Inane Thoughts: Diary of a Frustrated Writer

So, this is my first blog post. I feel a little ridiculous doing this. It’s purely a forum for my inane ramblings. I was going to use my own excrement and toilet walls, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to produce that much excrement and would have to borrow others’. That would be weird. Anyway, ebullient misanthropy and inane whimsy, here we go…

So, first up, I heard this song in a shop at lunchtime and thought I’d write a (very) belated note to Kelly Jones with regards his song A Thousand Trees, in particular the lyric: “It only takes one tree to make a thousand matches/Only takes one match to burn a thousand trees“. I’m certain he’ll read this. Why wouldn’t he?

So, without further ado… Kelly, with absolutely no respect, a thousand matches seems to me to be a very small yield for any self-respecting tree. I reckon you could probably get a thousand matches from a mid-sized shrub e.g. a rhododendron.

I’ve conducted an experiment (I actually haven’t, but I feel the comedy works better if I pretend that I have, much in the way that Michael McIntyre pretends he does things that ordinary people do) and I found that it is very difficult to set alight to a thousand trees with one match. Frankly, without the aid of firelighters, even setting a twig alight with a match proved a difficult and frustrating affair.

Mr Jones, I really think you should consider my amended version:

It only takes one shrub to make a thousand matches. It might only take one match to burn a thousand shrubs… though only if there has been a recent arid spell, giving the right conditions for the spreading of fire.

The cadence is as good as any of your other “lyrics” and it makes much more factual sense. It won’t, unfortunately, improve the quality of your poorly prepared meat ‘n’ potatoes variety of dad rock, but you’ll have to meet me halfway on that.

On a final note, I don’t think you’ve considered the environmental benefits of certain forest fires. You’re just like those people who look outside their window when it’s snowing and say “whatever happened to global warming, eh?” i.e. an idiot.

In summary, Kelly Jones is an idiot. Oh god, this blog is more inane than I could have possibly dreamt. I’m so sorry.

3 Responses to “Inane Thoughts: Diary of a Frustrated Writer”

  1. Kelly Jones Says:

    Dear so-called “Che” Tantos

    Do you by any chance have a girl’s name and, unlike myself, are too afraid to use it in public? Felt the need for a stage name did you, Sir?

    As front man for the popular Welsh act, (No ‘The’) Stereophonics, I am used to my fair share of criticism. More than my fair share actually. Seriously, criticise away, this stuff is like mountain water off a shag’s back to me.

    Unlike your blog post my lyrics were in fact thoroughly researched, prior to being penned onto a roll of Andrex during a coke break. I travelled the world, at great expense, seeking out dozens of different varieties of flaura (and the occasional bit of fauna. Nobody likes squirrels!) for my real world experimentations; Acacia in Africa, Eucalyptus in Australia, Sequoia in North America. To name just a few.

    Many an hour was spent whittling everything from small Welsh shrubbery to Californian behemoths into piles of matchsticks. Then dipping the heads into Match-i-mix one by one and waiting for them to dry. A match without a head is just a tooth pick, it is important to be thorough.

    I did eventually settle on a medium-sized Eucalyptus as the ideal match maker, having produced a pile of some 1043 matches (It is here that I admit to a slight compromise of my artisitic integrity. It did seem close enough.) Then began my fire setting tour of the Australian coastline, where several of my early attempts did go a little awry.

    “Arson” the BBC called it. The then brand new Channel 5 went with “Firestarter! Twisted firestarter! Bmpfh, wee wee wee wee!” Fortunately I was able to leave the country completely unrecognised and have never been ‘had’ for my ‘crimes’.

    I am sure you will now agree that it was all worthwhile? Would you like an advanced review copy of our forthcoming single “Daffodil Castle”?



    • chetantos Says:

      Dear Mr Jones.

      My name is Ewan Tant. It is not a girl’s name, but my surname has garnered much ridicule. I’m sure you have figured out the sort of names that I would have been called as a result of my surname. It’s what happens when your name rhymes with the word “cant” (I was born in Essex).

      I do apologise and had no idea how much research went into your lyrics. I am started to wonder whether I should reassess the whole of your back catalogue.

      I shall question my previous theory that “Just Lookin'” was about your first experience of shopping in the USA, where you first encountered staff members asking of you: “Would you like some help sir?”.

      I would very much like an advanced copy of your single. Would you be able to email this to me?

      Warmest regards

      Che Tantos

  2. Kelly Jones Says:

    Hello Ewan

    A happy new year to you, your friends and family. I hope 2011 brings continued blogging success. I have been keeping up with your musings and do wish we had released something ourselves during 2010 for considered inclusion on one of your lists. I did once nearly toast my own eyeballs but that’s another story.

    I like that you enjoy imagining the back story of your favourite songs and albums. “Just Lookin'”, whilst not quite as epic as “A Thousand Trees” in its creation, was equally detrimental to my bank balance. It was actually based around my early experiences with Internet shopping, which was very confusing to me as in the mid 90s I had not long had electricity at my shack in the valley, never mind one of those new fangled commie pooters.

    Suddenly I was faced with the delights of CD shopping from Amazon and the VAT-free Tesco Jersey. My world opened up. Could there be life beyond the valley? Where was this Tesco place? I grew up inside that area cartographers denote ‘Here Be Dragons’ as, well, there be! We made our own entertainment, strumming tunes around the camp fire, or breaking out the cards for a few hands of Nine-card Don. Could music really be delivered straight to my door by Old Dafydd and his cat? On magic, silver discs? This was a genuine outside context problem.

    Imagine, if you will, my petrified (yet still incredibly handsome) face, peeking through my fingers at the glowing box-o-tricks. “I’m not looking. I’m just buying!” I yelled to Rich, who had popped round with some crack. 7-10 days later and Dafydd’s little van was bursting at the seams, he had to make 3 trips that week. Of course, the discs didn’t do much. We pressed them tightly to our ears but could hear nothing.

    But that would have made me look like a dick, so I changed it for the song.

    I am back at home with my family this week and still working on this wretched “Daffodil Castle.” You will of course be the first reviewer to receive a copy, however I have some local planning laws that I appear to have contravened, delaying its release somewhat.



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