Venusberg | That's not your heart, it's a piece of helicopter casing

Monday, August 26, 2002

The long weekend has been insanely long - five days, which is longer than a fair few holidays I have had.

I know I should have achieved more. But time spent in bed is rarely wasted. Besides, two days in Brighton and going out with Matt, Ben, Andy, followed by a momentous decision on Saturday can't be all idleness...

Although if I hear the entire dialogue track from the trailer to The Comedian repeated one more time, I am going to arse myself to death. With a shovel.

Anyway, yes, momentous decision. I've been going through some changes in the last year. I've learned a lot about myself. About love. About pain. About the dangers of putting spray cheese canisters up your nose. And, as we reach the end of that long, strange ride, I am realising that it's time to make a change. Time to change something in my life.

My name is Dan, and on Saturday afternoon, encouraged but by no means coerced by the lovely Anna, I bought a pair of jeans.

I know, it seems so strange, so wrong. Smoky campfires on the Yukon trail. Cattle-wrangling. Combining stonewashed blue jeans with an Esso tiger T-shirt for a night of violence in Loughborough town centre.

And yet. And yet. Compared to my usual range of Trousers from the Future(tm), and the array of overlapping security features, airbags, glove compartments and utterly pointless little Helmut Langisms, they are just so comfy. Plus, they are at least one step back towards having a black wardrobe.

I was talking to somebody on Thursday who pointed out that there were two basic goth aetiologies:

1) "You don't become a goth. You're born a goth, and then it's just a question of how soon you can get the lifestyle."

2) "One day you look around your wardrobe and think 'Gosh! I no longer have any clothing that isn't black."

I seem to have been doing the exact reverse of (2). Where at 16 my clothes were a tenebrous treat, I have strayed so far into muted colours that the good old days of never needing to check what matched what when, why and with whom seem a distant dream. Well, god damn it, I'm going to take it back. I'm going to take it all back. And pray to God I don't end up looking like the ginger Simon Cowell.

Where's a good place to get back in black? Tell me.

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