I truly hate disruption in the force but two very odd yet interconnected occurances have ruffled my leisure hours. I found myself in Sutton Courtenay last week on the way back from London for a biannual visit to the suitably unimposing grave of Eric Arthur Blair, aka George Orwell. Normally three of  us who once shared a flat in north London meet to have a wander around the cemetery and a few drinks in the adjacent pub where we talked about Orwellian things and their impact on our student days. However, I arrived to learn that Minsky an ancient pal had lost his game of chess with grim reaper last month and the other long standing self abuser had to leave early for a check up on his one kidney.

I found myself in reflective mode sitting in a nearby Abingdon pub and wondering if I'd be here alone in two years time. Anyway, I noticed a face from many years ago. The penny took a while to drop but I had met him a couple of times with Benyon, so I introduced myself and we talked for a long time about publishing and the record business of several decades ago. He had been a quantitative researcher and general number cruncher who once worked for IPC and he explained the demographics behind the rise and demise of the NME readership and  the inevitable success of Smash Hits. It was a rambling chat during which I lost the plot several times but we shook hands on parting and I promised to get in touch on my next trip to Sutton Courtenay.

 I arrived back at the seaside shack and began thinking about starting to blog again but the energy wasn't there. Today the weather was freezing and as depressing as it has been for months and I cut a glum figure crossing the beach on my way to my local with the intention of watching Arsenal play Chelsea. It was an ideal setting with a roaring fire and half a dozen grim faced regulars. The barman, an Gooner fast losing patience with the first half, sighed and muttered "you were on Twitter, yesterday, evidently you're not who you think you are". I should just  have left it like that. Anyway, he follows Nick Logan on Twitter and during one pub lock-in showed me his pristine collection of 1-20 mint condition issues of The Face. I hate Twitter and Tweeting and all the twitchy tapping that goes with it. I would like to say 'get a life' but that would be hypocritical.

Evidently Ian Penman, who I've never met, was tweeting with Dave Hepworth once of Smash Hits, who I don't recall meeting although he once did a double act with Mark Ellis, someone I  have met, who once played in a band with Blair, Tony not Eric, in Oxford, close to Sutton Courtenay. Anyway, I'm not sure if it was Logan or Hepworth who said I was a pseudonym which I must have been since I started smoking in the playground using a very cool Zip lighter borrowed from an older brother and earning the nickname.

Staggering home I dwelt on Orwelian themes mixed with stolen identity paranoia and all that stuff. Technology is great but at the same time it's a total bastard. It giveth with one hand and grabs you by the throat with the other. To room 101 with the lot of it.