I worked my fingers to the bone for you!

I opened my eyes slowly like I was dreading seeing something I didn’t like, but I was staring at nothing more than the wall of my bedroom. A fog of exhaustion was clouding my thought processes and it was confusing me. I never sleep this heavy, never. A second wave of panic momentarily gripped me as I pondered the possibility that I had been slipped a sleeping draft in a bar in Brighton led out side and then dragged into a backstreet and robbed. My back was killing me and my fingers felt like someone had stamped on them,

I flexed each digit.

Strange, they only hurt on one hand. I must have had one hand free. I reached out to a stale glass of water to pass a little liquid over my parched lips. My throat felt like I had fallen asleep with my mouth open. As I clasped the glass, pain shot down my finger tips which made my arm recoil without actually waking me to any degree. An automatic defensive action hardwired into every human being, it’s only at times like these you realise it’s there.
I have to get up, I have to try to get on, I have work to do and I’ve got to make it in today. I struggle to lift myself off of the bed and a pain shoots up my back, I drop back down. I shout “ah fuck” and am surprised that I sound like I’m listening to my own voice from inside my head.

Why is everything sounding woolly?

I don’t seem to be coming out of this sleep very quickly and blobs of eye shit are floating around my face and no amount of blinking seems to shift it. Hope it’s not blepharitis again I think but then return to worrying about my hearing. It’s so quiet around here, not quiet because things aren’t very loud, quiet because quiet things are deafening, like my breathing, gastric juices, creaking bones, and my thoughts, confused thoughts. Normally on a weekday I’d just ignore the siren call of the morning erection to go and put the kettle on, but this was no normal day, but I couldn’t remember why. Why is my hearing so strange.

I reached up to touch an ear for reassurance, stupid thing to do really, did I think I’d fallen asleep with a pair of unplugged headphones on? I don’t know what I thought but the action paid dividends, I put my fingers into my ears, used finger and opposable thumb and clasped something, it came away easily and silently, it’s removal made no difference to my hearing at all.

I placed the thumb and forefinger in front of my face and stared.

All I could see was like lumps of cotton wool floating in front of my eyes.

I blinked.

The lumps all jumped and changed positions but didn’t clear, I still cannot see. I blink again and again and yet again. Things clear a little so I can see my fingers but still cotton wool is getting in the way of seeing what I am holding.

I blink and blink and blink again.

No change, but this time I notice a feint yellow colour and it is on…

Cotton wool! It’s not my eyes now, I am holding cotton wool with a little bit of yellow on it. I decide to check my other ear and low and behold another piece looking just the same.
What the hell I cried,

but I didn’t .

Nothing came out, I still couldn’t hear but I could hear enough to know that I was having trouble speaking. It sounded like a shouted whisper and it wasn’t right, I’d been robbed of my voice.

Wait a minute, I have no voice, no hearing, I’m exhausted and my fingers hurt.
I’m beginning to wake now, and I quickly bring my finger tips right up to my eyes. I squint at them in the morning light and adjust my focus to account for the close proximity. I blink and I blink and blink again.

Well I’ll be damned, I whispered.

The fingers in front of me, only visible to their owner, was a little groove cutting through callouses running along the tip of every finger of my left hand.

Then I realised I’d been rehearsing punk rock for 12 hours the preceding two days, with both ears full of wax from the ear drums themselves to the open air. I had been putting olive oil in my ears and then cotton wool plugs to try and soften the wax.

Now like a weird version of the film 'Groundhog Day' I have woken up realisation that the Newtown Neurotics still exist. This should not be happening, the last thing I remember was that the Neurotics had called it a day immediately after playing the final chord on stage at the Wasted Festival in Blackpool 2006 and that they were in the past participle, they were dead and gone. The last thing I remember was standing on Blackpool beach gazing wistfully out to sea and thinking about America.

In all the years the band were together we never made it to the States. To be quite honest it wasn't a major priority for us so it didn't really disappoint us that we didn't. Things have changed over the years as we have gained more and more American fans, and it grieves me now that these people will never get to see the band live. As we moved towards our final gigs in England in 2006 we had signed a US deal for a two cd retrospective album and been asked if we would be prepared to tour the West Coast of the United States. Our plan was to play our final gig English gig at the Wasted festival and then do a short tour of the States to round off our careers.

It didn't happen,

life is not that neat,

I should have known,