- it’s very, very simple. There’s a fault line that I don’t know how to get rid of on the main image. With the video, I’ve got way too much light on my face and the sound isn’t great, nor is the delivery in the performance. Basically, it’s all pretty shoddy. Whilst there are certainly a few improvements that I know I can make, it largely shows the extent of my limited skillset, when it comes to putting out my own content.

Exhibit A: My wife said ‘I don’t get it?’ - well, good art gets people talking.

Now, apart from writing the words used in both the music and video, I probably wouldn’t have bothered doing any of the above, not so long ago, due to knowing that I’m not very good at doing those things; also known as, being shit.

There’s been many examples, over the extent of my 37.6 years on this planet, where I’ve given up far too easily. The reasons for this vary but the one that most frequently caused me to stop doing whatever was it was I was trying to do, was being shit at whatever that thing was. It’s shit being shit. I’m sure we all know that.

SIDENOTE

I need to stress here (out of insecurity? Ego? Pride? I don’t know?) that it’s not the case for everything. The fact that I’m sitting here, writing this blog post, follows a trajectory (which I’ve talked about, a lot) from MCing and rapping, in my late teens, to all this other writing stuff now. I was shit at MCing, for a long time and have the tapes to prove it (confidence also plays part in this but I’m not using that as a full excuse, I was shit, mate) but I stuck with it and low and behold, here I am - with a website and a few shows and other cool things under my belt. Well done me for not giving up.

SHIT EXAMPLES

I’ve been shit at a lot of things. I essentially wrote a show about being shit at school (amongst other things), which turned into this new show (which I’m currently writing) which is about (amongst other things) being shit at the jobs I was doing.

Some of the things I wasn’t able to give up, like school for instance, to the extent that I had to be there, by law but most of my efforts, in the last few years of it were reduced to doing the absolute bare minimum, which is probably worse than giving up. With most of the jobs, I needed to earn a living and didn’t want to be sacked, so I still turned up but again, minimal effort in a lot of cases (though, not all.)

There were somethings, I at least for a period, tried hard with, like Maths and French but just couldn’t my head around them, so I gave up. Cleaning was another, I was normally knackered after a shift, hoovering, scrubbing and wiping but I was still shit at it.

However, so many other things, from that Basketball team I trained with for a brief period, to applying for numerous jobs and opportunities, where I just think, I’m shit at this, so what’s the point in continuing? and resign myself to misery and give up.

This attitude has definitely flowed into my work as a creative person. First and foremost, I see myself as a lyrics man, I deal with words and I perform those words. However, there’s many things I’ve attempted, within the world of being an artist, like funding applications and making your own artwork, producing my own music, that I’ve been shit at and just given up, or not even bothered to attempt it, once I’d established I was shit at it.

So where’s that got me? Not that far, that’s for sure. Most of the things that I have done, which went well, which required skills like: funding, artwork, producing, mixing, engineering, filming, editing - were done by people who knew what they were doing, making me a very fortunate young man; because they probably wouldn’t have happened if it was just me in charge  

Of the things that I’m proud of, most of them involved me getting off my arse and making something happen, whilst transcending or ignoring that negative-mindset, that whatever it was, it was going to be shit.

POSITIVE SHIT

I wrote a blog a while back, about the Just A Name mixtape, that I made in 2007. That project came out of a frustration, that I wasn’t able to record and put out my own music, all I had was an ever increasing pile of lyrics, with no music to rap them over. So with the help of my brother Will and my mate, Mit, I learnt just enough on Logic, saved up a bit of dough, bought some basic kit and done the damn thing myself (apart from the mixdown, hold tight Keeper.) Even going to open mics to read my poems, I’d say I was shit at that but I kept it up and got reasonably competent at it.

Whilst I’m pleased with the things that I have achieved, there’s been a whole load of stuff that I haven’t, far too much, in fact, because I made an excuse for myself and gave up. It’s bollox.

Circa 2007, some early Cree. A perm marker was used and then scanned, by a printer/scanner that did’nt realy print or scan.

YOU CAN DO IT, ALL YOU NEED IS…

I’m not trying to sound like one of those self-help guru’s here but that attitude has held me back and I feel stupid for doing so. I think it also masks, on my part, a laziness, risk aversion and a fear of what other people will think. The times where I haven’t been lazy or risk-averse, have led to good things, mostly. So more of that, yea.

In an ideal word, I’d have proper people doing the artwork, the PR, the filming, the funding and I’d just concentrate on my bit, writing and performing but I don’t, none of that is financially viable right now. What I do have, is some good people willing to help me, access to WIFI, a bit of equipment and an account with Udemy and You Tube, so I’m able to at least get some of these little projects finished, to whatever standard and get them out there. The best bit is, I’m slowly improving at the things I mentioned at the start (I can now do a lot more than this time last year) and I get those little dopamine hits, whenever I learn how to do something new, which is a good feeling, even if what I’ve just done is a bit shit; like the artwork on my new track.

So long as I accept the starting point of being shit, at writing funding applications, mixing music, filming, editing, making artwork but acknowledge that I’ll probably improve, if I keep doing it, then I’m onto a winner, mate.

So what I think all this means is, that the real shit thing here in all of this, is doing nothing at all and giving up. It’s shit, being shit but even shitter if you don’t do shit, when you want to get shit done. ‘Eff that, I’ve already wasted to much time, I’ve got work to do.

Peas and taters

Paul