Still Here Cerno!

Thanks for remembering me Cerno. And I am still around, just resting. I even started to write a post yesterday, my first one in months, then abandoned it as I froze. Not literally of course. Well it was literally, in that it pertains to writing, but not literally in a hot vs cold sort of way.

I miss the old Sri Lankan blogging days too, the blogs of interest, written with wit, sarcasm, intelligence and drugs (hello Java!). But times change and blogs seems to be left for the conscientiously dedicated sorts, the specialists and the professionals like Indi.

Lots of things have been going on in the RD life since we last met. A, the eldest daughter, is about to begin University in Sept and is just about to finish her gap year. K is halfway through her A levels and currently on "holiday" in Malia, that place where The Inbetweeners film was set. If I remember correctly they were probably about ten and twelve when you first encountered them.

The post divorce father's life is one of continual surprise and evolution and I think it's reached a certain level of balance. The hardest thing for me is not being involved in day to day events and happenings in the girls' lives. As teenagers they of course don't do conversations unless they're by text or messaging on their devices with friends, so I don't get to 'soak up' that knowledge about them that I probably would if we lived together. But it's my bed I know, so I'm just telling you how it is.

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of Black Monday and it's fitting to write some words. Groundviews has published a special feature which is almost compulsory reading.

My relationship with the Motherland continues to evolve. Love, hate and everything in between those two extremes continue to feature heavily in that relationship. Above all I remain glad that Sri Lanka is such a big part of my life.

Oh I finally had that tattoo done as well. Here it is:

With apologies if I put you off your lunch!

 

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Tat Three Pending

When I had the first one done everyone said that I'd have more, that once you've got the bug there's no going back. Oh how correct they were!

For the third time I have that feeling of excitement brewing, the one of slight ball itchiness combined with a need for time to hurry up and the feeling that I want to smile at the most inopportune moments. You youngsters probably feel similar when you fall in love for the first time or discover the joys of masturbating. For some the two happen together, consider yourself lucky if you're one of those people.

Yes it's almost tat three time. Tomorrow afternoon you'll be able to find me sat in my new favourite tattoo parlour's chair having it done. I've pondered, deliberated and cogitated for a good couple of years on this one and had more conversations with my tat guru than he's got tattoos and finally, the day is nearly here.

I've gone for a picture of a Kandyan drummer. That was never really in question, but the task of coming up with something I actually like was the hard thing. I've found a picture, told my bloke that I want the feet to look "less cartoony" and for there to be no moustache and we're ready to roll.

I'm hoping that the guy will do a good job, he's a well known fellow and one of these "arty" chaps rather than a bloke who operates a needle thing and basically just stencils stuff on skin.

If you're a regular here you'll hopefully understand that a picture of a Sri Lankan drummer on my arm represents two of the things that are fundamental parts of my make up. It's the first one that I'm having that's really personal. The other two are just random designs; designs that I like a lot, but ones without any true meaning to me.

Another thing, I was googling Kandyan drummer tattoos and came across this. I wonder if anyone can shed any light on it. It looks as if someone has taken my post, bunged it into a translator, then back into English and used it as their own post. What do you think?

I might take a picture and put it up here once it's done, it all depends on how pleased I am with it.

RD is......

Floating around Colombo in a slightly dreamy state

Getting lost in the changed around Odel mens' department. What's going on there?

Meeting bloggers like G12 and Blackers, making DD jealous, ha!

Having long relaxing lunches in the Barefoot garden and getting good ideas from Mr S on tat 3. Copyright is an issue that has now been addressed.

Looking forward to seeing a certain Mr Jones.

Intrigued about the Colombo Art Bienalle. I just can't get the pronunciation right but am looking forward to seeing what it's all about.

About to call those relatives that I must, the old I'm in town thing.

Going to write in much more detail at another later time.

Bonjour...

The Perfect Day With The Girls

'tis rare for me to come out with a good idea. I'm quite proud of the idea I had about Cerno's coffee table, the one about making a coffee table out of coffee table books, and my invention of the wheel was quite good too. But, all in all, I can't make any claims to fame as an ideas person.

The other day though I came up with one. During the divorce me and my ex came to an informal agreement about the arrangements for the summer holiday spell. It involves her taking them away one year and me doing the same the next year. Last year was my turn and I brought them to Lanka. It was fun, challenging, brilliant and tough, but time is a wonderful healer and I know that those were relatively early days.

This year they go away with their mother and I carry on with my normal life. My idea the other day, which might sound like nothing to you, was to take a day off work, take them out and do something that we'd all enjoy. After some negotiation we settled on going to Thorpe Park, a local amusement park, for the day. I use the work "local" there in an entirely subjective way. To you, who more than likely lives in Sri Lanka, it's not local.

My suggestion was initially met with apprehension, as I had been afraid of. I was unsure if thirteen and fifteen year old girls would be up for an amusement park with their Dad. K had been there and had a fantastic time only a few weeks ago, but that was with her friends. A is more into being cool these days, if being cool involves lounging around and watching TV, then telling all your friends on Facebook about what you've just been watching.

This scepticism and reluctance was something I dealt with rather niftily by offering up my counter plan to take them shopping in central London. They were keen on the idea and things were promising. Then, a day or two before the day I received a phone call.

"Dad, we were thinking."

"Ok K" I said guardedly.

"Well we'd actually quite like to go to Thorpe Park on Wednesday, we think it could be fun."

"Ok" I said again, as it's one of my favourite words and it seemed to suit.

And two days later, feeling like an outtake from the Inbetweeners, we were heading off to Thorpe Park. We'd agreed on a pick up time of 8.30 AM as it's summer holiday and we thought the place might be packed. So of course I got to their house at about 8.10 AM. I sometimes wish I could do something about my slightly obsessive earliness, then at other times figure that, at forty three, it's good to just accept some things about myself and go with my flow. The only time I'm late is if there's a song and a drumkit involved and I'm supposed to play.

There we were in the car. There was me, A, K and their seventeen year old cousin B, who was passing through London for a day. I was pleased to see her as it had been a year, perhaps more.

This is one of the things about divorce that many don't realise. Over the years you build relationships with your in laws, sometimes fellows even get to like them. B is a kid who I've known since the day she was born and I'm told that she looks upon me as a father figure, her own father being someone she has more or less no contact with.

I'm flattered and uncomfortable about this father figure business. You know enough about me and my life to understand that even my own kids don't think of me as a father figure (I am joking there, I think!) so for someone else to is a bit weird. But it's strange as B lives way out of London and the indisputable fact is that I have no real relationship to her by blood and now there's no connection even by marriage.

I hope it doesn't happen as I'm fond of her but, in the back of my mind, is the thought that the bond we have will fade with time and circumstance.

I digress.

Our journey was quick and accompanied by a car load of excitement and lots of Black Eyed Peas songs played really loudly. In particular the new one "I got a feeling" was on our playlist. All four of us love it and we sang, out of tune but not out of time, as I'm fussy about these things, to our hearts' content. We arrived, parked and got out of the car. The weather, at 9.00 AM, was warm and humid with that feeling that the day had nothing but more of the same to come. Things were looking good.

Even at that time in the morning there were hundreds of people there already, all queuing up ready for the place to open at 9.30 AM. I was a bit disappointed as I'd hoped we would be the only people in the world who'd come up with the cunning plan to get there early. It wasn't to be and I prepared myself to join the throng and queue up for hours on each ride.

Once we got in things looked different. The seemingly massive crowd got swallowed up by the vastness of the park within seconds and we found ourselves wandering around freely and effortlessly. I'd bought these fastrack tickets that enabled us to bypass queues on busy rides but they were hardly necessary as the queues were only a few minutes long on everything.

And we went on everything. We screamed and laughed our way through every single ride in town. A, K and B knew all the names for the rides and exactly what they were. I was clueless. I couldn't recall if Stealth was the one that made my stomach churn or my head spin dizzily, I couldn't remember if Collossus was the one that had ten 360 twists in a row or if it was the one that I saw Wembley stadium from.

All I knew was that I got to a point at which I was just laughing uncontrollably on every ride. I laughed with happiness, I laughed with fear and I laughed with joy, the joy of watching my daughters laughing and being joyful. We'd cracked jokes beforehand about divorced Dads and bonding, A had put up a jokey message on her FB about it. All of a sudden we really were doing it, kind of like the boiling frog, except it was fun.

It wasn't two kids, a late teenager and an adult out doing something, it was four kids having unadulterated fun. We got soaked on a water thing, we went from 0-80 mph in less than two seconds on another one and we dropped down what felt like a liftshaft in the dark. Then, we stuffed our faces with KFC for lunch and went and did it all again.

Afterwards we returned to RD Towers and chilled and recovered. We were all knackered and I was surprised at just how tiring all the rides actually were. I guess it's the adrenalin flow and the tension that runs through you for a minute as you grip the seat and harness with everything you've got.

Then I took them out for dinner at the local noodle bar. It was food that was much needed and was wolfed down with gusto, not to be confused with pesto.

We watched Midsomer Murders, I guessed who the murderer was and then I dropped them all home.

I slept like a baby that night. Or perhaps a log, I never really understand the difference.

I felt so pleased that the day had gone brilliantly, enjoyed by all.

Every once in a while I come up with a great idea.

Cool.

What I Did Last Week

It's a Monday morning and the only sensible thing is to start by apologising for revealing a tad of RD flesh at this stage of the day and week, even a wrist. So I'm sorry, particularly if it's put you off your breakfast.

There it is. I've pontificated long enough, but tat two has been chosen and installed and I'm particularly pleased with it. There's no deep significance to it, no meaning at all. It's not an ancient family symbol or a way of expressing my passion for Lanka or drumming in a language that many wouldn't understand, all of which are things I considered.

It's just a design that I liked, which is probably a good way of choosing. The second choice, the only other viable option was the Chinese character for drum. I spent many minutes looking at it and contemplating, in the end deciding that Chinese characters are a bit too high fashion, that in years to come they'll look as if I had something done that was all the rage at the time. This one also matches tat one, hopefully not so much that I'm doing the bodily art equivalent of wearing jeans with a matching denim jacket.

I went for dinner at the 'rents' place on Friday night and I must admit I was amused and slightly surprised by their reaction. My Mum took a look at it and her instant reaction was a grimace and an "uurgh" as if she was watching one of those emails fellows send round, the ones that are fundamentally vile but you feel compelled to watch again and again.

Then her interest got the better of her and she looked at it in detail and asked questions about it, how it takes to heal, how it felt and so on.

My Dad was just funny. He took one look at it, said "chee" and made a face as if I'd just been found guilty of attempting to assassinate Barack Obama while wearing a T shirt saying that I was doing it on behalf of my family on my Dad's side. Yes, it was a "chee" with a particularly hard ch to it.

Later on over dinner I laughed. They've got a couple of guests staying there, pretty much compulsory for Sri Lankan parents I know. I was showing the tattoo to the guests, not by choice but because my Mum had done the Lankan mother thing of telling them about it and making me show them.

One half of the two guests said that he'd quite like to get one and casually asked my Dad if he had any.

"No" came the reply.

"I don't believe in them."

"They do exist you know Dad" was my all too clever retort.

"They're not like UFOs or ghosts."

He scowled at me, in that way that I try to scowl at the girls but can never quite manage.

I shut up.

The parents bit was easy.

I've yet to tell the girls and A quite seriously told me that she might not talk to me ever again if I was to get a second one done.

We'll see on Wednesday.

Have a splendid week all.

Tat Two - Vut Too Doo?

I've ponced about with the idea before but the decision is made now and there's no going back. Unless I change my mind.

The decision is to get a tat on the inside of my right wrist. All I have to do now is figure out exactly what I want done.

This right wrist is the perfect position for what I want and I'm amazed that I hadn't thought of it before as a potential site. The one I already have, at the top of my left arm, I'm totally pleased with. Yet it doesn't really come out to play and get seen unless I'm swimming, bathing or having sex.

And let's face it, I bathe on my own, I swim like a brick and sex can be scarce in this life. On top of that I'm not a sleeveless T shirt kind of chap, even when on the drums in a dodgy pub. So I wanted a new location that gave a bit more public viewing but could still be hidden and kept away from people in a business environment.

The right wrist has the clever benefit of being able to be hidden by a sleeve as well as revealed by a T shirt. I can't believe no one's ever thought of it before.

So to the design. I posted some time ago about this and still would like to come up with something Sri Lankan, but it's proving a hard task, all about balance and taste. You see, if I were to get a Lankanish thing, then I wouldn't want it to be corny, I wouldn't want a Lankan to see it and roll their eyes and think "what a twat", any more than they normally would I mean.

Images of Kandyan drums and drummers are ideas that I've more or less rejected. Getting a tattoo artist here to do something like a Kandyan drummer may well end up with something that resembles a picture of a fat bird in a skirt with an oil drum around her waist. No disrespect to the inkers here but most of them won't know exactly how it should look and I've struggled to find enough pictures or diagrams on the net.

The option of waiting until the next time I hit Serendib is there, just not a favourable one because of impatience.

I toyed with the idea of having an outline map of the island but figured that, to the average Suddha, it would just look like an insignificant squiggle. Lions and flags were considered and turned down for potentially having too many extreme connotations.

I've also pondered on the possibility of getting a copy of one of the Sigiriya frescos but it's fraught with risk. Get it done badly and people would just think it was a picture of that long haired bloke at House Of Fashions. The only good thing that could come from that would be a bit of discount but it would take years to even get back the cost of the tat, so that's a no go.

A nice one of Naz Sansoni was also considered, then rejected because of a technicality, well Dom. Then, while thinking of other well known Lankans, of course Indi made an appearance. I reckon I might be the first person to have an Indi tattoo and could start a trend, perhaps with Kottu.org or Indi.ca just underneath.

But then I realised that Indi, good guy and all round hero anyway, does not possess a face I'd like to wake up and find staring at me in the middle of the night. I'm sure there are women who would love the thought, I'm just not one of them.

The Gyppo was also rejected. A pretty face and all, but huge big feet. That's why she never falls over you know and can swim really fast.

The initials of the girls, as well as Chinese characters are out. When I say Chinese characters I'm talking about letters, not Cato from the Pink Panther. The girls are fundamentally against the idea anyhow, with A saying that she'll probably hate me if I do it, so getting their initials would probably be rubbing ink in the wound.

So the search is on in earnest. I'm out and about visiting tattoo parlours looking for the one. Searching on the net for a tattoo is a bit like describing a colour to a blind person. It's only going to give me the very vaguest of ideas about what it will look like on me and it's next to impossible when I'm so hazy about what I want. Googling Lanka and drums just comes up with some idiot's blog.

Vut too doo?

Quite literally.

The Strange Blogging Coincidence

Yesterday just started weirdly for me. I'd quite like to tell you about it, if that's okay of course.

There were two unusual things, no doubt caused by Dinidu's disappearance and subsequent discovery, a traumatic episode for most of the Sri Lankan blogosphere.

I normally have my alarm clock set for 5.50 AM, on weekdays. I like to start work early and find it incredibly productive to get behind my desk by about 6.45. I can get lots of mundane things done before being distracted by phone calls and other people and can get things done in about half the time it takes to do the same things at other times of the day.

On Tuesday night I got in from band practice and hit the sack at about 1.00 AM, quite tired but not really any more than on a normal Tuesday night. I woke up about ten minutes before the alarm was due to go off, I stared at the clock with that snarly feeling we all have when we wake up before the alarm. You know, that feeling of being pleased that we're up in time mixed with being totally pissed off that we have to get out of bed in a few minutes.

I dozed, woke, stared at the clock, then dozed, then woke and stared at the clock again, wondering why it wasn't ringing. Then I realised it was for two reasons; first, that it beeps rather than rings. Secondly, and far more seriously, was the fact that it actually said an hour later than I had thought. It said 6.50, not 5.50. That was why I had heard all of the unusual noise outside. that was why I felt a bit disconcerted.

That was why I jumped out of bed with the speed of an NGO fundraiser running away after knocking on sittingnut's front door and asking for money. You've never seen a red blooded metrosexual get showered, brush his teeth, put his eye drops in, apply his moisturiser, put product in his hair and generally spend time making himself look as if he's just overslept and jumped out of bed so quickly.

I was out of the house within about fifteen minutes and driving sleepily into work. All around me was different to "normal" and things looked weird. The traffic was busier, the traffic lights were changing with different delays to normal, the light was different, the radio presenters were talking about different things. My head pounded a bit from the rush and I got into work at about 7.30 instead of 6.30.

I was surprised to find that the world, well even my Company, hadn't collapsed because of my lateness. No sir. Everything carried on and I had to catch up and cope with a bit of a headache. Of course "catching up" for me was no big deal as I was still at my desk before many were around. Jay, my right hand man, had called me as I was driving in to see if I was off for the day and had forgotten to tell him, but apart from that there were no repercussions. Well, no repercussions outside my head, with normal people. Inside my head all hell was breaking loose.

It taught me a lesson though. The lesson that I should try to relax a bit more, that my obsession with being early to all things is exactly that, my obsession. Most people don't actually give a shit.

The other weird thing was blogging related. I had published my post, the very cleverly title Tat 2, about tattoos and the possibility of me getting another. You may have read it, it's about whether I should get another one, where I should get it and what I should get.

Lo and behold. I get into work, check the blog and find that T has written an almost identical post. About her getting a second one and what she should get and where. Her one was even called Round Two so there was only one word of difference in the titles. She's a bit scared of her Dad and I'm not at all. In fact I don't even know her Dad.

What a coincidence. I was amazed. Two posts about the same thing actually published at the same time.

Truly. Amazing. I thought.

Really.

Tat 2

Did you see what I did with the title there? Damn clever eh?

It was about two years' ago that I got my tattoo, to this day the first and only one. It's a circular patterned thing, supposedly some kind of Polynesian design. I chose it because I liked it, there was no deep meaning and no hidden declaration of love for my family or anything like that involved in my choice.

Tattoos are trendy at the moment, of that I'm sure. When I was a kid they were the sign of a hard working class man, a Navy fellow or a builder, a wedding planner or someone like that. These days we've all got them. Whatever country we live in they're the must have fashion item of the day, a prerequisite for people thinking of getting into advertising. Many music studios won't let you in unless you can show that you've got a bit of ink somewhere on your person.

I've mentioned it before but I'm against ugly or unstylish people having tattoos. In recent years I've seen some of the most plain looking people, usually Australian, with body art. People who look as if they're about to go for an audition on one of these "What not to wear" programmes. Really, there's nothing worse than glancing at one of these square types and then having to do a double take because you catch sight of the devil on their left ankle or a tramp stamp crawling towards an arse that looks like one of the ones found at Pinnawala with a trunk at the other end.

When I got mine done I put a bit of thought into the position of it. Music Biz bro has one of those all over tattoos, starting just above the elbow on one arm, crawling across his back and shoulders and finishing up just above the other elbow. All well and good for people like him and D, but not for me. I wanted a bit more subtlety, something that wouldn't be seen all the time, that could be hidden whenever I wanted it to be.

The top of my left arm it was then. With hindsight I'm not sure if it was a good place to choose. I achieved my objective in the subtlety vein, but the result is that it rarely gets seen. If I have no shirt on or a sleeveless thing on then all can see and admire it. If you're lucky enough to sleep with me you'll probably see it too. But it's bad enough being a drummer at my age, I'm sure as hell not going to start wearing vests as well.

When I got it done I was warned that tattoos become addictive. I laughed in the face of those who told me so. How wrong I was.

Here's the thing, as the Americans say. I think I might want to get another one done. I want it to be a bit more visible, but not so much that every Sri Lankan Aunt will look at me and think I'm a bank robber or a creative. I've been biding my time and gathering my thoughts and I've concluded that I'd like something a bit meaningful, to reflect Sri Lanka and drumming, two of my loves. I'm not the kind of person to get my daughters' names done or anything like that.

I've been looking for a nice line drawing of a Kandyan drummer for inspiration but so far haven't been able to find one. That's as far as I've got. I still don't know where I'd put it and I don't know exactly what "it" is.

Any ideas?