Rick's b.log - entry 2021/04/05

What the hell, Polly?

She is the fluffy blonde who doesn't want to be touched:

I have put direct YouTube links under the embeds for those using RISC OS where the embedded videos are not supported.

I heard that song on a streaming station about a decade ago and found it on YouTube. It is oddly quirky, and I really like Polly's accent. It sort of reminds me of when I was young - I'm not that great at pinpointing accents, but I'd go for East Sussex, Kent, or Essex. Certainly, "the south east".

I was mowing the other day, and this song turned up in the "random play anything" selection (it's a bit jarring to have Ana Belén followed by Nightwish followed by Enya, but hey...), so I just thought I'd take a look on YouTube and see what else she has done. But getting a playlist on YouTube when you don't want to use the YouTube app is not so simple, so I remembered that I had Amazon Music which offered two albums to Prime subscribers (but you need to sign up for her latest, so back to YouTube...).

There's a touch of Kate Bush here, although in Polly's defence she hasn't quite reached the level of singing about a nuclear blast from the perspective of an unborn fœtus, performing in a giant plastic womb with cling-film umbilical cord, and no, I'm not joking!

Anyway. What the hell, Polly?

In amongst a great number of quirky and eccentric songs, four in particular stood out. I don't know the history behind them, but I do feel as if these songs were pretty much narrating my life in the latter half of 2019.

Which, should be taken as a warning - if you are happy and having a good day, do not continue reading.

Still here? Okay then...

Endless waiting rooms

There's also something geekily beautiful about the simplicity of the video that allows you to better appreciate the song's message.

That final visit in the respite centre

There's so much emotion in this song. And so much truth as well. Running on autopilot, bouncing between feeling everything and nothing at all...
And the thing about me is that I am generally "the emotionless". I didn't cry during the funeral, or the days around. I surprised most of my bosses by going to work, where I had the same "somewhat bored" expression that I always wear. I sought solace in music, having pretty much swapped perky J-Pop for the likes of ShadowIcon (who never made The End sound more inviting and welcome than it does in their song End of Days).
Going and sitting in that little room at the morgue, the one with the soft piano music, dim lighting, and fake flowerless plants. Artwork of fields at sunset. Subtle "the end" messages all around.
Talking to the funeral organisers, picking a coffin. How deep do I want the hole dug? That is a time when being emotionless is good, or I might have told him exactly what I thought of that question. I think he noticed my lack of response so he clarified that he meant was it for just her, or would it be "a family plot". I guess other people have had that reaction...

The funeral parlour and the funeral

Devastatingly beautiful, and it speaks for itself.

And... life goes on

• Shock and denial
  The denial was when mom was living with me, all the pretending that things weren't as bad as they were. The shock? That Wednesday visit. When what I hoped wasn't so very clearly was.
• Pain and guilt
  Of course. Thankfully as a hardcore introvert, suddenly being alone in the middle of nowhere didn't mess me up. But there was plenty of "shoulda, coulda, woulda", all of which counted for exactly bugger all. Too late, far too late.
• Anger and bargaining
  I think I mostly missed this stage. I believe that the "creator" and life force on Earth is the Earth itself (as the largest living organism), and there's not a lot of point in shouting at rocks. Also, getting angry wasn't going to be useful. I could, if I wanted, throw every plate in the house. I could lob the pickaxe through the window. I could kick the cat. But all that would result in is a hell of a mess to clean up and deep scratch marks. She's dead, she's not coming back. There's no point in getting angry. What's done is done.
  Likewise, bargaining? Bargaining with who, and for what? I suppose it might make some sort of sense if you have a God to shout at and attempt to reason with. I don't pin my hopes on mythology.
• Depression
  There's always been a touch of this in my life - I mean, if I die at the same age mom died, then that is closer to me now than was the release of the RiscPC, or the initial broadcast of My So-Called Life. I have less than a quarter of a century to go.
  But, on the other hand, the only time you really know that you have an expiry date is when a doctor mentions the big C word. Mom, upon learning, hoped that she would have five more years. As things progressed, she revised that down to two. In reality, she got a little over one (or one and a half if you count the end).
  Me? It's unspecified. I might die at 71. I might die at 91. Or I might be wiped out by a truck on the way to work tomorrow. So I'm not going to lose sleep over it.
  What does concern me is that I like to believe that there is some sort of purpose behind all of this. I mean, what's the point of living if it is without purpose?
  It's just... I'm fast approaching a half century of life, and I still haven't figured that out yet.
• The upward turn
  I suppose this started last year with sorting out the bramble mess. I've never really been one for doing "gardening". However in the past year and a half emails have gone unanswered, things "on the computer" have not been done. I have still programmed, but at times when I've not been outside doing stuff. Like over the winter holiday. If I program or debug or whatever any more, expect that to be during cold or wet weather. Otherwise, I'm going to be doing stuff around here. Inside, not so much. Outside, so very much. Things have changed.
• Reconstruction and working through
  I'm not sure how this is different to the previous point, so just repeat the entire previous paragraph.
• Acceptance and hope
  Summed up as "life goes on". Succinct, but also exactly as many words as necessary to express the concept.

And this final song, in Polly's atypical style, sums up the final point. The continuing, the hope, the after. The "sweet rotting memories" (they do, don't they?). The title, Nitrogen Pink, I think refers to Nitrogen mustard. This is a compound originally intended for chemical warfare that, these days, finds service as a chemotherapy treatment (and if that doesn't get a "WTF?!" reaction out of you, nothing will). I find it interesting the whole load of Wednesdays. Most of mom's scans and all of the chemo sessions were on Wednesday. Is that, like, global chemo day or something?
I love the layering of this song.

Yup, we ended all that on a happy note. ☺

And finally

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Gavin Wraith, 5th April 2021, 19:34

I wonder if her father is called Brian? It was a Brian Scattergood who first ported Gofer to the Archimedes.

VinceH, 6th April 2021, 23:41

A very quick search says her father is/was an actor. I haven't found his name, but based on her age and when he was active, my guess is Colin Scattergood: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2448843/    I'd never heard of Polly Scattergood before reading this post, but based on the embedded videos, which I like a lot, I've lined up her first album for my next order.

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