So I'm Back
Who knew? Apparently my credit card details expired and my website has been down for a couple of weeks. The world yawned, scratched its collective arse and went back to sleep.
But I’ve coughed up and I’m back up. And so are my Mick Taylor articles.
So what’s next? More economics. Some stuff about music in the 70’s / 80’s. Roman battles in the second century AD. Same old but, new.
Yeah. Worth the $200+ Square space rips me off for to get my back catalogue back.
Robsonramblings - Top Articles 2022
Year end reviews suck. They’re a lazy way of creating an article out of nothing. A rehash of previous ideas, a quotidian summary of stuff already out there. The scene that celebrates itself.
Yeah, yeah. But still, you know… Here’s mine for 2022.
The good news is that my site traffic has gone up 20% year on year. Impressive, huh? Obviously the raw numbers matter here. I mean a jump from 5 to 6 readers is a 20% increase but not a leap that suggests I give up my day job anytime soon.
Luckily, my readership is in the thousands so that doesn’t apply to me. And not all of the views are Tim Robson of Burgess Hill. 50% perhaps. So where are my readers tapping in from? Well, the Anglosphere mainly with the USA number 1 (47%) and the UK number 2 (24%). Zimbabwe and Taiwan slug it out to be the most unengaged.
And what do my readers like to see? Which topics show a bit of ankle to titillate the casual - or returning reader? Unfortunately, economics doesn’t seem to be very popular which is a shame as it’s what I write about mostly. And history coupled with economics seems to mine a whole new seam of indifference.
Which is a slow way of saying, it’s the cultural, music articles that grab the most views.
1) Mick Taylor and that guitar solo yet again tops the charts. People really want to read about Mick Taylor and his guitar solo on the live version of Sympathy for the Devil. It’s a good article and great version of the song. Read it. Or re-read it.
2) Mick Taylor’s top studio tracks. That Taylor boy drags readers to the site. I guess I need to write more about the 69-74 Stones.
3) Rome: The 4th Century in 5 Battles. Part of my series of discussing each Roman century using the spine of 5 battles. Constantine, Julian, Theodosius… What’s not to like?
4) Domina - Series Review. Sky’s dramatisation of the Livia and Augustus’ relationship during the first part of Augustus’ time as emperor.
5) Face of Yesterday: The Curious Tale of Binky Cullom’s brief tenure in this prog rock post Yardbyrds band. A perennial fav (I’m playing Renaissance now).
6) Rome: the 1st Century in 5 Battles. Continuing the series. This time with the Teutonburg Forest massacre, The Invasion of Britain and the siege of Jerusalem.
7) Time Waits for No-One: Mick Taylor’s greatest Stones song… Yes, MT again!
And seven will do. I think you get the point. I should write about mid period Stones, TV reviews about Rome and perhaps, a little popular history too. Let me do some A/B testing over the coming months. But if you start seeing article about Megyn & Harry you know I’ve sold out.
Probably less - or more accessible - economics articles and certainly less about the pensions markets, derivatives and government bonds. However, these type of articles tend to be a copy from my LinkedIn persona. They bolster my gravitas.
And we all need that.
Tim Robson: Top Posts 2018
Tim Robson Top Posts 2018
The Timmies Awards
As we head to the vinegar strokes of 2018, I thought I would list the top blog posts of 2018. And then list the top blog posts that should have been were it not for the poor taste of the public ganging up with my own obscurity.
Top Posts Written in 2018
1) Top Mick Taylor Studio Tracks
2) Top 10 Britpop Songs
3) 20 Minute Playlist : The Queen at Live Aid Test
Most Read Articles in 2018
1) Mick Taylor and that Guitar Solo
2) Tom Petty and the Death of Gene Clark
3) Mick Taylor - Street Fighting Guitarist
4) Top Mick Taylor Studio Tracks
5) Top 10 Britpop Songs
What should have been the top Articles (aka Tim’s Favs) 2018
1) Le Baiser de l’Hotel de Ville - Tim discusses Robert Doisneau
2) Deleted Scenes - The Growing Chill of the Censor
3) Some words on Impermenance - Tim reflects on time passing
4) Brighton to Manchester Train - Tim remembers this 7 hour journey before mobile phones
5) 20 Minute Set Lists. Oasis. Beatles. Abba.
Tim Robson's Blog 2018
Christmas 2018
Raising a glass, Tim Robson exclusively speaks to this website about his 2018
2018 ! Christmas 2018. So, here I stand at the threshold of another Christmas. Joy to the world!
Christmas tunes are playing. Mince pies are waiting to be eaten. Bottles of Cava, Port and whiskeys (sans ice) stand ready to be downed. Hangovers to be endured.
However, the 2018 band is still playing, the dancers are still on the floor and our story has not yet finished.
So over the next few days, I’ll be revisiting the year on this blog. Looking at the hits. The frequent duds. The blogposts where I was on it (like a bonnet). The diatribes where I missed the mark like a current day BBC comedian at a Northern working men’s club in the 70’s.
We’ll review Normandy. Trier. The Lake District. So many places.
My many attempts to capture history on these pages.
The music I listened to, reviewed, included as a YouTube video
And. And. Mick Taylor. Mick Bloody Taylor. That article I wrote a couple of years ago still tops the charts as the most popular thing I’ve ever written. That one article accounts for between 30 - 50% of the traffic on the site.
I’m a one hit wonder. That’s what I am. I’m the bloody Birdies Song. I’m Joe Dolce. I’m Cinderella Rockafella.
Roll with it.
Laters potatas!
Tim
The Master of Social Media
This website’s intern taking a break.
Connecting a website to Facebook. Or visa versa. Wow - how hard can it be? And I’ve got a qualification in computing… Did a website coding course at night-school last year.
But can I connect Squarespace to Facebook?
No. No I can’t.
Pressing buttons like monkey on a typewriter on a deadline to recreate Shakespeare and all I get is, well nothing. Dead air, missed connections, severed logic.
There’s a metaphor in all this, I’m sure of it.
A Literary Girl On A Train.
Tim Robson opposite The Lady Writer.
So, I'm on the 8:23 from Clapham. A late night in the office as I wanted to send off 'Parallel Tracks' to a short story competition. Hard graft made easier by some Cava. I played Terry Hall, tweaked a few words, drank a glass and sent away this future winner.
Anyway, so I get to Clapham Junction and get on my train. Sit down at a four table. Only one bloke diagonal to me - great. Whip out the Mac. Stories to write. Websites to edit. Usual stuff that an under appreciated writer does. We work - ALL - the time. In silence and unobtrusively. And then - opposite me - sits down a writer - a 'real' writer.
Let me describe her shall I? Not unattractive. Slightly boho. Wild and wiry hair. Glasses pushed onto her forehead. Voluminous scarf wrapped around her neck (I believe this is obligatory if you are a 'writer'.) And now she gets out a couple of beaten up leather notebooks and an ink pen. She figits. She attitudialises. She makes faces and waves her fingers around directing the very air with her abundant creativity! She looks concentrated. She writes furiously. She gazes off into the mid-distance as though being filmed. She smiles outwardly so that everyone can see she's written a bon mot. She flicks pages quickly and noisily as she writes.
She is a stage version of a writer.
I am in the presence of greatness. Sat at the Brontes' table as they pen their classics. With Thomas Hardy as he tours Cornwall in 1912/3 researching the Emma Poems. With Oscar Wilde in Hove as he writes 'The Importance of Being Earnest'. Partying with Brett Easton Ellis in the 80's perhaps, or sharing a car with Jack Kerouac in the 50's. Someone good, anyway.
Literary greatness sits at my table!
Yeah... Me.
Tim Robson - Top Posts 2017
Tim Robson - self regarding 2017
(In which Tim babbles about his year in blogs, talks website statistics and - like some jaded good-time girl - tries to understand your preferences)
- What is it with South East Asia and porn?
- What was my theory about Tom Petty’s culpability in the death of Gene Clark?
- What has Wandsworth Council been doing in 2017 to piss away taxpayers’ money?
- What got Tim so upset with Sky in April that the blog literally fell off the rails under the weight of forced anal rape metaphors?
- Why did I post a video of American Trilogy on 21st January?
- And who the fuck lives in Didcot Oxfordshire whose idea of a guilty pleasure is night in with a whisky, some rabbit fur and a long, luxurious read of this blog?
And who knows when and how to get out of the ever convenient but ever bereft list format style of writing?
Questions. Questions.
So, 2017, almost over, probably not lamented, certainly not celebrated, a prophet without honour even within its own fading span. Blog-wise, where did we go? Did we progress? Did we solve any conundrums, right any wrongs, add one iota to the sum of human knowledge?
To answer this, let me remind you of an old story. Do you remember the one where – unseen – a mouse is fucking an elephant in the arse when the elephant inadvertently stands on a thorn and lets out a great howl of pain and the mouse – still pumping away - shouts, “Yeah, take it bitch!”
I’m not exactly sure what the point of that story was. Am I the mouse? Are you the elephant? Who knows? Sometimes my ways are unknowable, my motives inscrutable, my metaphors a jammed rifle that backfires like some madcap 1940’s cartoon.
Anyway – let me attempt lucidity… I’ve been analysing the traffic stats of this site, and on every measurable scale, 2017 was the year this blog entered the big time, broke all records and had more readers than ever. Thank you all for coming here, even if you only read one article.
As I’ve grumbled here once or twice, my average demographic is probably some middle-aged guy, in his mum’s basement in Lubbock Texas, turning to fat, drinking some bourbon, listening to golden era Stones and, in between accessing niche interest porn, reading my articles about Mick Taylor.
Mick Taylor. Mick Fucking Taylor. I guess I’m gonna have to continually be ‘The Mick Taylor Guy’. By far most of the traffic that comes to this site is directed at the two Mick Taylor articles I've written. If only I could think of a way to monetarise your interest, I’d be rich. If I charged a mere $1 for a sneak-peak at my Mick Taylor articles, I’d have amassed, I dunno, a few hundred bucks by now.
Anyway, here is my list of my favourite blog posts in 2017. It's a good way to ease yourself into my muse.
Tom Petty and the Death of Gene Clark
Mick Taylor Street Fighting Guitarist
Things I know longer give a fuck about – dancing
Next, I'll go through my favourite moments of 2017 and my favourite songs. But for now, let me leave you with:-
Mick Taylor and Tim Robson
Honfleur
Occasionally I look through the analytics of my website. I've also recently signed up to Hotjar which provides free analytics for small scale sites like this. And what do I conclude?
More people are coming to this site month on month. I'm breaking internally records frequently. It's gratifying to know that my work (my huge body of work) is being read by more and more people. And people from all over the world (I'm big in Indonesia - who knew?).
BUT YOU'RE ALL READING ONE FUCKING ARTICLE !!! Mick Taylor and that guitar solo.
It's like Chuck Berry writing the genre defining rock songs but having his largest hit with 'My Ding-A-Ling'.
Come on people, I'm better than this! I write about stuff, you know.
- Modern Dating
- Me.
- And yeah - Mick Taylor in the Stones a couple of times.
I get that Mick Taylor's great. He is. Why else would I write about him? But FFS! I'm more than the sum of my Mick Taylor articles.
Yeah. Chasing my audience away with a shitty stick. I'm an artist, dammit.
Conquering the Web
Tim Robson doesn't drink coffee no more.
Occasionally I break habits, turn things around and walk a different path. In these moments I have cider instead of wine, the pesto chicken instead of the steak, wear Oxblood shoes instead of my usual two tone brogues. But sometimes more than that; impulsively joining a gym, or booking a weekend away, quitting coffee (yes, I did the latter last week).
On Monday, I'm starting a night class in Richmond. Web Design.
Huh? How's that work Tim? You're writing this on a goddamn website already.
True, I am, but - like my chatting up skills - I can always get better. So after 10 weeks, expect new things, great things on this website! What? Who knows? All I do know is :-
1) It was a total bitch setting up this website with me falling down more blind alleys than a drunken gimp running wildly through a nighttime Souk.
2) There's loads of stuff I could be doing here that is just too much of a faff to work out myself. Most of the controls on this website I've no idea how to use. Who knows, the text could be dancing across the screen backwards in multi coloured letters as I charm and amuse. Or maybe I can work out how to link this website to Social Media.
3) Monetise my fanbase. Well obvs kids. Wait for timrobson.eu sponsored by Tom Ford or Waitrose Bavette Steaks or, indeed, Battersea Arts Centre. How much, I mean, how much, have I plugged this place in the last year? A shit load. I mean, getting 10% off my drinks - though my membership expired in April - doesn't nearly cover all the free advertising they get from this site. Nowhere near, at market rates.
4) The chicks. Computer classes are well known as pick up joints. We all know that. A smile, a sly wink followed with "You coming out for a cheeky drink, love?". We all know where it leads. As you were.
5) There is no five (Oh grow up Tim).
So what I'm saying is - quite literally - watch this space!
Tim Robson (Making Britain Great Again)
Blogging. Not so Much.
Dark and cloudy. Trouville today.
Blogging has been atrocious this month. Sorry. I know there are many of you who need their daily fix of 'The Tim'. I understand that you've been disappointed in May.
I've been busy. But normal service will be resumed soon.
A brief holiday in France and then back to the fray, putting the world to rights.
Hold on. Drought over soon!
Cheers
Tim
Rocking The Ides of March
Tim Robson - pushing away the girls in lycra (not pictured). Battersea April 2017
Famously Caesar was warned by a soothsayer to beware the Ides of March (approx 15th March). He ignored the soothsayer. You know what happened next. Probably - if you asked the spirit of Julius about his view of March - I suspect it would be along the lines of:- 'Not my favourite month to be honest, prefer July actually'.
But me? Well March has proved to be a record breaking month for this website. More of you have read my street philosophy - with more visits, more followers, pages views; basically, more of everything, more than any other month like - evah! Bigly. Even with the usual stalkers discounted, the graph of my fame - for that is what it is - is off the chart. Well it would be if I hadn't recalibrated the scale, but you get the point.
Now, as a man of introspection and self reflection, I could ask, why.* However, I prefer to ask, 'why not'? But let's turn the telescope the other way and look at why. Well, I started my 'Things I don't give a fuck about' series in March. Hardcore writing promoted on Facebook. Dragged in the punters like a stripper in an after hours Rochdale pub. Then there was the Chuck Berry's obit. Serious. Measured. One string bender to another. Remember the video of Tim playing a medley of four favourite middle of the road songs? One for both the ladies and musicians. What's not to like?
Bizarrely though, the most popular blog post was something I wrote in December about Mick Taylor playing Sympathy for the Devil on Get Yer Ya Yas Out with the Stones. There were loads of website hits from the States for this piece of stellar rock history. BTW, if you haven't read it yet (why not?) go and search it out. Fun, opinionated, well researched with a decent video at the bottom, it's by far the most popular thing I've ever written. Not the best though. My recipe for Beef Ragu still brings tears to my eyes (the honesty, the flavour. I rock in the kitchen).
So - as the Monday night running club hums around me here in The Battersea Arts Centre - lots of lycra, lots of girls** - I must put March behind me and rock into April.
There's stuff about April. Me and April. April in Paris. Long, long ago. Get me pissed enough and I might write about it, here in the record breaking Tim Robson blog, Click that RSS feed now!
Until then, cheers, I couldn't have done it without you (break records that is, the writing I could have done on my own, but you know what I mean).
Cheers
(See the video below. Sort of this blog set to music - silky, hip, ethereal; probably better 20 years ago.)
* Just joking - shallow and inane. That's how I like it!
** Some random 40 plus nerd is wandering around the young girls in lcyra in his running shorts, leching. They ignore him. Like, doh! What a prat - mate, just put them in your bank and move on.
It's Worth The Wait
Old pub. Closed Down. Lavender Hill.
I've been penning an article on Lavender Hill for a week or so. And taking the pictures. As it's quite close to my heart, I wanted the words to be just right. I need to do justice to the place, to what it means to me.
Okay - I've been on the piss for a week.
On Lavender Hill.
Sorry.
Tim
A Solipsism Too Far.
Jeremy Corbyn at PMQ's yesterday
I have this gift. When I hear some words or phrases my brain simultaneously translates them into what linguists call Tim's English. Tim's English is a strange variation from Common English in that the main differences are not driven by dialect but by meaning. Let me give you some examples to explain what I mean:-
English Tim's English
Tim's English . Solipsistic bullshit. Made up bollocks to amuse the writer of self referential blogs.
Barista. Wanker who serves coffee (I hate coffee shops - do you know that?)
Jeremy Corbyn. Albert Steptoe
We welcome diversity. Apart from diversity of thought.
Striking to protect public safety. Bullshit.
Women don't worry about such things. Lies
I'm only thinking of the children. And a holiday in the sun.
Trump's not my president. Whiney baby loses dummy
Hard Brexit. Leave the EU as mandated in the UK Referendum 23rd June
Franco's Fiesta. Rejected manuscript
Austerity. Smaller than trend increases in government spend. Doubling of the National Debt
"The people in Battersea Arts Centre would really enjoy your blog Tim." - Balls meet knife.
Green Energy. Tax on the poor and old to give rich lefties bragging rights
Facebook Friends. Annoying wankers you used to know but accepted their friend request one night when you were pissed. Surreptitiously blocked later when sober.
"I've only had two glasses of wine." Two plus two...
"You're really funny Tim!" I prefer my men tall and boring.
Aid Superpower. Country where help for the poor or elderly or infirm is rationed so rich politicians can feel good about themselves spending other people's money on ridiculous vanity projects overseas.
"It's your round" What, again?
Racist Someone who disagrees with the (left-wing) speaker. Used to close down debate and legitimise subsequent unreasonable behaviour (see reaction to Brexit or Trump)
Tories Socialists who went to public school or grammar schools (before they closed them down). Social mobility? Ladders? Move on, nothing to see here.
"I only started writing last year." Liar
BBC / C4 Comedy Panel Show Unfunny left-wing shit
Edgy Comedy Unfunny left wing shit
Tim's Blog Funny, balanced and penetrating analysis
Funny, balance, penetrating analysis Bullshit
The Bottle and The Sock
Adrian Gurvitz. Big in Belgium apparently
My blogging has been somewhat sporadic of late. You've noticed? You may not believe it, but I write much more than I publish. Whilst there's many a slip t'wix cup and lip, there's many a dodgy blogpost that gathers cyber dust in this site's Draft folder - ruthlessly rejected from a public airing.
So, I reserve the more outre ramblings and website bootlegs for my short stories. You see my short stories are 'literary' and as such all manner of solipsistic navel gazing is permissible. Demanded, in fact.
Standard Tim Robson short story:-
Single 40 something professional (optionally short and bald) meets some quirky, and yet attractive, lady in, say, Battersea Arts Centre. They drink. They joke. They laugh. They may or may not end up together. The world turns and scratches its arse. The end.
Between you and me, I think I've entertained us all enough with this particular plot line. Which is a shame because I've just churned out another in my Henry Ford production line of short stories. This new opus has all the plot features listed above plus the added, and experimental, bonus, that the action takes place in two bars, not just Battersea Arts Centre. Fuck off James Joyce, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough! I feel I'm growing as a writer, you know; exploring ideas, running with creative concepts, challenging myself. Screwing with that envelope.
Yeah, whatever Balzac.
Anyway, The Bottle and The Sock will be the last in this particular series of what some are already calling (me mainly) my Clapham short stories. I feel I've outgrown the medium. I'll still enter these unfertilised children into competitions. My stuff may be samey but it's good. Production line Tim Robson is better than niche anyone else.* Watch the list of stories published grow like a national debt under a Labour government. Or indeed, the bloody Tories. Doubled?
So if I'm not writing short stories what will I be doing with my undoubted - if little recognised - literary talents.* Poetry? Perhaps - but part of me thinks this is like the UK concentrating on minority sports at the Olympics and winning loads of gold in, say, pistol shooting. Or Canoeing. Or sailing. Who gives a fuck? We'd all prefer a 800m win like the Brighton god that is Steve Ovett. Or Seb Coe in the 1500m. Twice. Alan Swells.
Of course I mean a novel. There's a great state of the nation, the times we live in, epoch defining novel in me. It's what the world needs right now (well, about 2018 as opuses take a while to write a classic. In an attic. Cause I'm an addict.). And without revealing too much of the plot, I think it will hit the zeitgeist of now like a whingeing fucking lefty bitching about losing another election.
So - without revealing the plot too much - what will this American Psycho for the second decade of the 21st century be like?
Well I thought it might be interesting to follow the activities of a mid 40's professional guy, divorced, short, bald, and his attempts to come to terms with his life via meaningless dates. I think I might set it in - I dunno - Sussex and Clapham. Or Brighton. And Clapham. Lots of ideas. Many possibilities but I think I've got the core of my story.
What do you think? A page turner, no?
In my left hand is rock. In my right is roll.
Notes
* Hyperbolic boast not backed up by fact.
The Thoughts of Tim Robson (Saturday Afternoon Slight Return)
Tim Robson. Shitty stick not pictured.
We are the stories we tell...
Apparently my new trick these days is to write random sentences, take a picture and expect to treated like Yoda, or something.
An afternoon in the pub produces many things. Not often does it produce great art. Three hours and all I got was the dodgy picture above and 'We are the stories we tell...". Well thank you Aristotle.
Paid my water bill online though.
It was overdue.
More tales from the edge soon.
Yoda
Dating: The Truth
Augustine of Hippo considers Tim Robson's lastest blog. "Fuck - I wish I'd have written that!"
We were having a discussion in the pub last night. In Clapham. Balmy weather. Barmy people. Nice food, good conversation. Wine flowed. Will Young was in the corner. Thought about being a hero to my kids and asking for a selfie but, decided not to. He's got his own life and shouldn't he be asking me for my autograph anyway? Should be dancing.
The discussion turned to dating in 2016 and the benefits or not of online dating websites. It was a great discussion; wide ranging, robust, interesting. However, my natural tendency towards discretion and good manners means I won't be delving deeper into the view points raised and asserted at our table.
Well... Possibly I was pissed and the forgetfulness fairy sprinkled her 'no memory' dust over the evening. So I may have forgotten the ebb and flow, the nuances and the, no doubt, many good points I myself made in this vital discussion. But hey! Broad brush strokes are my thing, anyway.
I have views about online dating; namely it is just like real life dating but, more restrictive. Whilst in person I might be able to - through my verbal fluidity and natural exuberance - convince a lady that Tim may just be the one, online, this isn't the case. We're all too picky and the internet's ability to filter potential partners against so many criteria works against philosopher/king/poets like myself.
There may be a backlash however against the Corbusian brutalism of the internet... For example, if you read many female profiles on dating websites, especially those who have been online dating for a while, a great number spend an inordinate amount of time detailing exactly all the negative things about men they have been dating and how they don't want that experience again. For some it seems like a shopping list of negativity. "You mustn't be this, this, this, this. I hate this, this, this. Don't apply if you are this, this, this."
How very reductive of the human experience. I'm sure there really are plenty of crap men out there. My advice? Don't date them, then. Re-appraise your filters. If some good-looking guy meets up with you, flatters you, does the deed and never calls again, perhaps you should look to yourself as much as the man-whore.
"How will I know?" as Dame Whitney of Wisdom once opined.
Dunno. Not my job. But, I sense that maybe, the old fashioned way of real life interactions, random, spontaneous, drink fuelled, using friends of friends, is not such a bad way after-all. Go out for a drink with someone all night and you'll get a pretty good idea of their personality. The good and the bad. And you can do a runner when you like.
Me? I can trace the arc of an evening's progress by the stories I tell, the points I make, the suggestions I think need to be explored. If it's ten o'clock then Tim is probably telling his Lisa Stansfield story. Or the Madonna story. Or the Will Young story. Some people like this. Some don't. But it's a good way of seeing who the hell I am.
There was some guy at an industry event last week. Chatting to everyone. Very serious. Boring in fact. Lots of wine was flowing. Mainly into my glass. But even I noticed he carried a glass of water. Calculating. Stay away from him girls. He plays with a mask.
"Never trust any bastard who doesn't drink," as Bogart said. Before dying of alcoholism and cancer.
But it's a good general rule. Avoid getting pissed with someone and you miss out on the various stages of personality change a person goes through as they progress though the evening. You get to know a person. Potential partner. Light and shade. Humour and personality. The whole nine and a half inches. I also do marriage counselling down the pub and couples therapy in a club.
Surprisingly, I am - however - and given my advice above, on the diet/exercise/non drinking thing. Well, tomorrow.
"Lord, make me chaste - but not yet!"
I have no current online dating profile. It's a loss. But not a real loss. Just content yourself with my picture below. Will Young not pictured. Buy me a drink and take your chances.
Tim of Hippo
St.Tim of The Bobbin gives it that 'in person' fairy dust for the ladies of Clapham.
The Robust Annals of August
Tim Robson in August 2016. Literally unable to turn it off.
Well, August has gone but summer still persists here in the nation's capital and down on the South Coast. Which is a shame really as I bought a nice Autumn coat from Samuel Windsor. In the sale, of course. And now it's September. There was a girl in Rochdale one September many autumns ago. I promised I'd never tell. The lady however, when asked, said, 'Tim Who? Is he the short one? Oh him! It was only one kiss for fuck's sake! I was drunk. Yeah, can I go large on it. Extra fries.'
Happy memories, but let's not let August slip away like a greased pig thrown into a three-way with an oiled up celebrity couple. Let's review this blog's August performance shall we?
This blog started the month in self-congratulatory mode celebrating July's record RSS numbers. However, as August's RSS numbers didn't quite reach July's numbers, I'll concentrate on the fact, last month, I got the second highest number of visitors to the site in 2016. That's good, right? And what the hell is RSS anyway?
I have a mate in the industry. Writing a book on this stuff. I asked him about RSS feeds. He tried to explain. Still none the wiser. But he'll get your website up Google's rankings, apparently.
So - August was one of the best months for, er, actual people coming here and reading stuff. Maybe it's all the many millions of fans from my writer's Facebook page coming here, hanging out, chewing the fat and learning about Folk music. Or something.
Now let's review my posts. And the blogs I promised but didn't actually deliver:- Led Zeppelin, The Emperor Augustus, Edward Hopper and probably loads more but I can't be arsed looking back. There's also a few blogs that I did write - possibly refreshed, possibly not - that my internal Quality Manager judged to be so bad, forced or plain masturbatory, that I pulled them. Fear not though, they're still here in draft. Crap posts are but a couple of drinks away. I walk the line between genius and arse like Johnny Cash trying on a pink shirt.
I liked the Folk Music / Bleecker Street double header blogs. Worthy but heartfelt I felt.
And who hasn't read my back to back blogs musing on information gate-keepers and the blogs I read myself? Up there with Bramwell Bronte's best stuff. And it's a shame I don't get rewarded for all the traffic I sent Peter Hitchens' way after name-checking him and putting in one of those fancy weblink thingies.
It was good to write about one of my poems being accepted and published this Christmas. Bet that's gonna be a money spinner!
I also got long listed again for another literary competition though - surprisingly - there was no blog about this middling failure. FFS - long-listed again! Always the jilted bridegroom and never the rogering best man. (Yeah, that metaphor doesn't really work. I know.) Still; longlisted is better than spunking my literary children into a Kleenex. (Did I actually just write that sentence - the curse of a large white strikes again.) Anyway, it gives me the opportunity to show you another Tim Robson profile (written by me, of course) on another website. Fame, fickle fame.
So, enough. This is getting to be the blog that celebrates itself. Not a great look. (But it's a look).
Additionally, I finished two short stories in August and began another. The Dead Pubs of Clapham still remains unwritten but Bang the Beat! and Insignificance were completed on trains, in pubs and my kitchen during the month. And then entered into competitions. Obscure long lists sternly beckon, no doubt.
August. Kind of top end when it comes to blogs and popularity. Not The Beatles. More The Yardbirds; respected, revered but alas, For Your Love aside, obscure. But, as we all know, The Yardbirds begat Led Zeppelin.
Nob.
Tim
(September's laughable aspirations for this sturdy organ to be published tomorrow. Or not.)
I'm a lovin' July!
Tim Robson basks in the warmth of July and self-love and a big tyre.
July was a record month for this blog.
The most RSS feeds ever. Yeah, RSS feeds. All that. Internet. Clicks, flicks and chicks. Technology. RSS feeds. No, I haven't got a clue what RSS Feeds are but apparently they're really important and indicative of how many people are book marking my stuff. Or something. Whatever.
The main thing is that the numbers don't lie. There were more RSS Feeds in July than any other month. And no, it wasn't me coming back here many times. That would be just cheating myself and what's the point of that? (I've tried anyway - doesn't work).
To be honest - and when aren't I - I can see why the numbers are high. No, I can. Good writing, jokes, art, culture, bollox. It's a journey this blog. Yeah, and we're all on it. Well, I'm on it right now. On the lager anyway.
So let's raise a glass to me.
"To Tim"
Tim
BTW - the thing under these words is the RSS feed thingie. Click it. Doing so will change your life. Gives you more Tim than any lady ever wants without cocktails and getting back at a loathsome ex.
Yeah.
Competitions Update
"Like form and shadow, destined to look alike but never meet."
It's an exciting time.
Apocalypse Tales - After The Fall is now out in Kindle and will be out in paperback on Amazon 31st March.
Check out this
You gotta love the scarf action and the 'I'm not looking at the camera' selfie pose. Humble and yet assured.
Well in that vein - my latest literary success was announced this week. I came third in another competition this time with my story 'The Twenty Pound Note'. I'll post a link once I've penned my author profile and selected the appropriate 'hello ladies!' picture. It is, after all, a calling card for my brand. I'll have to work on those brand values.
And it's sunny. And the magnolia trees are coming into bloom.
- On the lash in Brighton tonight.
Both high, and low.
Tim
Thank You
So the stats are in...
For the eighth straight month, this website and this blog, had a record breaking month in February.
More of you are reading my musings, more and more and increasing in numbers! The few is being added to.
Okay, so I get why. Where else would you get such an admixture of high and low art and culture, lessons in history and philosophy, commentary on the state of life today?
Answer, nowhere.
But, despite my god-like genius, I can still say 'thank you' to you, my loyal - and expanding - throng of readers...
Thank you!
Tim