The Chefs (or a version of us) have been asked to play in Brighton at a weekend do in October to celebrate ten years of the Punkbrighton website (www.punkbrighton.co.uk)
I have emailed Carl but the email bounced back: there is a letter in the post to him. Bruv has said yes so we will see what happens. There had been a stumbling block that would have prevented me from doing it but this was unblocked this morning.
I baked a seed-cake for McMum this morning. The Offsprogs and I are off to see her for two days in Edinburgh in her new gaff. I will be putting pictures up on the wall and cleaning the sofa. Then it's the guitar weekend, which is always brilliant. I hope it's sunny in Dumfries so I can wander about under the lovely trees and think silent thoughts (pretentious, moi?). There's definitely something surreal about a bunch of middle-aged people (mostly guys) wandering around in different directions on the thickly-grassed lawns in the sunshine, guitars slung about their necks, smiling serenely as though they have just died and gone to heaven. Sweet!
I will be taking the Medea ideas (Mideas!) with me to look at on the train and I'm looking forward to dawdling through the streets of Edinburgh marvelling at the red tartan berets with faux (pretentious moi? again) ginger hair attached and the cruddy bagpipers on every street corner with tourist-hatred in their eyes.
Edinburgh's a bit like Waterloo in London: there is often a chill in the air and a chilly nature to its citizens that percolates through their bohemian clothing. I'm immune, having been a visitor for years and having been initiated by having my foot run over by a bus in Princes Street when I was about nine. It was my fault, but my Grandpappy felt furiously guilty and bought me a pair of red shoes to say sorry, which led to a scolding from McMum because I couldn't wear red shoes to school. Which, of course, was exactly the point.