Floating. River. Dug Out Canoe. (22/5/14)

Okay. Can anyone tell me how I've had 250 page views in the last two days when I've not written anything in over a week? I'm somewhat confused by this turn of events. Is somebody posing as me to post pieces and if so are they doing a better job than me? I worry about these things. Not to the point of staying awake at nights obviously but in that way that small creeping doubts edge in. It's a lack of control thing; how can my blog have an existence without me? Have I created some monstrous artificial intelligence or has my blog somehow found itself intertwined with our Tom's?

If the latter then some of you will be really confused - I've read Tom's blog, it's pure stream of consciousness.

I didn't intend to be here today, I basically popped by just to use you all as guinea pigs. I've written myself into a corner of sorts. I'm writing a sitcom - comments to yourself on that one please - a six parter, a nice, sweet, gentle rom-com. The whole thing's plotted, start to finish. Every episode is broken down into its constituent beats and I nailed two drafts of the first episode in three days so started on episode two today.

And that's where I blocked. Not in the mood. Forcing it to try and get anything on the page. The dialogue doesn't flow, the characters won't do as they're told. It's all just churning. So I've 'broken state' and I've come here to talk at you in order to try and get some kind of rhythm going again. Plough through the words, plough through them, try and get speed, try and get flow. It's either that or give up completely and look at guitars that I'll never buy on e-bay. It's a peculiar version of OCD.

Anyway, through pure ego and the fact that I feel the need to prove to myself that I'm always right about everything I'm currently listening to the Spotify Playlist put together for day 200 of last year's blog - not put together by me obviously (that would require effort and some kind of attention span); kudos to Sarah Carter for doing the work on that one.

An aside - as ever - at this point; I've just realised that my best work comes when I just splurge. I'm not claiming that this is my best work, just that I'm better if I don't try to put structure and method into my stuff. I think that I may well be Jack Kerouac. Or just too influenced by having read On The Road when I was 17/18. Which is probably the best time to read it in fairness.

The list then. The playlist. 'Abandon' came on. 'Abandon' by 'That Petrol Emotion', the band that the Undertones became after Feargal did one. I'm not going to break down the song or why it's there or how the rest of the playlist went (although it has been bloody magnificent - Jet Fighter by The Three O'Clock, Mountains by Prince. Mountains, what a frigging chooooon. Nick Cave's deathly cover of Pulp's 'Disco 2000' and now Tears For Fears 'Everybody Wants To Rule The World which is utter genius as far as pop goes)

Anyway again) 'Abandon'. A State classic from back in the day when The State was the single greatest night out that Liverpool has ever seen, from back in the days when me and J were first going out together, from the days when it was the first place that we really talked, the first place that we danced, the moment that we actually really, truly met. You can't get those nights back. Can you?

There have been State reunions over the years but they were always the reunions of the bad years, the years when we'd stopped going, the acid house years and yes, they played 'Love Can't Turn Around by Farley Jackmaster Funk when we were still going and we loved it, I loved it but on the whole I utterly detested acid house. I don't do drugs, there's no point to music that needs, absolutely needs, drugs in order to make any sense if you don't do drugs so clubbing days ended at that point. There had been rumours that the club itself had been used once or twice but on the whole it had been a vacant (if extremely grand) unit for the longest time.

J was working over the road from it a while back, saw activity, saw a camera crew. Peaky Blinders using it (it's a huge, grand, antiquated ballroom) for filming. She considered asking the guys on the door if she could have one last look inside and then moved on.

Then there was an advert. On Facebook. One night only. Beginning of July. A proper State reunion, playing the good stuff up until 1am and then the pure dance until 3 once we truly old people have gone home to our Horlicks and big slippers.

So I told J. J, being a woman, is far more sensible than I am. Thought we might be too old for this kind of behaviour, too old for pretending we can dance all night, pretending that we are still in our twenties (Christ, when we met I was only just in my 20s, J was 19), that it wasn't a good idea.

I, being immature, thought it was the single greatest idea that I'd ever heard (although I do think that at least five times a day) and looked for a way to convince my wife of the strength of my argument.

"I'll see if Mally's up for it."

Facebook pause.

"Mally's up for it."

So. On the 5th of July, despite the fact that I clearly am too old, far too old, for one night only I intend to be 23 again and dance to Big Audio Dynamite and The Pogues and The Bunnymen and Loyd Cole and King Trigger and That Petrol Emotion and The Smiths. Until my arthritis and asthma convince me that I might want to sit down for a while. And then I'll start all over again.

Obviously you're all invited (yeah, haven't told J that bit yet, only just thought of it but it'd be a hell of a night out) I'm not paying though.

Apparently you can go home again.