Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

Last night I received a message from God. “I’m glad you’ve learnt your lesson,” he/she/it wrote. Well God probably didn’t actually write it himself, he probably just barks instructions to an angel or something. Maybe that’s why the bible is full of odd contradictions and weirdness, because the angel is deaf, what with all the blasting trumpets, constant harp playing, and having the voice of the almighty ringing in your ears all day long. The most famous example of God being too lazy to write was the ten commandments, which Moses wrote on God’s behalf on tablets, by which I mean tablets of stone rather than Ipads, which would have been a lot more impressive and helped convert a lot more people.

“I am the god of Kindle Fire, and I bring you … the ten commandments. Oh, and I’ve also installed the Angry Birds game for you too, for I am a benevolent God. And don’t worry about the killing. I know I said thou shalt not kill, but that doesn’t include virtual fictitious birds killing virtual fictitious pigs. However, if I catch any of you coveting any virtual fictitious oxen, I’ll smite you down. For as well as being a benevolent God, I am also a weird and confusing God.”

At first, I was rather taken aback by what I was reading: an actual message from God. But after a good half an hour of thinking, a thought began to niggle me: how did I know it was really God? Granted, the name of the commenter was God, but doubt was starting to creep into my head. Perhaps it was an imposter. They could have just typed God in the name field.

I was in a bit of a quandary, unsure of how to react. If I replied to this message by challenging the identity of the sender, then if it was God he might fly up in anger and smite me. But if I responded to the message piously and it turned out not to be God, then he’d have me for worshipping false idols, thus breaking one of his commandments. I couldn’t ignore the message and not respond, because as God admits in the ten commandments, “I am a jealous God”, which seems a bit ridiculous really, given that he lists envy as one of the seven deadly sins. So not replying wouldn’t work, as God would see that I was replying to other people and ignoring him, incurring his jealousy.

Then I had an incredibly clever plan. I called my dad and asked him what he thought I should do. Whatever my dad suggested, I would accept implicitly, without question. I figured that this might help protect me against God’s wrath if he saw that I was making an effort to live by his rules, even if I had to break one of them by my response. I’d honoured my father, which I hoped might count in my favour if I upset God by my reply. It’s useful to have points in the bag, just in case.

My dad’s suggestion was to challenge God in order to make sure it was definitely him. I thanked him for his time (I hope you took note of that God) and proceeded to type my response to the message sender who claimed to be God.

I asked the sender to prove that they were really God by telling me what I was about to eat for tea, something which an omnipotent and omnipresent God would have no trouble whatsoever in answering. But no response came. And so I think I’ve proved that the message was in fact sent by an imposter.

So I think I handled that whole situation very well indeed. But then I went and buggered everything up. I couldn’t help myself. I was just taking the rubbish out, when I saw my neighbour’s wife, and before I could stop myself, I started to covet her. I’m extra concerned because my neighbour is a bit of a lazy slob who gets his wife to do all the work around the house, while he just sits on his arse all day. So you could argue that as well as being my neighbour’s wife, she’s also my neighbour’s female servant, which means I’ve broken two commandments in one coveting session. Fortunately, my neighbour’s donkey is really smelly and so there’s no chance of me coveting that, which avoids me scoring a coveting hat-trick. Don’t worry, my neighbour won’t be reading or listening to this, as he’s far too lazy.

Apparently, in order to signify God’s ten commandments being delivered, God brought about a series of earthquakes, sent plumes of smoke into the sky and gave a blast on a trumpet, which seems like a lot of hard work for very little reward. How are people meant to know what the earthquakes, smoke and trumpeting is all about? And what the heck was the point in a trumpet? Most people would be too busy running away from the fire and falling rocks to stop and listen to a trumpet solo, even if it is a trumpet solo from the almighty. Far better for God to have had the foresight to introduce social networking to the planet a few thousand years earlier, which would have also made the tablets a lot more useful.

It also seems a bit rich and stupid to set things ablaze and cause deathly earthquakes as the precursor to instructing people that they shouldn’t kill. I think God could have done with attending a leadership course.

“OK guys, so we’re looking at effective leadership and how best to get your message across to people, and make them want to follow you. So come on guys, stick your ideas key in the engine of potential, start the ignition of innovation as we fly this aeroplane of success into blue sky thinking. Hmm, I like that, I’ll have to write that down; that’s a good one for my book. So come on guys, what do we think? Ideas. Ah, it’s God. What have you got for us God.”

“Stop taking my name in vain.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying your name. So what’s your thoughts.”

“If you want to get your message across, I find the best way is to precede your message with a series of earthquakes, a generous helping of smoke, and a little bit of a blast on the old trumpet.”

“Well, that’s certainly a novel approach God.”

“Stop taking my name in vain.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying your name.”

“You’re saying it far too casually, suggesting a level of vainness.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, for I am a forgiving God.”

“Good. Interesting suggestions, but I was thinking more along the lines of having a solid social networking presence. Are you on Twitter or Facebook, God?”

“I am omnipresent, so I am within all Twitter and Facebook accounts.”

“Well, that’s as may be, but do you have a Twitter or Facebook account of your own,God/”

“No, I prefer to communicate through the medium of stone.”

“Stone?! You mean you don’t have a social network presence at all?”

“Well, no. Never saw the point in it myself, when there’s plenty of stone around, and I’ve got the old trusty trumpet. Oh, actually, Mary did get me set up on Bebo.”

“Good god. Right, let’s take a break.”

“You definitely took my name in vain that time.”

Anyway, the good news is that there is no God news, as it was not God who commented on yesterday’s Dollop, meaning that I shall continue with this project. And so I will be back tomorrow for Dollop 49.

Download the audio version of Today’s Dollop

Last Sunday I had planned to do some stand-up. One of the reasons for doing David’s Daily Digital Dollop is to help create ideas that I could then use for stand-up comedy. I decided to perform my Richard Dawkins’ death material from Dollop 7 as a piece of stand-up. I’d linked all the various elements together and came up with some new ideas. I was pretty happy with what I’d got. I thought it had the potential to be funny, although I was massively nervous and unsure about how it would go down, being very new and unconfident about stand-up.

I had a few hours before I needed to set off, and so I thought I’d just do a quick look on the Internet to see if I could find anything else about Richard Dawkins that I could maybe add to what I’d already got. Something I read might spark an idea.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

After my Dollop from last Thursday in which I talked about the challenges of writing daily while on the road, Jools commented saying, “would it help if the Dollops were smaller?” This, incidentally, is the very same Jools who upset my poltergeist friend, who had kindly started writing some of these Dollops for me, helping to lighten the load, and so I think it’s a bit rich of her to try and offer solutions.

Also her suggestion tapped into my paranoia. Was this her anti-encore? The equivalent of the audience shouting “less, less!”? If these Dollops were shorter, then it would probably mean that I’d write the same amount, but just have to think about which bits to edit out, which would take even more time. I do edit things out, but I don’t really want to be too harsh with the editing, as I might end up deleting something that will maybe fuel an idea somewhere down the line. This exercise is as much about me learning and getting better and more creative, and also having the resilience and staying power to write everyday, regardless of obstacles. But this is not just about my resilience and staying power, it’s about yours as well. The question is: can you hadle it, Jools?

Also, if I started out with a view to writing less, most of the ideas that are generated wouldn’t ever occur because I’d reach 600 words and just stop. This would mean that I’d have to decide on a subject before writing, which often doesn’t happen. I quite like the fact that I can start out writing about one subject, but then the subject will completely change during the writing process, or by discovering something on the Internet while fact checking what I’ve written. Because when it comes to David’s Daily Digital Dollop, factual accuracy is paramount; and that’s a fact.

The Dollop about the Beastie Boys forum is a good example of when an Internet search mid-Dollop-writing can completely change the subject. One minute I was writing about the search results that come up when you type “David Eagle blind”, into Google, and then I became interested in one of the search results which was a post on the Beastie Boys forum, and so I started writing about that, which then led to a discussion of arse wiping. If I made the Dollops smaller then that kind of thing would never happen. And you surely wouldn’t want to be deprived of that kind of quality subject matter, Jools?

However, if you are concerned about the amount of time it’s taking you to digest these Dollops (and this reply won’t be helping you there, sorry), then you could probably find a tool on the Internet that will strip out all the conjunctions, and maybe reduce any longer words into their shorter equivalents. You’d probably still be able to understand what I was writing, and it would save you about thirty seconds a Dollop, which may not seem like much, but over time would accumulate and save you quite a bit.

There’s an auto-summarising tool online here that will allow you to paste in any text and choose how much you want the summariser to cut out. The default is 50 %, but you can change this number depending on how pressed for time you are. Unfortunately, it tends to ruin any jokes, because it often seems to take out the first part of the joke and just leaves the punchline. But you could then play a fun game of trying to guess the first part of the joke on the basis of the punchline, which would add an extra level of entertainment to the Dollops, without having to read 50 % of them, saving you time and improving your level of creativity in the process. Perhaps you’ll discover that you’ve thought of better openers to the jokes than I have, and you’ll eventually start your own blog which will be inspired by your guesses on my blog posts based on only reading 50 % of them. Unfortunately, if you’ve already started using the auto-summariser to read the rest of this Dollop, then there’s a 50 % chance that you won’t be reading any of this bit.

Most people seem to access the Dollops in their audio form, presumably because they find my voice arousing, plus I’m taking them into some rather exciting locations; yesterday I recorded from the Unthanks dressing room and a disabled toilet, reading the Dollop while sat on the loo. The blog posts take me about five to ten minutes to read. I think that is quite a good amount of time to explore an idea.

The archers is about twelve minutes a day, and that’s one of the most popular daily podcasts out there. And that’s full of padding; a lot of it is just farmyard ambience. I’m sure that if Archers listeners had a tool that could remove the bits in the soap where there’s just the sound of a cow mooing or a sheep bleating, then they would get back quite a lot of their lives.

If you are a Dollops podcast listener then you could save yourself up to 75 % of your listening time by using an App such as the Podcasts App on Apple Devices, which has a function to speed up the podcast up to 75 % faster. Unfortunately, I don’t think it has a tool to take out the sound of cows mooing, which is a shame because that would save you even more time, although, what that cow was doing in the disabled toilet is anyone’s guess. Still, it came in handy; well, we all have our ways to relax after a hard day’s work..

Anyway, thank you to Jools and everyone who reads and listens to these Dollops. The numbers have not dropped off, and are steadily increasing, so hopefully that’s an indication that the project is working. Tomorrow I will write something less self-referential. Today’s Dollop was just going to be a four line limerick, until I saw Jools’ comment, so if you found this too long then address your complaints to Jools. A couple of weeks ago she insulted my dead friend, and now she’s making snide remarks about the size of my Dollop – insert your own smutty punchline here, if you feel that way inclined.

This Dollop consists of a couple of songs, especially for Valentine’s day.

Download here

Happy Valentine’s day. Back tomorrow.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

I was tempted, knowing that we’d be asked the same questions by the seven BBC local radio stations we were on yesterday, to give a different answer to the one same question. I could then take recordings of all the interviews and play our different answers back to back for today’s Dollop. But perhaps this wouldn’t have been taking our PR campaign very seriously. Plus, I realised that the time and effort it would take me to visit each radio station’s website, find the show and time that we were broadcast and then edit all the clips together, would probably be ten times more labour intensive than writing a blog post. And it’s not that you’re not worth the time and effort, it’s just that I’m not sure the idea would have really been worth potentially destroying our relationship with BBC local radio for.

If it was commercial local radio then that might be different. I could take a look at each radio station’s sponsors and advertisers beforehand, and then deliberately work their rival businesses into my answer.

“So, how did you meet?”

“Well, it all started in Costa Coffee. That’s where we first met on that magical day. We were all ordering one of their delicious and affordable coffees, and there’s just something about their drinks that promotes a feeling of sociability and an atmosphere of positivity, as if the place is bristling with possibility. All these factors, which I think are synonymous with the Costa Coffee outlets, just created the perfect environment for the three of us to start chatting, and we decided that we should be in a folk group together. I know this sounds fantastical, but that’s the power of Costa Coffee, to make incredible possibilities a reality.”

“Ah, well that’s a great story guys, but I’m sure that the same thing would have happened if you’d all been in Starbucks, which personally I find to be a much better establishment.”

“Well, it’s interesting you should say that, because we realised afterwards that the three of us had actually been in Starbucks at the same time on about ten separate occasions, and strangely, we never spoke. But it was just something about the atmosphere and coffee brewed by Costa that brought the three of us to speak to each other, and that’s when the magic happened. Amazing really. So I suppose that sort of proves scientifically that Costa is better than Starbucks.”

“Well … er … well, not, as, such, because I actually have my planning meetings for this show in Starbucks, and I think that the atmosphere and coffee of Starbucks has led to making my show what it is.”

“I’m not sure you’re helping your case here.”

“no, I am, because we’ve had some great ideas in Starbucks. It was in Starbucks that I had the idea to do a mystery voice competition. It’s quite ingenious, we play a clip of a celebrity talking, and people have to ring in and say who they think it is. And it was also in Starbucks, taking a sip of one of their excellent cappuccinos, that I had the idea to do a mystery sound competition. So, for instance, we might play a mooing sound, and people then ring in to guess what it is. And then when someone says cow, we give them a free pencil. Oh shit, I’ve just given away the answer to the competition. And now I’ve just said shit. Fuck, they’re going to sack me! Fuck, and now I’ve just said fuck. They’re definitely going to sack me!”

“Well, if I were you, I’d get yourself to Costa Coffee where you’re almost certain to meet your next boss who’ll offer you more money to work on a better radio station.”

u“Well, actually, now that I’m going to get fired from here anyway, I have no qualms in recommending Costa, in spite of the fact that we’re sponsored by Starbucks. I shall take your advice. Thank you so much David. I think you’ve really helped me. I was wanting to get out of this shithole and work somewhere else, so you’ve saved my bacon. And when it comes to bacon, then you really should get yourself to Thompson’s Butchers, located on the highstreet opposite the … No, hang on, what am I doing? I don’t need to say this shit anymore. Thompson’s is terrible. They put hideous amounts of water and chemicals in the meat. Haha, this feels great! I feel free! I can do whatever I like. Right, well I was meant to play Simply Red at this point, but sod that, here’s Cradle Of Filth. Haha, I’m free! Thank you, thank you so much David!”

“No problem, although, I’ve just been thinking, and I’ve remembered that actually it was Starbucks where we met, not Costa. The magic happened in Starbucks.”

When we first started, I used to record every interview we did, but now we do so many that I’ve given up bothering. It’s not as if I’m going to listen to these years in the future, and if there ever is a point where I get a sudden urge to listen to our interview of thirty years ago on BBC Radio Merseyside, then something has gone terribly wrong with my life.

I’ve been writing this blog post in The Young’uns’ van, although it has not been as difficult as I thought it was going to be yesterday. It’s been hard writing a blog post at 630 in the morning after four hours of sleep, but Michael has travelled separately in his car because he is seeing his girlfriend afterwards and therefore travelling a different route back, meaning that I’ve actually had some space to write.

The audio versions of these on-the-road blogs should make for interesting listening, as they are likely to be recorded from some rather odd environments. Yesterday I recorded sitting on cross legged on some stairs between dressing rooms, with the laptop on my lap, my Braille display on top of that, and my digital recorder positioned on top of that. People kept walking past me wondering what on earth was going on. At one point my blog reading was interrupted by Adrian from the Unthanks who decided that he fancied a chat. But I hope that these weird locations and odd interruptions will make for an interesting listening experience, rather than an annoying one. To be honest, the interruptions were probably more entertaining than the actual written content I was reading.

I finished editing the audio up until a minute before going on stage, and then uploaded the podcast and published the blog to the website during the interval, which was a close thing given Middlesbrough Town Hall’s slow WIFI. But I managed to get everything online for about 930. But this challenge is just as much a practical one as a creative one, as I am at the mercy of WIFI access. If I can’t get online at our gig in Manchester then the podcast version won’t be uploaded until after midnight, when I’m back home in Sheffield. So far I’ve managed to publish both audio and written versions everyday for 43 days. Maybe if there isn’t any WIFI at the gig I could pop into a starbucks, or a Costa, I don’t mind and I don’t really drink in either of them, but I am happy to use them for their WIFI.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

It’s just gone 8am and I’m on the bus, heading to Middlesbrough for four hours of radio interviews. I used to regularly write blog posts on the bus when I did a daily commute to and from work, which involved a two hour journey each way. At that time, I think that this was one of the things that was keeping me sane, which is somewhat ironic given the absurd, crazy, ridiculous nonsense that I was writing about.

I am not properly awake yet. I am struggling to keep my eyes open, which granted isn’t really as much of an issue as it would be for most people. I read an article once that suggested that the brain could be at its most creative first thing in the morning; Something about still being in the alpha brain wave frequency, but don’t rely on me to be your science oracle. The disadvantage of writing blog posts on the bus is that I don’t have the same access to the Internet as usual, meaning that I can’t do some cursory Internet research, and then write about a subject as if I was an expert on that thing. These on-the-road Dollops have the potential to out me for the ignorant idiot that I am. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of proving the study correct. I feel tired and my brain is foggy, although in fairness to the study, the test conditions were probably rather diffferent to this environment. I doubt any experiments relating to this idea took place on a freezing bus that’s been stopped at the same bus stop for fifteen minutes with the door open, because we’re ahead of schedule, which I think potentially would have put a different spin on the results.

It’s odd to consider, given how I feel now, that in about 90 minutes, we will be squatting in a cupboard singing. If you didn’t read or listen to yesterday’s Dollop, don’t worry, this is not some odd kinky thing I’m going to be getting up to; it’s just that the radio studio is the size of a tiny cupboard and there’s only one microphone, set on the desk at a fixed height, which the three of us have to squat at in order to sing.

Still, as grumpy and tired as I’m feeling right now, deep down I know that I am very lucky. I was speaking to a friend last night who works as a nurse and had just come off a thirteen hour gruelling shift, and she has to do the same today. It’s a thankless task much of the time, with worried family members of patients taking their frustrations and fear out on the you, not to mention people dying on you, which very rarely happens when we gig, apart from when Michael unwisely strives for that high note. But it’s clear that we have it easy in comparison. Although, you could argue that our jobs do tie in together. Someone dies on the ward, and we come along, see if they’ve done anything that we could write a folk song about. There’s nothing like a dead person with a story to get Sean’s heart racing, although hopefully not
racing at a speed that would require him to need a nurse. At which point, another folk songwriter would be set to standby in case they needed to write a ballad about Sean. Although has he really done anything of note to write a ballad about? Whereas me, on the other hand: people will be singing ballads about my harrowing 365 consecutive daily blogging project for centuries.

“Is it true granddad? What they sing about? Is it all really true?”

“Aye lad. Just type David Eagle Blind into Google and you’ll find him. I remember my dad reading David’s Daily Digital Dollop to me every bed time. My favourites were his stories about his kettle. I’ll never forget the day when he read me David’s Dollop called, Young Hungarian Fat Gay Boys And watery Cat Faeces. That was a real right of passage. He read it to me, and said, “you’re a man now son, a real man”. But you’re a bit too young for that one. Maybe when you’re six.”

Tomorrow we set off to Manchester from Hartlepool at 630 in the morning. We’re doing a singing workshop between 10 and 3, and then heading to play a gig in Manchester on the evening. So it’ll be another early morning writing session for me as I try to type up the Dollop in the van on the way to Manchester. This will be somewhat of a physical and spacial challenge, as our van doesn’t afford the three of us much room. In order for whoever is driving to change gear, they have to put their hand between the legs of the person next to them, or at least that’s what they tell me anyway. There is also no elbow space between the two passengers, and so it will be nearly physically impossible to type, not to mention trying to find the energy and inspiration to write at 630 in the morning, after only a few hours sleep the night before. I also need to find somewhere to record the audio version. But, when I took on this challenge I knew that these issues would exist. My challenge is to write, record and publish a blog post and podcast everyday, regardless of how busy we are and any practical problems. And if that means elbowing Sean or Michael repeatedly in the ribs then so be it. They should consider it an honour to be physically abused for such a noble and important reason.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

Tomorrow will probably pose the greatest challenge so far to this consecutive daily blogging project. I will be spending the first half of the day in a cupboard. I am not attempting some kind of highly watered down, poor man’s David Blaine stunt, whereby I spend four hours in a cupboard without food or water. I shall be joined in the cupboard by Michael and Sean, from my folk group The Young’uns. The cupboard is situated in the building that houses the radio station BBC Tees, and has been optimistically labelled a studio by the people at the station. It is tiny, can barely fit the three of us in, and has very rudimentary technology.

We’ve been in this cupboard before. There is only enough room for two chairs. There are only two sets of headphones and one microphone. We’ve even performed songs in this cupboard, which involves the three of us squatting at the microphone, very close to each other, while we attempt to sing in a very tight awkward space and position. That is what we shall be doing for four hours tomorrow.

We are doing a series of interviews from this one cupboard for a number of different BBC local radio stations. We will be put in the cupboard and then basically left to our own devices for four hours. A phone will ring on the desk, and upon pressing a button on the tiny unit, we will be connected to the radio station. We’ll then get asked a series of questions, perform a live song, squatting intimately together by the one microphone, with no previous level checks and with no idea how it’s actually sounding. When that interview is finished, we will then be disconnected from that station, the phone will ring again, we’ll press the button to answer, be put through to another radio station, get asked the exact same list of questions, have an intimate squat and a sing, be disconnected, and so the cycle continues.

We start with an interview on BBC Tees at 945 until 1030. At 1030 we are on Bbc Radio Lincs until 11. Then at 11, we get connected to BBC York, until 1130. At 1130 we are handed over to BBC Bristol. Then, straight after that we are contacted by BBC Radio Wiltshire. Immediately following this is a chat and a song with BBC Radio Merseyside, and straight after that, at 13:00, we are connected to BBC Cumbria. At 130 we finally exit the cupboard with a new perspective on life, decide that four hours squatting intimately in a cupboard with the same two people has pushed us to the brink, and consequently disband the group, therefore making the last four hours completely redundant.

If you’re a crazy person, then you could use the above list as a schedule and tune into all the shows. You’ll probably hear three people becoming audibly more and more insane with each passing interview.

We’ve had nearly two months off, and I feel as if I should have been spending that time mentally preparing myself for the moment that I spend four hours squatting in a tiny cupboard with the same two people, being asked the same questions over and over again. Perhaps I could have spent the time developing some technology that is able to do the interviews on our behalf. I could have fed all our answers to previous radio interviews into a computer, and then programmed the computer with a load of key words pertaining to each answer. When a presenter asks a question, the computer will check the list of key words and choose the most appropriate answer based on the best match. Given that I had a couple of months off, I’d probably have had time to make even more complex enhancements to the system, including programming the computer to detect the presenter’s intonation and inflection to register when a presenter might be making a joke, at which point the computer can choose from a series of Young’uns laughter clips, taken from previous interviews, ranging from mildly amusing up to side-splittingly hilarious.

This invention would save us the hassle of having to actually answer the questions. We could be sat outside the cupboard getting on with something else, and we’d only need to interrupt the Young’uns radio-interview-autopilot system if the presenter said something off the general script that the machine was struggling to find an appropriate response for. If such a moment occurred, the computer would then resort to playing out a series of hesitation clips until one of us came back into the cupboard and took over manual control. This hesitation collection would consist of a number of “er” sounds, “hmms”, throat clearings, and other miscellaneous filler sounds.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been spending my two months off on such a project, and so we’re just going to have to resort to the original plan of squatting in a tiny cupboard for four hours. If there are any engineers or computer programmers reading who fancy helping us develop this system, then feel free to get in touch.

After the four hours of radio interviews, we then have a meeting with an accountant. Following this we head to Middlesbrough town hall to do a sound check for the evening’s gig, our first gig of the year. I won’t get back home until about midnight, so I’ll be out all day, meaning that I’ll somehow have to write, read, edit and upload the audio and written versions of tomorrow’s Dollop during the day, in between all the various things that are scheduled. I started writing today’s blog post at 3 O’clock, and it’s now 4 O’clock. I could technically write another Dollop today, for tomorrow, and schedule it to be published for sometime the following day, but a part of me relishes the challenge of succeeding writing, recording and publishing on the road, plus I am too lazy to write any more today. If you are at the gig tomorrow and you see me typing on stage, then you know that things have gotten serious. I think that that might be a step too far, although it would be impressive if I could sing and type at the same time, perhaps typing in rhythm to what we’re singing. This would take multitasking to a whole new level.

Back tomorrow, definitely, even at the risk of being massively anti-social and possibly ruining a gig. At least I’m getting paid for this crazy venture though, hey? Oh, hang on … I am an idiot.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

Well, this has the potential to be a rather embarrassing Dollop. Last Friday The Young’uns got a message from someone saying that we’d been once again nominated for the Best Group category in the BBC Radio 2 Folk awards, which we won last year.

I am currently writing this Dollop on the train, heading back to Hartlepool to see the family (does this mean more David’s Daily Digital Dollop podcast jingles from my eleven-year-old niece Lucy? Possibly, but I cannot promise anything, so try and contain your excitement). I have scheduled this Dollop to be published at 8pm, which is after Mark Radcliffe will have announced the award nominations on the BBC Radio 2 Folk Show. So, I am just assuming that, by this time, we will have been officially declared as one of the nominated groups for Best Group, otherwise this will be rather awkward. I will be out by 8pm, and so if Mark Radcliffe doesn’t announce our name and it’s been a mistake, then there’s little I can do about it. Maybe I should have written an emergency Dollop just in case, about something completely different, and then, if it transpires that we’re not actually nominated, I could just publish that instead. But I like to live dangerously.

The last time I wrote a blog post on a train was a couple of years ago. I didn’t end up publishing the blog because I never completed it. That’s partly the reason for David’s Daily Digital Dollop; it will stop me half writing something and then never getting around to finishing and publishing it.

I was writing about the person who I was sitting next to on the train. They were listening to music from their mobile phone speaker, and singing along. The music they were listening and singing along to was awful, and it was completely ruining my concentration. Being unable to focus on writing what I was intending to write about, I instead wrote an impassioned rant about the annoying person sat next to me. Don’t worry, being blind I don’t need to have the laptop display turned on, and so I set it to be turned off by default, meaning that unless this person was able to read my fingers, they would have no idea what I was writing. And given the bilge they were assaulting their ears with, I don’t think there was any chance of them having the intelligence or ability to read what someone was writing by analysing them touch typing.

My rant started out admonishing this person for their irritating behaviour. Because I was angry with them, I chose to write the blog as if I was writing directly to them. I made quite a few assumptions about the person, formed purely on the fact that they were angering me, and were listening to mind-numbing shit. It was, in essence, a character assassination, based solely on her music choices and her gregarious behaviour. A lot of unfounded unflattering conclusions were leapt to.

After a good thousand words of insults, I then progressed to analyse my part in all of this. I realised that there was no chance that I would ever say anything to this person, as I would find it too awkward. Also I observed that this person’s singing was making me feel embarrassed. But why? I wasn’t the person singing. It was the person next to me. It was clear to anyone looking that I was not with this person. I hadn’t spoken to them at all during the journey, and I was minding my own business, typing; unless there was another blind person on the train, who mistook my typing for percussion accompaniment, and was getting pissed off with us both for disrupting his journey. But it was I, for some reason, who was feeling awkward, as if I was vicariously experiencing the awkwardness that the person next to me seemed unaffected by. I was being awkward on her behalf; awkward by proxy.

I then observed that one of the reasons for my frustration was because this woman’s attitude to life was so different to mine. I realised that her actions were niggling away at my own insecurities. There was no way that I would have the confidence to sing to music in public. I’d even feel uncomfortable if I caught myself nodding along. I realised that part of my annoyance was actually annoyance at myself for being too socially insecure and self-conscious. I wrote all this in the blog post, suggesting that maybe I could learn something from this woman, and that maybe I could view this situation as a catalyst to explore my own insecurities and social anxieties.

I was really getting into this blog post, typing very fast and writing quite a lot about this person and their actions. But then my focus was interrupted again by the woman getting up out of her seat and leaving. I assumed that she had just gone to the toilet. At least she wasn’t too socially unaware and unintimidated to ignore standard toilet protocol, choosing simply to just urinate in a bag.

I continued writing. But then, after twenty minutes the woman had not returned to her seat. It’s not as if she’d left her seat in order to get off the train. The train hadn’t stopped anywhere and we still had another ten minutes before the next stop. I was getting off at the next stop, and so decided to shut down my laptop and ready myself. As I glanced down at my laptop, I noticed that the screen was on. And then I remembered in horror that my brother had been using the laptop earlier that day, and so I’d turned the screen back on for him. Therefore, the screen had been on all the time, and I’d been typing invectives about the lady next to me and her annoying ways in full view of the very person I was writing about. But I wasn’t just writing about her; I was writing directly to her, aiming my words as if I was deliberately communicating my message to her, so it’s not as if she’d think that I was writing a blog post, but that I was deliberately addressing her, expecting her to read it. At one point she leant against me, and shuffled around a bit. That might have been to get a better view at the bile I was spouting about her. Of course, this leaning and shuffling had led me to up my insult quota even more. Ironically, I was writing about the fact that I was the kind of person who was too socially awkward and anxious to communicate my feelings to the person directly, although this is precisely what I was doing, albeit inadvertently.

There is a chance that her leaving her seat had nothing to do with me, but I’m pretty confident that it did. Of course, being the anxious and insecure person that I am, I felt terrible and guilty about it for ages afterwards.

So, if you’re on a train and you happen to recognise me, don’t come up to me and say hello, sit next to me, play some terrible music loudly from your mobile phone and sing along, while shuffeling against me. It will be my penance, and I shall have my sins absolved by it. It’s the only way to cure me of this guilt.

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Yesterday I mentioned that I’d been watching the BBC four documentary, The Brain, presented by Neuroscientist David Eagleman. One of the topics explored was sleep walking.

I can only recall a few occasions when I have sleep walked. The first was while at University. I woke up, finding myself stood up and noticed that the door to my bedroom in the halls of residence was closing behind me. By the time I’d properly comprehended what was taking place, the door had closed and automatically locked, leaving me on the outside of my room, standing in the corridor.

I checked my pockets for my keys to let me back in, and realised that I didn’t have any pockets. The reason for my complete lack of pockets was due to my complete lack of clothes. I was standing totally naked in the corridor of my halls of residence.

I was stunned, having no idea what on earth had just occurred and why. I’d never sleep walked before, so it’s not as if I’d had any past experiences to relate this to. But, despite my overwhelming confusion, this really wasn’t the time or the place to ruminate on what had just occurred.

I would have to visit the security building in order to get a new key, but that would involve a minute’s walk, and necessitate me going outside. I didn’t really fancy walking around the University grounds completely naked. Plus I’d have to somehow try and explain to the security staff what was happening rather quickly, lest they become freaked out by the fact that I’m walking towards them in the nude.

And how was I going to alert them? Walk through the grounds towards them shouting, “Warning, warning, I’m coming towards you and I’m naked.” And this wasn’t really much of an explanation. It’s not as if they’d hear me shouting about being naked and approaching them, and think, “I’m glad he warned us, otherwise that would have been a bit awkward lads.” I’d ideally want them to know the reason why I was approaching them completely naked, before I actually reached them.

Me shouting at the top of my voice that I was naked would surely attract more attention than just the security staff. I didn’t really want to wake up all the students in the University by walking naked through the grounds shouting about being naked. Naturally, people would open their windows and have a look. I’m not bragging here, suggesting that people would obviously want to enjoy this visual treat (they’re only human after all), I just mean that if they were woken up by shouting, they would be likely to open the window to see what was happening. I would need to be discrete, but at the same time be indiscrete enough so as to alert the security staff that I was naked, but not for any kinky reason, but simply because I’d locked myself out of my room. But I knew that this would have been impossible. They would probably see me coming way before they could hear anything that I was saying. They could pick me up on their cameras. They would just see a naked man walking towards them shouting.

So I couldn’t walk to the security building until I’d put some clothes on, but all my clothes were in my room which was locked. Perhaps I could find something in the corridor that would suffice to cover the essentials. Perhaps there’d be a curtain on one of the windows that I could take down and wear. You may think that this is completely illogical, but I’d just woken up, and what choice did I have? I needed something to wear, and with a complete absence of clothes, I would need to explore alternative options.

I took a step into the corridor, at which point the light came on. I stood, frozen in horror. Someone had come out of their room. The only reason the light would come on was if someone had activated it, and the only way to do that was by moving. And then I remembered that I had just moved, and thus it was presumably me who’d activated the light. Again, I was not thinking logically, I was in a panic, in an odd state of alertness, by which I am referring purely to my brain state; I was completely unalert as far as that part of me went, which was just as well really, otherwise that could make the situation even more awkward.

I tentatively tip-toed down the corridor, as quietly as possible, dreading that my antics might wake someone up who may open their door to investigate. I searched for curtains, but it was no use. There were some pull-down curtains that were currently open and consequently right at the top of the window. The only way I’d be able to get those down was by fiddling with the fastenings at the very top of the window. It was quite a large window, and so this would essentially mean that I’d have to stretch right up, standing on my tip-toes, in order to reach. This would not be an easy task, and would require me to stand tall and upright (again, not like that, I really wasn’t finding this arousing) in full view of anyone who might look in. I would essentially be putting myself on exhibition, standing in front of the window displaying myself in all my severe lack of glory. So, another plan thwarted.

The only way I was going to get some clothes was if I borrowed some from someone. I really didn’t want to do this, but I had no choice. I crept to the bedroom door of the person who lived next-door to me, Dan. I very quietly knocked on his door. I wanted to wake him up, but obviously didn’t want to awaken anyone else. It would be a rather awkward scenario if someone else heard the knocking, assumed it was someone knocking on their door, and opened the door to see me standing outside Dan’s door, completely naked. I therefore tried a knock that was hopefully loud enough for Dan to hear, but quiet enough so as not to rouse anyone else.

The knock elicited nothing. I knocked again, daring to knock a little louder. There was a pause, and then I heard some movement from the other side of the door. Had he heard? I pressed my ear against the keyhole. It sounded like he was getting out of bed. Brilliant, I was saved. He’d answer the door, I’d get some clothes from him and walk to the security building and get another … Hang on, what the hell was I thinking? Imagine what he’d think when he opened his door to see me standing their completely naked. Goodness knows how he’d react. If he shouted out in shock then it might wake others up who might come out of their rooms to see what the commotion is all about.

I needed to warn him about my physical state, before he opened the door. I could hear him getting closer to the door. At least I assumed that’s what I was hearing; my heart was beating so loudly that I couldn’t really tell. But I must act quickly. If he was up, then he’d be at the door in a couple of seconds. Our student rooms really weren’t palatial. It was important to keep my voice quiet, but loud enough so that he heard me. It was vital that he heard me, otherwise, goodness knows what would happen.

“Dan,” I began, my voice nervous and urgent. “I’m completely naked dan.”

There I’d said it. With a bit of luck he’d heard me, and now he’d know, so at least he wouldn’t be shocked. What do you mean, he wouldn’t be shocked David? “Dan, I’m completely naked”?! That’s hardly the most innocuous phrase in the world! What did I think was going to happen next? That he’d open the door, and say, “Oh, so you are. Thank goodness you warned me, otherwise I’d have been really freaked out. Well, you best come in. Fancy a drink? What have you been up to?”

And if he had said that then it would be me who was freaked out, and that would add another and very different dimension of awkwardness. I needed to quickly explain what had happened, before he opened the door.

I hurriedly tried to explain the situation through the keyhole. I then put my ear back against the keyhole and listened for a response. I heard the sound of a wardrobe opening and then closing. I then heard rustling and further movement. I think he may have understood and was getting some clothes for me. I still couldn’t be sure though. Perhaps he hadn’t heard any of what I’d said, and had just heard the knocking. Maybe he was just putting on some clothes before opening the door. Should I try and explain the situation again, just in case?

“Dan, just to warn you that I’ve been sleep walking, and woke up outside of my room, completely naked, and …”

The door opened.

“Yes I know, shut up, quick, get in, for god’s sake before someone sees!”

I stepped into his room, and the door closed behind us. He handed me some clothes, which I hurriedly put on, and then walked to the security building, got a spare key and let myself back in to my room. Fortunately, it hadn’t played out as badly as it could have done.

Apparently, there was a reported case of a woman in Australia who used to sleep walk, leave the house and have sex with complete strangers. Perhaps I’ll meet her in March. “Hey babe, are you currently experiencing a parasomnia episode caused by REM sleep behaviour disorder, or are you just pleased to see me? No, probably quite a difficult question to understand and satisfactorily answer if you’re having a parasomnia episode. Never mind, shall we crack on with the sex then?”

Another reported case involves a chef, who would get up in the middle of the night and cook food in his sleep. There is another case of a man who gets up during the night and produces surrealistic artworks in his sleep. Apparently he’d never had any artistic inclination before this started happening, and doesn’t have any artistic thoughts during the day. He has no recollection of creating the pieces of art, but simply discovers them upon waking the next day. He has had requests to exhibit his work in art galleries.

Damn these people. If only there was some way of programming my brain to get up in the middle of the night and create these Dollops, so that, upon waking, I find them to be done. But alas, the closest I’ve come to this was getting a poltergeist to help out at night, but unfortunately he’s gone now.

Back tomorrow. Hopefully you will join me, unless you’ve made the stupid decision to give David’s Daily Digital Dollop up for lent. But you’ll never succeed in that. Even if you manage it for a bit, your brain will programme itself to get you up during the night, read/listen to that day’s Dollop and then go back to sleep again. You cannot win. I am too addictive.

Download the audio verion here

Sometimes ignorance is bliss, and sometimes I take pride in being ignorant about certain things. I am happy about the fact that I don’t know the names of any of the contestants of the most recent series of X Factor, let alone who won it. I’d be hard pushed to give you a handful of names from previous series, although a few names have unfortunately managed to seep into my consciousness: Jedward, Leona Lewis, Susan Boyle … er … that’s not much of a handful really; except for the Susan Boyl element. Hahaha, that was a joke about Susan Boyle’s size, hahaha. I believe she is on the plump side, after all, that was one of the things she was famous for.

“She’s fat and ugly, let’s all hate her. Oh, hang on, she can sing. Oh, I’m confused now, I’m not sure how to react. Oh, this is a hard one. Do I laugh at her because she’s fat and ugly, or like her because she can sing? Oo, hang on, she’s crying. Aw. My emotions are all over the place here. Oh good, there’s a commercial break, I’ll go to the kitchen and pour myself another glass of wine and that’ll give me some time to think through this dilemma.”

I get upset and annoyed when some information about reality TV somehow finds its way into my brain, because I am proud to be ignorant about such things. But now and again I am betrayed by my friends and allies. I’m reading the Guardian and one of the articles will mention something about a contestant on some reality TV show, or someone on radio 4 will name some Z-list celebrity currently ensconced in a jungle, and I’ll feel hurt and betrayed, because I thought these were safe places.

And now I know this information, I know that I can never unlearn it. I’ll remember that for ever now, because the horror of suddenly having this information thrust at me unbidden, has created a heightened state of emotion, creating the perfect neurological environment to ensure that the memory is cemented. You are apparently more likely to retain information if it is learnt while you are in a heightened emotional state. I tried explaining this at college to my hot French teacher, who was worried I was falling behind in class. “Well, if you really care about my exam results, then you should really be having sex with me. Just make sure to shout out French words all the way through, and my heightened emotional state will mean that I am neurologically wired to remember.” Believe it or not, sadly this gambit didn’t succeed.

Last week I accidentally absorbed some information about Celebrity Big Brother. Up until that point, I had no idea Celebrity Big Brother was even happening. Until last week, the only things I knew about the entire history of Celebrity Big Brother was that the comedian Jack Dee escaped the house by scaling a roof, MP George Galloway pretended to be a cat (or something like that), and someone called Chantelle, who wasn’t an actual celebrity, not by any stretch of the imagination (which in Celebrity Big Brother’s case stretches mindbogglingly far) became the girlfriend of fellow Celebrity Big Brother contestant Preston from the band the Ordinary Boys. That, up until last week, was everything I had accidentally absorbed about Celebrity Big Brother.

But then last week, I was reading the Huffington Post and a headline caught my attention.

“CBB’ Stephanie Davis says that Boyfriend Sam Reece ‘Isn’t Right For Her’ And Wants To Be Single.”

Now, bare in mind that, at this point, I had no idea that Celebrity Big Brother was even happening, and so I had no notion that this story had anything to do with Celebrity Big Brother. Nor did I know who Stephanie Davis was. Being blind, I am using a screen reader, and so the news is being read to me. I heard the screen reader say “CBB’ Stephanie Davis says that Boyfriend Sam Reece ‘Isn’t Right For Her’ And Wants To Be Single”, and, having no idea that CBB stoodd for Celebrity Big Brother, I assumed that this Stephanie Davis person must be a presenter on the BBC TV channel for children six years and under, CBeebies. Why, I wondered, would a Cbeebies presenter be talking about such personal stuff on TV to children, most of whom wouldn’t really be able to understand what she was going on about. I imagined that Stephanie Davis must have had a breakdown live on air, and vented her relationship troubles live on TV in front of bemused children and parents. But obviously the article wasn’t about that, and so I ended up reading about Stephanie Davis, East Enders actor, who has apparently been flirting with some guy on Celebrity Big Brother, even though she has a boyfriend. Not quite as exciting.

I apologise, if you are like me, and enjoy being ignorant about such things. I am aware that I have now dragged you into also knowing this knowledge.

I don’t watch reality TV, and I tend to avoid any of the dross that is on TV. I will occasionally watch something. This week I have watched War And Peace with my housemate Elsa, and a programme on BBC Four called The Brain with neuroscientist David Eagleman, who I imagine is constantly asked what it’s like to nearly share a name with the famous folk singer and blogger David Eagle.

There are so many amazing books, radio and TV programmes, so much great music, comedy and drama that I will never have time to listen to before I die, so I generally don’t see the point in wasting that precious time I do have watching actors in a soap I know nothing about flirting with a guy who I’ve never heard of and then announcing that she’s dumping some other guy who I’ve also never heard of. I assume that many of you reading/listening to this feel the same, which is why you’ve chosen to spend some of your precious time reading/listening to these Dollops, which is obviously a very good use of your time – well done.

But, last Saturday I watched an entire episode of the Channel 4 reality tV show, the Undateables. I didn’t choose to watch it. Me, Ben and Elsa had just come home from an evening out seeing the comedian Ed Byrne, who was very good incidentally. We were having a cup of tea, South African Red Bush Tea with a Hint of Vanilla, just in case you’re interested) and Ben switched on the TV, which landed on the Undateables.

It was just on in the background while we were talking, but it didn’t take long for our conversation to dissipate as we became interested in what was happening on the TV. And it’s not as if I didn’t have ample opportunity to stop watching. There were three comercial breaks, but still I remained until the end. I had become interested in the stories and the characters, and I had to see what happened.

Basically, the Undateables is a programme in which people who feel insecure about dating and worried about never finding love are matched up with each other. These people tend to have disabilities. So it’s obviously a bit of a controversial programme, given that there are people on their with physical and learning disabilities, plus the name seems rather reductive, just lumping all these people together as The Undateables.

Obviously it’s not presented like a blatant freak show, and I think that in some ways you could argue that it’s up to the viewers how they perceive it and react to it. Some people will no doubt laugh at the expense of the show’s participants, but others might find it life affirming and positive. It may even offer hope and comfort to some viewers. There were times that we laughed at things that happened and things that the participants said, but I don’t think that it was really laughing at a person’s expense, but I’m sure that there are people who watch it and enjoy it for that reason.

There was a man with autism, who also had some other learning disability. He found it difficult to form sentences and to put words in the right order. This led to some very interesting turns of phrase. He was a very lively and enthusiastic person, constantly smiling and upbeat, and his odd turns of phrase made us laugh. But I don’t think laughing at this was in any way insensitive or inappropriate. Even his parents smiled and laughed at the various odd phrases he’d come out with. It’s a part of who he is, and it’s clear that the enthusiastic, idiosyncratic way in which he speaks brings joy to those around him. Surely then it’s best to embrace all this as a quality, rather than being afraid to acknowledge it as anything other than sad or tragic. Surely that would rob this person and everyone around him of positively acknowledging and appreciating his qualities, even if those qualities are born out of a disability.

His parents were incredible, and wanted their son to experience the love that his parents enjoyed. There were a few moments where their son would talk about how incredible it would be to find someone and have the type of happy life that his parents had. His parents seemed very close and remarkably supportive of their son. They were also amazingly resourceful. The mother set up a dating agency for people with learning disabilities in the local area, in order to help her son meet someone similar and find love. He ended up getting a girlfriend from this, and they seemed very happy. In some ways it was a shame that they bothered going down the Undateables TV show route, given that in the end, the date that the programme fixed for him didn’t really work out, whereas the mother’s resourcefulness did pay off and seemingly had nothing to do with the TV show. But maybe this has helped offer a solution for other people in similar situations. The mother’s dating agency has helped not only her son, but other people with learning difficulties to find love.

This was the first time I’d watched this programme, and while I’m not really interested in watching it again, I didn’t find it particularly offensive. I think the concept still makes me feel a bit uncomfortable and uncertain, and it’s clear that the name is deliberately sensational and controversial, in order to garner attention. However, I did still feel somewhat sullied afterwards, and so, in an attempt to cleanse myself, listened to Stephen Hawking’s Reith Lecture on BBC Radio 4 about black holes. I didn’t understand a word of it, but at least I felt somewhat vindicated and less dirty.

I’ll leave you with some optional homework. Here’s a link to a blog post written by my friend, Mabel, which is an open letter to the producers of the Undateables, after she received aniFacebook nvitation to help them find potential participants. Mabel has a stammer and presumably was found by The Undatable’s researchers because she is part of a Facebook group for people with stammers. I don’t think she’s ever watched the programme, but, like me, just felt uncomfortable and uncertain about the concept. However, it’s well-written, funny, and makes some good points.

You can read it here.

Back tomorrow. Another day, another Dollop.