Well my answer has three sharp prongs:

The first is because I can.
The second is because I must.
The third I can only explain in the form of dance.

The point is to leave a scratch in the silence. If you don’t write, paint, leave pieces of your soul laying around, when your gone, your gone. That’s enough. That’s everything.

The real question you should be asking is “Why don’t ‘you’ blog?”

Three? Four years ago? I set aside 10 days of my life to volunteer at the inaugural Children’s Literature Festival in Bath. This was day nine, or night nine for that matter. After a long day running around delivering spare tickets to the variety of venues in central Bath I ended up in the Art Deco wonder of ‘The Forum’, a new age church, for one night only to bring the congregation of Neil Gaiman together in holy worship.

Moving furniture, stage setting, a smoke machine strategically placed, an armchair, a lamp, a small table and two pop up ad-banners with the festival logos and art at each end of the stage and a massive Daily Telegraph banner across the front. In front of the stage Waterstones were setting up their stall and myself and some other volunteers helped shift the heavy boxes of books.

That night was the main event. Everyone turned out, backstage, like a reunion of all the volunteers and authors from the other events of the day for a religious festival. I chatted with children’s picture book maestro Rob Scotton fresh from presenting his one-man show. Neil arrived in his trademark leather jacket looking chilled surrounded by a small entourage eating from the selection of Waitrose sandwiches and Duchy Originals I’d bought earlier that day.

25 years previous my dad took me to Crystal Palace Sports Centre to see the light heavyweight boxing champion Dennis Andries giving a public demonstration of his training, which basically involved him punching at his shadow and skipping skipping skippiing. We went, not because we were massive boxing fans but because the centre was just down the road from our house and it also happened to be that my grandfather, Sid Nathan, would be refereeing the title fight Dennis was training for.

My grandad was a WBA boxing referee and travelled all over the world wearing a white shirt and a big black bow tie, slapping the canvas and counting to 10. He was famous for stopping fights, ill-matched, eyebrow bleeding fights. I was quite glad as a child to have a famous grandad, famous as in ‘very well known’ in his niche – boxing. Then, fame seemed like a magic-halo that gave you a passport to respect and admiration and for little 7 year old me, anyone ‘off the telly’ made me feel as if I was meeting a super-hero.

As we walked to the sports centre with butterflies twitching in my belly I asked my old man if he was scared about meeting the great Dennis Andries? He said “Daniel, why should I be scared? He’s just a bloke that gets paid for punching people, and he’s good at that. That’s nothing to be scared about. He’s another bloke but a lot of people know him”.

When we saw Dennis in the gym bouncing around in his big white leather boots beating seven shades out of his shadow I saw a bloke that was good at punching. When he came over and said hello I spoke with him confidently, 7 years old and punching above my own weight, about my grandfather and how I would put in a special word for him. On the way home with my dad I said “He was a nice bloke who punches people!”, “That’s it” he said.

So 3 years ago when I found myself volunteering at the first Childrens’ Literature Festival, and Neil appeared in the Green Room, I didn’t jump up like everyone else did to take his bags or offer him handshakes and refreshments. I just carried on reading my Plastic Forks. People fussed. In our makeshift green room, surrounded by fawning fans that’d been masquerading as volunteers perfecting ‘micro-chitchat’. He was charming and patient with them, simultaneously weary and excited to get on with the show.

I recalled a scene from A Beautiful Mind where Russell Crowe’s character, the mathematical genius John Nash is in a bar with his friends and there is a group of women, he talks about Governing Dynamics, the ‘ignore the blond’ theory. For the best chance of success he advises his friends to do nothing. And in doing so they all end up scoring. I had no intention of scoring with Neil Gaiman but considering the number of fanatics present I thought there was little chance of having anything like a meaningful conversation unless I didn’t even try.

It was time for him to go onstage and everyone rushed off to get a good seat, I hung-back with my camera and like a lucky Peter Parker said “Hey Neil! Quick photo?” He stopped and said “Alright”. I passed over my sunglasses which he was missing and took the photo above.

It was a fine one-man show. The armchair was at the centre of the stage and John McLay introduced him through the cliched creeping dry ice. Neil walked on, sat down then proceeded to read from the first chapter of his forthcoming ‘Graveyard Book’ fresh from his brain.

Almost precisely 10 years previous I’d attended Waterstones bookshop in Hampstead, with a ticket purchased my estranged strange brother. Neil read from the first chapter of his debut novel ‘Stardust’. Introduced by Paul Gambaccini. Neil, much less confident then with a voice that did not carry the words with as much sincerity as he did now. He was reading from a page then but this time it seemed as though the hours upon hours of reading audio recordings and bedtime stories that, despite the thousands of people being in the room he was just reading to me.

It went to Q&A and then the signing. I don’t like the idea of Neil signing my stuff. The last time I let him at my copy of the first appearance of Death in Sandman. He drew silver pen over Dave’s cover. This time I knew better and preferred to hang about chatting to people, until it was time to pack up. It was good to hang out until after the events because some of us volunteers would go for a drink.

As the signing went on late most people dissolved away. John and I were left with Neil and his heavily pregnant publicist to escort them to the train station. Neil’s train to London was cancelled so I was charged with finding somewhere suitable to wait and grab a bite to eat. The pub nearby was open and had space at the back for us to rest up with Neil and the pregnant publicist. With a Ray Liotta  swagger I secretly slipped the landlord a folded up £20 note to reopen the pub kitchen and make us some sandwiches.

So there I was, sitting opposite Neil feeling a little bit bemused with myself at  just how effective doing nothing had resulted in this audience with a chap who’d created stuff that had a significant impact on my personal narrative, but with it all I was still quite tired, not feeling too much of a fanboy but still humbled all the same.

I just sat quietly, tired, and waited for the conversation to begin. Neil’d been making small talk with strangers for two hours and it would have been rude of me to drag him down that road again. I took out some comics from my bag that i’d been carrying around all day whilst marketing bubbles were being blown about. Issue 1 of Plastic Forks by Ted McKeever. These were the days before Abe Books and hunting for Plastic Forks and Rubber Blankets had been a part-time hobby of mine. I’d been fortunate to stumble upon a comic shop in Bath earlier that day between the Moroccan Cafe and the bakers that i got my breakfast croissants from.   The comic shop just so happened to stock those precious copies i’d been searching for and with that the ice was broken.

Neil asked what I was reading and I passed over one of the sealed issues which he carefully opened, without allowing the scotch tape to touch the cover and for the next hour or so Neil and I were shooting-the-breeze. With being so popular and so much travel I suppose he’s gotten used to these fleeting connections, conversations with the ether, we must become a blur, a kind of gestalt friend.

When time was up and no trains were coming, we said farewells and Neil and publicist got in to a taxi for the long drive to some far away hotel and I wandered home with tears in my eyes and a massive grin on my face, just as Neil had after meeting Ditko.

Then time resumed its shape and all was as it was before.

It was some time ago. I don’t remember the year but I was working at The Odeon in Camden Town whilst holding down a degree at London Guildhall University. The job was the best ever. Watching films and being paid. A strict diet of popcorn, washed down with coke followed by Haagen Dazs icecream was on the menu almost every night and when Wagamamas opened around the corner no appearance of James Lavelle or Jonathon Ross would tempt me away from the tub of Yaki Udon fat noodles for £5.65. For only a pound more than the local Chinese takeaway’s chow mein I soon spread this new habit amongst the rest of the staff.

But beyond the late night staff screenings, clocking-inout machines and high sugar low nutrition diet, I was attempting various forays in to the music scene. DJing, promoting, starting a radio station, writing for the university rag and College Music Update under the moniker D77. On reflection I don’t know where all the energy came from.

I’d befriended a handful of music-industry people through the relentless blagging and found myself one day outside the poster covered frontage of EMI records on Goldhawk Road. It was like some sort of magic doorway. The glass frontage was plastered with pictures promoting the next big thing. It seemed as though the only way to enter was if you wore rollerskates and sped blindly in to the wall. But I found the sliding glass pane and it opened for me.

I tried to act cool, like this was normal but it was the first time i’d been there. I was slightly awestruck by the Beatles platinum discs and huge TV’s with MTV silently playing. But ultimately it was an office building. Housed inside was an office that my music business pal walked me to. He had established a safe haven for artists to develop, something of an independent label but a smart venture that would negate the need to buy out an indie label for the sake of one cash-cow and all the expensive and inconvenience that would go with that. He called it Regal Recordings. Not boasting, just businesslike he said he’d just come off the phone from T-Love’s manager, arranging flights to the UK. He wanted to sign her to the label. I’d heard a the female MC, T-Love track just a couple of days before at Mr Bongo on Poland Street and liked it enough to ask who it was.

As I sank down in to the big black leather chair and noticed the stacks of CD cases on the desk, floor and various other surfaces. I became aware of how the room was more of a lounge than office and the separates sound system and little monitors were the centre pieces.

“Take a listen to this”, he said as he pulled a silver disc with blue marker pen out of its crystal case with three words scribbled in capital letters ‘PUSH IT OUT’. “They just biked it over”. Then the swirling heavy rain started landing on the cymbal and the room began to hum. I was all ears and electrified by the moment that I was one of the very first people to hear The Beta Band’s newest song. What did the lyric mean? “push it out” over and over again. The words repeated and lost their meaning then wove amongst the piano, cymbal, drum, growing layer by layer building something fantastic. A timpani drum now. Swirling and building up to an acoustic melody and more layers of vocals. The volume seemed far too loud for an office but this was the music by business. Music is supposed to be played loudly. You have to feel it. And it ended. I didn’t understand it but I knew I liked it.

Ah. The energy came from the music.

For posterity and fun I recount the interview right here!

It was my privilege to do the reveal, and peel back the curtain to the thundering theme tune of Doctor Who – with thick dry ice, lightening strobe flights and screams of delight from the kids… THE DALEK. “Exterminate, exterminate, we are the Daleks” etc etc.

But before the rambunction I was confined to actors left, backstage with my captive audience – who surprisingly, for a Dalek was quite friendly.

Do you ever worry about being typecast?
Well it does look good on my CV and thankfully I don’t get stopped in the street.

What’s your motivation?
Well, the way I see it is that it’s a rather confined space and quite uncomfortable and hot I take it as an opportunity to take revenge on the world.

How do you audition for this type of role?
Well about 12 years ago a friend of mine was on the crew and they needed an actor. Years later my name was discovered on a sheet of paper when they were starting the series up again and I got a call.

By this time nerves of my big role started to bubble I thought I’d leave the Dalek to get in to character. “I’ll leave you to meditate then”, “nah, it’s okay – I’ll just send some text messages”.

1. Cold Baths
1 Hour before bed take a 10 minute (time it) ice bath or freezing cold bath. Immerse yourself gradually – its uncomfortable to begin with but really really effective! Apparently a brief warm shower afterwards (as the japanese do) also helps but as we haven’t got a shower (yet) I missed that part out. The science  explanation is that it tricks your body in to releasing the right brain narcotic to knock you out. The first time I tried this I slept like a brick for just 4 hours and awoke revitalised.

2. Recognise Night-time Wakefulness
Realise that night-time wakefulness is actually a normal phenomenonononon. Some scientist somewhere (possibly writing for a Sunday newspaper supplement) coined the misnomer that we need at least 8 hours sleep. Fact is that 8 hours continuous sleep will give you the false guilty wake-time in the early hours. There is nothing wrong with waking up in the night. Nothing at all. All mammals do it, there is a hypothesis that suggests that night-time wakefulness evolved as a defensive reflex to guard against predators.The minute you get over the guilt that you should be asleep, the minute you get over forcing it. Get up for an hour, walk about, read a little.

3. Avoid bright lights in the evening
Don’t look in to bright lights, don’t surf the internet. bedside lights should have 40w or lower bulbs in them. Ideally, avoid switching on the lights altogether. Don’t watch TV after dark, most TV is rubbish.

4. Protect your senses
Wear an eyemask and  ear plugs. Noise and light stimulate the brain – protect against it.

5. Eating
A note on eating in the night. Don’t do it. The minute you start the habit, the minute to are setting your bodies alarm clock to wake the following day. I’ve read you can reset your body clock when travelling through fasting. This phenomena is called anticipatory waking. Some of us become alert 2-3 hours prior to eating. If you eat in the night your sabotaging your sleep. This was a big mistake for me as I find it hard to load up enough calories in the day time. Routine. Mealtimes at set times. Let the monkey brain know who’s boss.

6. Avoid stimulants & depressants
Speaking of calories. don’t eat/drink stimulants up to 6 hours before bed. Coffee addiction leads to withdrawal during nighttime fasting and twitchiness. Wine/Alcohol reduces the amount of REM sleep attainable so that rough feeling after a night on the town is also attributable to the low quality sleep even if you were comatose. This isn’t an issue for me because i don’t drink. And Im not telling you to become a monk. Just don’t binge out every night. Keep it down to less than 2 nights a week.

7. Waking up with a clear head
Have a small low glycemic index snack before bed. Some carrots or something. Not fruit, biscuits or sweets. Use an alarm clock to wake you in the morning. Go to bed when you feel sleepy at night – time may vary but listen to your body.

Your results may vary but please share anything else that works for you.

Sweet dreams….

This is a follow-up to a post I wrote 3 years ago entitled 7 Revelations of Being Caffeine Free.

Apparently it takes only 100mg per day of caffeine per day to become addicted (that’s about 1 cup of coffee or 3 bars of chocolate). Unfortunately I returned to the slippery black slope about 5 weeks ago in order to overcome a productive slump and hit some ridiculous self-imposed deadlines.

It took me 2 weeks and 3-4 cups a day to realise I was once again totally hooked and further 2 weeks to realise that I could not beat coffee on the head by gradually weaning myself off. The ceremony of preparation, sensory stimulation and buzz were all too alluring to stop gradually. And I knew I was postponing the pain whilst stealing from the future and developing a bad habit.

I love the taste of good coffee but the effects are poisonously tempting. It helps me write, lets my brain work on overdrive hosing words on to the page but the ideas I produce are not lateral, it is creativity on stabilizers. Ideas are two dimensional. Cogent and sharp but linear.

Coffee is wonderfully evil because like the bookmakers wife, lady luck, it flirts with you then when you’re addicted it fucks you in the ass – you have to dose up, drink more to get the same effects. Then. Oh god. Then you’re truly shafted.

Make no mistake. Coffee is a drug, albeit one that is well disguised and integrated with culture, economics and the industrial machine. If you dispute any of these facts you’re deluded, that’s the drug messing with your sense of reason.

If you need a coffee at the start of the day before you can face the world, you’re an addict, a drug dependant junkie. If you queue up at Starbucks for an overpriced fix of black hot water you’re a junkie, same as the Heroin addict queueing up for his fix of Methadone. Junkie queueing for junk!

Caffeine is a bitter, white crystalline xanthine alkaloid that is a psychoactive stimulant drug. Look this shit up.

Some lessons learned from this episode :

1. Deadlines are man made. If you can’t make them, reset them. Negotiate.

2. Taking stimulants is like having a credit card on your life. You pay it back with interest.

3. If you feel like you need a kick, take a nap. Drink water, look at your nutrition or perhaps get a full blood count done. You may be deficient in something.

4. Listen to your body. Sleep when you’re tired. Take naps.

5. When you choose food or drink don’t just look to feed your mouth or brain. Feed your body.

6. Chemicals are no substitute to pacing, sleep, exercise and healthy food.

7. Coffee will fuck you up in the end. Caffeine is naturally occurring in plants as an insecticide. Its a poison. Your bodies’ reactions are as if it was being mildly poisoned.

The bad shit will gradually overtake your mind and body like Spiderman’s Alien Costume.

Derek Sivers recently gave a talk at the SxSW music conference called Successful SxSW: the Tao of the Conference. He fielded the question to his contacts ‘what advice would you give people attending’ and asked people to submit short videos with their advice and presented 20 of these at the conference. In all there were 60 videos submitted which he presents on his site.

Whilst a Tao is often referred to as ‘the nameless’, because neither it nor its principles can ever be adequately expressed in words. The Tao that Derek is pointing to is woven amongst the useful networking tips and strategies.

Instead of seeing people as contacts and leads that you want to exploit you should see people as the treasure; each person you meet will literally change your life, even a small change of course now can take your life in a whole new direction.

I ‘won’ a chance to strand  on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, London for 1 hour from 3am on Monday 12 October as part of Antony Gormley’s One & Other.

On 12 October in 1797 a famous Mackem nailed the Union Flag to the broken mast of the HMS Venerable. At the time Britain was at war with France, Holland and Spain. 212 years ago British and Dutch navies met in battle off the coast of Norway, near Camperdown, close to Bergen.

During the fierce fighting, HMS Venerable was badly damaged and the main mast was broken. Jack Crawford climbed the broken mast and nailed the flag to it, whilst under heavy fire. The Union Flag was the command flag of Admiral of the Fleet. In a time without electronic communication systems this flag was a very important identifier, and a proud symbol of British power. The loss of the flag could be a great blow to morale and could affect a battle. The phrases to “nail your colours to the mast” and “show your true colours” refer back to the original use and meaning of these flags.

After the battle there was a victory procession in London. Jack’s action was said to have helped win the battle. In 1890 a bronze statue commemorating Jacks deed was erected in Mowbray Park, Sunderland and unveiled by the Earl of Camperdown, the grandson of Admiral Duncan.

I applied to be involved in Gormley’s latest art attack as I thought it would be a good excuse to stand on the plinth and see things in the square from a new perspective. Its a silly thing to do and I love a bit of nonsense now and again. Since being selected the One & Other team have asked me what am I going to do on the plinth? Like I am supposed to attempt some sort of performance for the Sky Arts Endemolesque reality show.

Friends have suggested things, which in there own right would be quite fun to do anywhere – a Punch and Judy show, Nude Karaoke or something else to get a reaction.

Plinths in Trafalgar Square are reserved for monuments of monarchs or military heroes. Places where dead heroes disappear in to the landscape of myth, legend and bird shit. People like Jack Crawford.

So i’m nailing my colours to the mast: I’ve decided to boycott my slot at One & Other. The fourth plinth should not be hi-jacked. It denigrates the value of the real plinthers.

Real ‘plinthers’ make their actions on the ground (or in the air) and the lone and level sands stretch far away.

I don't have thousands of favourites on Flickr. My conditions for starring pictures is not that I simply 'like it'. The images have to inspire me, they have to be good enough that I would spend money to see them.

I don't do this
This particular image I found so powerful and inspiring that I didn't just want it in my favourites, I wanted it on the wall in my home.

The bold brushstrokes look like they were created with the passion and energy of a samurai, spontaneous, confident, potent. Bam bam bam. I love it, it's inspiring. So I bought it from fellow flickr'er Snerdinski, a versatile artist from Boston. I promised him that I'd send him a picture of it framed but I think it deserves another outing on Flickr to be appreciated again. So here it is.

*sorry for the delay John, I've been a little out of sorts for a couple of months and the frame sat in the shop for far too long before I had the energy to bring it home to put on the wall.

But of course there is a serious message behind this post. You can make any noise you want. You can achieve anything you want, the only person standing in your way is you.

This is the view I saw as I opened my back door yesterday evening. Awesome. In the old fashioned sense of the word is all around us every moment of every day. You just need to open your eyes. We take it for granted but the occasional smack round the face with a big slice of awe keeps the door ajar.

Only in quiet waters things mirror themselves undistorted. Only in a quiet mind is adequate perception of the world.
Hans Margolius

They are the bestest of friends and I am their dad!

Rosa is 3!

We had a little party for her at the weekend. The theme was Fairies and Pirates. We assumed she was going to be a fairy. On the day she decided she was going to be dressed as a Pirate for the first 30 minutes then changed in to a fairy followed by a further 3 more outfit changes that Ella helped her with.

I keep telling the girls that I just can’t remember what these little blue flowers are called, so they keep bringing them to me…

Rosa’s turn.

See Ella here.

Here is a photo of my father from way back when. It was taken at the 2 I’s Club on Old Compton Street, Soho in London.

haha, this is so funny. people have already commented on this picture before i even get a chance to write something about it. This is not an illustration by me. The illustration in the Moleskine is by Mattias Adolfsson.

Blogged about here.

I think that’s the spirit in an Alex Toth style with so inspired notes on comic illustration.

Blogged about here.

Blogged about here.

Drew’s is on the left (he was officially there). Mine is on the right (although Moleskine kindly gave me a ticket, they didn’t invite my book – i brought it along anyway!).

Blogged about here.

Probably about a year ago I discovered Drew’s art alongside mine (ie next in the pool) in the flickr group moleskinerie, so you may appreciate why I got goosebumps taking this photo last week.

I used to often hit a dense wall of fog when I tried to move forward with my goals. Feeling drowsy and un-motivated, irritable and un-focused. Coffee had a lot to do with this. Its short term effects were great but regular cold-turkey was required or I had to increase the dosage. At one point 4 years ago and after a heavy bout of overwork, over-stress and pneumonia leading to coughing blood I decided to turn my back on the wicked black stuff (even though I loved it) and search for the natural energy and power to break through the walls.

Finally after searching and testing I discovered my 7 components to achieving mental focus consistently and with very little effort. Here they are:

Hydration
Drink plenty of water. Its essential for every function in your body. About a cup every hour.

Visual Acuity
Get your eyes checked out, wear some contact lenses. See clearly. Try the Bate’s Method for size if you are cynical about the billion dollar spectacles industry. Balance and clarity are important – everything else will follow.

Meditation
Empty your head of all the daily white noise and reboot refreshed.

Exercise
The more you do the more energy you have.

Sleep
My mum used to say: ‘early to bed, early to rise makes a boy healthy, wealthy and wise.’ Give yourself a break and go to bed early and don’t be afraid to take cat naps when your body tells you to.

Diet
Eat fresh food, lots of fruit and kick out dairy – that stuff will drag you down and fill your lungs with mucous.

Jala Neti
Wash out your head of fuzz and built up grime – let your personal air conditioning system work to its full potential. Nasal irrigation sounds disgusting to a lot westerners but is been done for eons in other cultures to recognized health benefits.