!

The thunder, oh how it burns!

[edit to this post - 25/01/2007] a lot of people have been directed to this page searching for the lyrics "why'd you fill my sorrow with the words you borrow" from the Damien Rice song "Delicate." Go to his website (http://damienrice.com), they have all his lyrics there :)

Jealousy leads to Hatred, Hatred leads to Suffering...

I wouldn't describe myself as a jealous person. Sometimes, though, I get very frustrated with my inabilities, or when comparing what I can do to what other people can do.

I have decided that this is because I am self conscious. Self conscious people (or at least, my kind of self conscious people) often subconsciously compare themselves to others. More often than not this will be to people of the same sex, perhaps the same social standing or job position, maybe even simply age. This is a sort of inbuilt "rivalry," nearly a survival-of-the-fittest mentality.

Anyway, I do this sometimes. It could be to do with looks, sense of humour, ability to talk to people and impress people, talents and abilities... pretty much anything. I normally compare myself to guys of around the same age.
This means that sometimes I feel very proud and arrogant, and at other times self-loathing and pathetic.

Anyway, that means that maybe I am jealous. I don't know. I wouldn't like to think so, but who knows?

Well, I had to write that all out because of how I'm feeling. Half of it won't make sense and the other half won't be true, but apart from that it's probably a very good analysis.

Trees are so weird, no?

I went to Sandy Point today. Such an ironic name - literally the only sand I saw was in the car park.
What the hell, I didn't go there to look at sand. We were having a "house away day" which means we went to Sandy Point as a household. It was cool.

Anyway, what I really wanted to talk about was music, rock music and christianity. However, having reach the perfect opportunity to do so, I can no longer be bothered.
Ergo I will write some random garbage instead:

You swine, you. You knew all along, didn't you? Eh? I see you grinning. You drop that attitude now, or I'll eat your dog. And your mother's dog too.
You have been warned.

Bono On Bono

I've been reading this book by Michka Assayas - he's basically transcribed his interviews with Bono into a book. You get the picture that Bono is a really wise guy; check out what he has to say about himself:

"I'm a scribbbling, cigar-smoking, wine-drinking, Bible-reading band man. A show off who loves to paint pictures of what he can't see. A husband, father, friend of the poor and sometimes the rich. An activist travelling salesman of ideas. Chess player, part-time rock star, opera singer in the loudest folk group in the world."

Bible Shopping

That, a bike ride, lunch at Nando's, guitar shopping, a gathering at Jo's and various other small-time activities were what yesterday was comprised of. Great.

Now, on Friday me and Si-si were down to do devotion - something that we put a lot of thought into, but very little planning or preperation. Thus it was that at 6:45, 45 minutes before the start of devotion, Simon was writing his talk and I was typing up potential song lyrics for our worship time.

Apart from the game of Mafia (which was a disgrace), everything went great. We worshipped the Lord together and it seemed to me to be genuine and unifying. The only er... problem was that we didn't get to hear Simon's funky three-point talk as we ran out of time. Great.

Anyway, I'm still buzzing a bit and can't wait for church ce soir. More importantly, I can't wait for lunch maintenant.

Results Day

Oh yeah. For those that care, I got:

A* -
A - Music, R.E, Science (x2), French
B - English (x2), History, Maths
C - I.C.T.
D -

For some - brilliant!, for some - average. I'd hoped for better in English an History, and I kind of wanted an A* in Music. There is no way I should've got an A in French - I was expecting a C at best.

Soul Survivour: To The Ends Of The Earth (Week B)

And what a formidable week it was. God worked wonders, the worship was awesome, the people were lovely... I could spend hours writing about it. Instead I will just summarise a few key points and leave the rest for you to discover in conversation:

I learned that I need be in constant action as a christian - to live as a christian all the time, not just Sunday mornings and Friday nights. That includes things like regular bible reading and praying.

I also learned the importance of fellowship, and how much of a difference it makes being surrounded by lovely christians, and therefore how important it is to be giving to the church.

And I saw God do some amazing work, and I listened and spoke to some amazing people.

Oh yeah, that girl was there. Remember her?

What Would Jesus Say?

Devotion today was concluded with the question "What would Jesus say to you?"
Obviously Jesus is constantly talking to Christians through pictures, bible verses, even audibly. However, I think that the question was meant to be interpreted as "If Jesus was in human form today/If you were alive in Jesus's day what would he say to you?"
My initial answer was "Hi" (or whatever that translates as in aramaic). However, that was obviously a little bit silly so, after some deeper thought I suppose it would come in three parts.
Firstly I think he would be welcoming. He would make me feel at ease by saying something kindly, gentle - unaccusing. Perhaps even comforting.
Then he would advise me on my weaknesses. He would be aware of surroundings, company etc. and wouldn't bluntly say "You're rubbish." He would carefully choose his words to advise me on my lifestyle.
Then he would encourage me or bless me.

That's what I think, anyway. I mean, maybe I need to be more aware of how he is saying those things to me in everyday life. Anyway, that's what I imagine his personality to be like I guess.

Something Unusual

Grandparents are special. I realise that. I'm very lucky to still have mine.

At 89 my grandad is still as sharp as he was at 88 and 1/2. Which was pretty sharp. Despite the occasional repetition of old jokes and stories he's always got something new and often amusing as well as wise to share. I can see where my dad doesn't get it from.
Anyway, I've had some good conversations with them both while they stayed here, and they'll be off home today. Which means Esther will be back today.
To anyone reading this who doesn't know the inner workings of my family, you will probably be very lost about now. Rest assured, it is completely irrelevant to you. Now for some Damien Rice:
"Why'd you fill my sorrow with the words you borrow from the only place you know?"

Today will no doubt be spent packing for Soul Survivor.
Yesterday I was feeling very thoughtful, but the internet was down so I couldn't post whatever the hell it was that I was going to write which I have now forgotten. Yes.
Instead, I went to bed at about 11 and was kept awake 'til gone midnight by the hamster that some call... Alan.
Alan was staying in the room opposite mine for a few days. The days weren't a problem - him being nocturnal and all, he was asleep. However, last night he chose to spend many hours running around his little rattling wheel. Somebody (probably him) had put some nuts in the wheel which added to the rattling quite considerably.
How calm, patient and forgiving was I? How close did I come to ringing his little neck?
The little furball is still alive and well, although if the same happens again tonight I may accidentally open his cage.

And so. I woke up at 7:30 this morning, feeling as refreshed as someone who has just jogged across the whole of Asia in three days and spent the night sleeping on a train-track.

Out Of Sight - Hell Is For Heroes

I am quietly in awe of their lyricist. Check these out:

Once more, I get burned
Kick out the closed gate, 'coz I'm ready
To join with the crowd, and I'm ready
To unlock the padlock on my mind

Twisted and torn,
Tensions that tear
My will from my mind
And reason from rhyme
And I can't decide
Which one to feed
And which one to fight

Once more I get scarred,
Break through the brick wall, just gather my
Thoughts and go, and I'm ready
To pick up the pieces of my life

I wanna be
Out of sight
I wanna be
Out of mind

Can't seem to judge
The distance between
My hands and feet
Quite literally

Walk slowly into the vacum
This is the end of everything
Welcome back to the blackhole
Raise the shade up from your eyes

Rant #18369400

Now c'mon guys, you'll all be with me here. Does anyone not get annoyed when people take things out and don't put them back? Or break them? Or even worse: lose them forever?

I'm being incredibly particular here. All that I'm missing is a very small pink ball (yes, you can chuckle here if you're that desperate). I mean, one minute it's on the floor next to the beach ball set, next minute a big bear-like creature is rummaging through my stuff (including my wallet, my bank statements! and others) and decides to throw the ball around and loses it.
That kind of thing gets on my nerves.
When I invite people around (or when they invite themselves around as is more often the case) I kind of expect them not to have to pick up, inspect and lose every single item in my bedroom. My bedroom has moved 180 degrees clockwise since my friends came round.
Seriously though, doesn't that bug other people too?

Cockles and Mussles Alive, Alive O!

How do you spell "cockles" anyway? It is quite a dirty word, isn't it?

Today was spent (in the morning) recording and finalising Good Enough, which is now "finished." It's not nearly perfect - the verses are, in a word, rubbish. The choruses are pretty good though, and the ending... oh, the ending! It is bliss, and that is modesty.
Listening through it again, the second first is bearable - it's just the start that is a let-down.
The afternoon was spent putting up a tent and writing out some lyrics I had lying around (22 sets in the end). And the evening?
Back to the training ground again, which was good. It was. I'm glad I went.
In some ways I feel like a muppet, but hey! everyone makes mistakes. I suppose I'm very conscious that I am the youngest player there. I don't think I'm the worst, and personally I think I could probably make the team. Whatever, I'm playing in the friendly on Saturday which will be a good chance to see how I fare for 90 mins (or less...)
My big weakness is (ahaha) my strength. I'm not very broad, tall or particularly strong, which is a slight disadvantage (I have a nice bruise on my leg from Mr. Cheeseman, although that may be because I wasn't wearing shinpads). Anyway, I conceded a goal and set up two so I suppose that's not bad going. I also missed one open goal and two closed goals, which is slightly worse.
Ach! Enough about me, let's talk about you.

Hohoho.

Wednesday 8th August - A Gutter, Unnamed Backstreet, London

Well, dear diary, all that I told you yesterday was in vain. The Smythes did not take me in, nor offer me any sort of hospitality. In fact, they simply threw me out into the street and sent Jenkins (their butler) after me to beat me up a little. I ask you! And all because I eloped with their daughter? They should be thankful that the girl got some good life experience, as well as a few weeks with one of the handsomest Englishmen still alive.
Anyway, despite my outrage at the Smythe's rudeness, I am not dismayed. For starters, Jenkins is nearly sixty so I floored him and stole his wallet. Then I spent the contents buying drinks for a beautiful young lady who has agreed to meet me at the quayside tomorrow. I hear she is rich as well as beautiful, and she has promised to put me up somewhere rather more fitting than The King's Chariot where I told her I was staying.
Once the wallet's content had been finished on drinks, I couldn't really ask for it back to rent a room. Therefore I am sitting in a gutter in a quiet backstreet, hoping that no-body tries to ruin my fine features before tomorrow's tete-a-tete.

Tomorrow, dear diary, I may be in a luxury palace with one of Britain's finest maidens.
Or I might be in a slightly nicer gutter. Either way, I remain yours

RM

Fact And Fiction

Did you know:

-20% of all men born in 1903 died before 1918

-33% of the population of The U.K. are homosexuals

-50% of all people getting married at Easter are women

-On average, blondes have a higher survival level than other hair colours

-9% of all girls have never owned a dog

-The average whale is bigger than the average pot-bellied goat

-I've got DocMartins

-All of the above facts are either a) made up or b) fictional

Shinnanagen! McFinnel's Got The Cat's Bollocks Again!

Aye, free scales at nigh twenty apiece, ne'er trust an Irishman with his boots on backwards. Three shillings all told and I'll cry your wallet short.

In English:

Something that happened today really got me thinking (a most rare occurence). Unfortunately, I've forgotten what it was.

In between thinking I whiled the time away (whiling is trickier than it sounds, believe me), pining for lost love and playing Halo online (yes, fans, I still kick ass). During the afternoon my old school chums came round and we all got hot and sweaty out in the garden. What fun. And I spent large portions of time cutting The Mitchell Family Holiday Video (Part I is now down, Part II yet to come). We gave Part I a preview and it was actually quite funny (no thanks to the people on screen - they were rubbish).

Ah yes, I've decided on another book: 230 Wise Sayings of Robin Mitchell. Despite the countless streams of jokes that "all the pages will be blank" etc. I am undeterred. Expect more soon.
This will of course be written parallel to my Ridiculous, Absurd and Impossible Sports To Play When With A Group Of Slightly Drunk Friends - predicted to be a bestseller.
The blurb (also written by yours truly) reads as follows:

Ever been at that place when it's a warm, sunny afternoon, you and your friends are all tipsy and you really need a decent sport to play? Exhausted the possibilities of golf, football and cliff-diving? Need something to kick-start your life?
Robin Mitchell provides an opportunity for all those willing to take it by the... op... to learn a whole range of new sports following the simple, easy-to-follow instructions.
Be amazed as you discovering your hidden sporting talents in such wonderous games as "Precision Boule," "Boquet Dave," "Shoot Nicky" and "Run Headlong At A Bull And See Who Gets Gored First."
This book will sort out your sporting life forever.

Sound good? Expect chapters on here when I can next be bothered (call it a week, or failing that twelve years).

Maybe my thought process wil return to the philisophical now that I'm about to log off. Sod's Law eh?

Thrice cried the crippled herring, "howitzer"

Holy damn, is that my bed you're dogging? Never say cripple Mr Onion, young blasphemer.
Can't be afraid so don't welt the clocks, it's only tuesday. PS I love you.

That roughly translates as:

My hands are ripped to shreds, my shoulders and back are stiff and I have a small graze on my left ankle: all the signs of a 3-hour bike ride through Leigh Woods with Ruairidh, who I recently discovered is far fitter a) than I had initially anticipated and b) than me.
Don't get me wrong, it was a good ride. There have been several new routes constructed (probably by the National Trust) through the woods, some of which were works in progress when last I visited. Now, however, they are brilliant: paths little wider than a very thin chap who got crushed in a crushing machine near the end of a liquid-foods-only diet, filled with thigh-high jumps, big rocks, spikes, branches and enough tree-stumps to fill a very big box.
It was only towards the end of the ride that I began to tire. However, some refreshment and an electric shock prepared me for the homeward journey, which I completed with relatively few accidents (12, I think).

Besides this bike journey I have been recording Good Enough properly (kind of). The backing track is actually rather good: the vocals are in tune but the recording quality is shocking - however, tomorrow I will solve that problem.

J&L (The grandparents) are down - they arrived this afternoon, looking very well. At 89 years Jack as still retained his sharp wit and er... fibbing abilities. And, as usual, Lily is the sole victim of his jokes and stories.
It's great to have them again, despite the occasional repetition of stories from grandad (I've been told about his job as a Lab Technician over 6 times now). They are lovely people (it runs in the blood, as you can tell).

I breathe a sigh of satisfaction whilst listening to my vocal-to-guitar-solo at the end of Good Enough. The vocal solo was the result of trial and error improvisation (as are most of my songs, to be honest), but I really think it works well. It dissolves into a beautifully smooth run-down on the guitar (made to sound faster with the wah-pedal). Bliss.

Anyway, back to being humble...

My Strengths

In Steve's talk this morning he advised us to think about these things so that we can reflect on how we can be Significant in stead of/as well as Succesful (kind of - that's not exactly what he meant - the Significant bit is the important bit).

What makes me passionate?
Injustice, degredation, corruption.

What am I good at?
Natural Abilities (2 Things)
Music, writing
Spiritual Gifts (2 Things)
Leadership, calm
Team Positions
Advising, leading, activework, organised work

What difference do I dream of to what makes me passionate?
No freakin' idea.

There ya go.
Any thoughts/"corrections"?

Finished

I have finished moving rooms now - besides one or two shelves which need putting up, everything is in its right place.

I played guitar at Woodies today in a band with no drummer, which was kind of fun because I got to do more stuff. I thought my playing was better in the practice (which isn't saying much) apart from my soundcheck, which (when compared) would make a John Frusciante solo sound like Steve Vai. Meaning that it was rubbish.

Father may begin putting up the shelves, I'm just kicking around this afternoon. I may write up a load of song lyrics (I had written 34 in my notebook and about 15 on paper - I think I may have destroyed half of the notebook songs). Other good news is that I have actually put some music to some songs... hmm.

My life story. Like it?

Home Sweet Home

Let me begin by saying that 18 hours is 18 hours too long to travel home from Brittanny.

Right.

I won't go into detail on the holiday - instead you should try watching The Mitchell Family Holiday Video - over 4 hours of footage which I will cut down to just scenes without any arguments (so it will probably about 5 minutes long in the end).

Anyway, dear reader(s?), I am back. Hoorah.

Je suis francais, non?