I am suffering from tour-ism: listless, restless, bored. I got used to travelling around in the tour bus, singing and playing. It was an experience that was unusual in its serenity; I miss my bus-mates and our Winnie-the-Pooh mugs.
Martin and I were speculating that there might be two of Willie (the tour manager). How did he manage to be unloading the gear, making us tea, meeting the local promoter and overseeing the sound check all at the same time?
We imagined him unloading the spare Willie secretly when we were looking the other way, and silently packing him away at the end of the evening with a hidden smile.
I have a bulging bag of marking. I toyed with the idea of taking it all to Frinton, booking into a laterooms hotel and rewarding myself with a bracing sea walk every so often. Instead, I have bought a scented candle and I plan to make a caraway seed cake and get fat this weekend.
I was going to work on the Voxpop Puella tracks too, but the computer has lost the audio files and I am faced with empty tracks that illustrate merely a flatline. Boo. More energy than this required to reload the whole lot.
I could try on the clothes on the rail, ready for the massive early-summer eBay flogging of clothes that I am too bulgy for. How depressing though! That really will have to wait for another day.
Here is the local paper, posted through the door; I wonder what is happening around here?