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Your first gig. When, Who, Where? Mine was a band from Leeds called the Bridewell Taxis. A band that although never quite reaching its full potential - their support slots for Happy Mondays, the Inspirals and the Stone Roses were probably the peak of their awareness; had a strong local following. They split in 1993. This particular gig at Bradford St. Georges Hall in the winter of 199o was (by all accounts) a blinder and holds a special place in my heart for a number of reasons.

“LEEDS, LEEDS, LEEDS” chanted the crowd (Football and The Bridewell’s seemed to go hand in hand). Pints in plastic cups were sunk and discarded in preparation of the ensuing melee. The lights went down, the signature Brass section began to play and yes you guessed it, the crowd went wild. Meanwhile, the stage hand, one ‘hard as nails’, shaven headed, tie-dyed young lady used her obviously well practiced and extremely well placed 10-eye Doc Marten’s spider boots to launch interlopers from the stage in a most direct fashion. I’d never seen anything like it.

Mark Suckling, wherever you are; I belatedly salute you. Your kind invitation changed my brain forever. It opened my eyes to live music, to the thrill of a heaving crowd. Mass hysteria, a thousand people bouncing in unison. Beer, sweat and hair akimbo. One guy relieving himself openly on the dance floor (not the best part of the evening but memorable never the less). Hearing the music I’d coveted on 12″ played just for me, at least that’s how it felt.

Then came the magical part…

“Just Good Friends” is my favourite of the Bridewell Taxi’s songs. It has a bass-line like no other I’ve heard; pacey, sporadic, a ‘Smiths inspired’ jangly, melodic guitar part and a rip-roaring brass section that kicks in after the first few bars raising the hairs on the back of my neck every time I play it. Lyrically it’s very simple, unrequited love.

There is a line in ‘Just Good Friends’ that titularly, and in essence; this post is all about. Why is this line so special? It’s perhaps not on a par with the greatest songwriters efforts, but it’s not a bad line either. I’m sure you’ll agree it has some depth, is somewhat emotionally evocative.

“You start to laugh, down comes the rain”.

Up until that night, this line had been my favourite part of my favourite song. I really wasn’t prepared for what came next.

I never have been particularly adept at approaching girls. At that time; aged 17 and only having been in a pub once or twice before, I hadn’t had much practice either. So, when the pretty girl with the floppy indie hair-cut, dressed in baggy jeans and purple Kickers that had been dancing next to me for the first few numbers grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight at precisely the moment Mick Roberts the lead singer dropped this bombshell of a lyric. Well, you can imagine. I’ll be honest and admit that I’m getting kind of emotional even typing this!

I don’t know if this was a moment of shared exuberance, an innocent need for human contact in a particularly emotive moment, or whether in fact this lovely young lady thought I was someone else; I never got around to asking. In that moment we simply danced; joyous, care-free, on top of the world. And then the song finished, she kissed me, I asked her name (Rachel, I think) and that was it; I turned to my friends, turned back to her, and she was gone.

After the gig I caught a brief glimpse of her as we spilled out into the cold Bradford night, she was crossing her arms, pulling a Berghaus fleece tight to keep warm as she hurried through the crowd, into a taxi and off. I didn’t see who else was in the car and I never saw her again.

I’ve never really thought of the experience as romantic, even then her kiss felt like an act of freedom not desire, which kind of makes it even more special. I still cannot play that record without thinking about that gig, that girl, holding hands and dancing. Things that these days, I still enjoy doing a lot… I wonder how much of that I owe to the Bridewells and the floppy haired indie kid in purple Kickers?

There is actually another reason for this post, other than the joy of reminiscence. I recently searched wikipedia to see if the Bridewell’s had made the leap from relative obscurity into the present day. Finding out much to my glee that prompted by the re-formed Happy Mondays, The Bridewell Taxis reformed in 2005, and began playing live again.

I feel a gig coming on and the likelihood of a familiar chant rising. I simply cannot begin to describe the feeling that the anticipation of once more hearing that Brass section is bringing as I sit listening to the only album the band ever committed to compact disc.

If you’d like to hear what all the fuss is about, pop on over to The Bridewell Taxis MySpace, or their official website (currently not working). Hopefully I’ll see you at the next gig, I’ll be the guy looking like the cat that got the cream, although something tells me that there may be quite a few of us.

Where was your first gig? Was it good, bad or indifferent? I’d like to hear from you, leave a comment.

So, I’m blogging. I’d be willing to place a small wager on that particular phrase turning up a few results when ‘googled’. Why then, has it taken me so long? When many of my peers have jumped in feet first?

Although blogging and keeping diaries are things that very much appeal to elements of my personality, there seems to have been something in the way. But what exactly?

The idea of keeping a diary appeals because the process always seems to provide personal catharsis. Unfortunately, any attempts made in the past have eventually ended up dog-eared, fragmented and abandoned to the back of a cupboard. So one theory is that perhaps this addled old brain hadn’t yet fully been able to make the cognitive leap required to re-route old synapse paths associating diaries with torn pages, bad hand-writing (mine obviously) and prying eyes. Laziness then? Cynicism that the effort wouldn’t be worth it?

Why does Blogging appeal? Well, the shameless self promotion of my services is the of course the main reason. Having ‘my say’ another. My fifteen minutes? Probably less so; but yes, if I’m honest to a certain extent that idea carries a degree of weight with the horny little chap sat on my right shoulder. Considering that every other web designer and his dog seems to have a blog these days; and that I’m more than used to putting in (and enjoying) long hours of design and coding. I’m single, motivated and have been dabbling with freelance work since 2006. What the hell have I been waiting for?

When the time finally came to write this customary ‘hello world’ post. There seemed to be a pressing need for me to answer this question. Why was I blogging? What’s changed? The short answer is that lots of things have changed, there are currently lots of little events firing left, right and centre of my mind. Change of circumstance, change of career direction. The resurgent need to keep a diary rearing it’s head. Perhaps it’s just timing?

The other (slightly scary considering I’m a relatively successful web-designer) theory is that perhaps I’ve been guilty of making a ‘mistake’ that I’ve noticed becoming increasingly common in our times. Maybe I’d begun to take the internet for granted? Maybe I had begun to perceive blogs only as means of self promotion? Failing to notice that this was of course (to the authors) their way of recording a slice of their personal histories as well as having their fifteen minutes. Whatever, the point is that I’d failed to notice that a blog could kill two birds with one stone.

With a blog I can write about things I love: design, art, music, video-games. I can communicate with potential friends, partners,  employers. I can record my history from where ever I happen to be in the world. A blog won’t deteriorate with age, won’t get lost or dog-eared at the corners. Most importantly; it can be password protected where necessary.

Was my failure to spot this earlier really a mistake? Symptomatic of the expectant, throwaway nature of our culture? It could be that years of fiddling with layouts, menus and font-sizes has scrambled this thirty-something brain until it can’t see t’wood fer’metaphorical trees? Perhaps. At this point, you could be forgiven for cursing your arrival at ‘destination incoherent ramblings of the dumbest web designer on the planet’. But please, bear with me. There is a point.

Consider this; Maybe it’s not entirely my idiocy at fault. Perhaps my behaviour was best described; not as symptomatic of a mistake, of ignorance. But in fact reflective of what is most successful about the internet.

You see, from my lack of clarity; therein lies the beauty of t’old internet. At its best, the now ubiquitous world wide web becomes once again; as invisible as a twinkle in Tim Berners-Lee’s undies. It becomes an extension of your needs, your wants, even desires. Like the effects in a good action movie; the internet works best when you don’t notice it. When its benefits outweigh its features. When you need it, it will be there.

We hear all the time how ‘powerful’ blogging platforms are for ‘building communities’, ’self-publishing’ etc. Brilliant, but this hyperbole gets in the way of the simple ways in which the internet touches our lives. I’d like to believe this is why it took so long for me to summon the (minimal) effort required to get this blog up and running?

The internet provides the tools to potentially fulfill (yours and, if you as a user so wish; others) lives. With entertainment, with information; charity, aid. More recently (much to Tim’s upset) the stuff you need to get through the day, the toys we love to consume; and the ability to sate those desires.

Suddenly, as if by magic; and in proof of that point I promised you earlier. Once I’d finally made the decision to get stuck in: The world wide web, Mr Berners-Lee, and all the lovely people willing to give some free time and elbow grease to WordPress gave me a wink, doffed their caps and delivered the solution, the tools and more importantly the opportunity to answer a nagging question: To blog or not to blog?

So, here it is. Probably not the best design journal you’ve read today. Perhaps nothing more than the authors thoughts on pretty colours and fonts, melancholy music,  video-games and other non-essential life matters. I did consider calling it a Blig; given that it’s likely to be more than a bit lazy, and potentially a bit dull. But hey. It’s mine.