Frantic, it barks and barks. It's out in the yard panicking. I went out with my guitar, trying to set the barks to music (if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, but not if they're UKIP of course).
It listened for a while then started again.
Bark, bark, bark, whimper, whimper, whimper, for three hours every day.
How am I supposed to think, let alone work? These houses are tiny, far too small for dogs and far too close together for them too.
Meanwhile I have finished Viv's book. I found it riveting; it was so true to life especially the punk bit, and the rest of it was a very frank adventure through life's lies and disappointments.
It is written in a tube-journey style so you can pick up easily where you left off, which is probably why I read it so quickly. That being said it is by no means ephemeral; there are some very keen observations in there that I have bookmarked for further consultation.
I thought about life. Often, when someone tells me that they are depressed, I ask them if there is anyone else in the world that they would rather be. I have never known the answer to be no, and I am pretty sure that Viv would not have wanted to live anyone else's life but hers.
All of the women in punk bands, without exception, were and are survivors; we were women in a man's world, in the most sacred part of it, the rock part that has excluded women for decades. The men didn't know what to do with us and we experienced a rainbow of behaviour, from positive and enabling to very, very dark indeed. All of this is here painted in vivid colours (yes, I get it).
This book throws down a challenge to those muso boy-biogs that will be hard to beat.
Wholeheartedly recommended: Clothes, Clothes, Clothes, Music, Music, Music, Boys, Boys, Boys, published by Faber and Faber.