I got up early this morning to finish off an academic article that I started more than two years ago; the files were buried deep in my computer, hidden by a false name. For several minutes I could only find a weak skeleton of what I'd written and then finally I unearthed it.
The town where I live is being demolished and rebuilt, all of it, and it was so noisy that I gave up working at home and ventured in to work where the repetitive organ riff from the rehearsal room next to the office was a welcome relief from diggers, drills, hammers and bellowing men in fluorescent jackets and hard hats.
I thought I could get by with three books (Lloyd Bradley, Christopher Partridge and Paul Gilroy) to add to the bibliography but by the time I got home to watch telly, my brain was buzzing and there's a pile there ready to take in tomorrow: Lucy O'Brien, Sheryl Garratt and Sue Steward, Dick Hebdige, Don Letts and the academic journal Punk and Post Punk.
I have another 1000 words to write, but then I need to edit out about 500 words so that's 1500... you know how it goes: add, subtract, multiply, divide, words, words, ideas.