So we all have colds, and it's time to deep clean the house to get rid of any lurking germs.
I've washed the kitchen floor, cleaned the cupboards and door-handles, cleaned the cooker and disinfected the worktops. The washing machine is roaring and screaming (anyone would think it doesn't like it's job) and huffing and puffing at the same time.
This is a problem because I'm not as poorly as I thought I was and I have several vocal projects that I want to work on, but the kitchen doubles up as a recording studio, and that bellowing machine's got another couple of hours to go yet.
I've been working on some lyrics for Lester Square, but I'm doing that in half-hour bursts because the critical eye when I come back to them is a blessing and makes the process really enjoyable.
I have transcribed the lyrics to Femme Fatale which I'll be recording later, located an elusive version of Footsteps at my Door to send to Richard Cundill, and I also hope to sing the backing vocals to Women of the World, then sing over Martin's bossa nova version that he sent last week, and then watch some rubbish telly.
I can do a lot of this tomorrow but actually I want to do it today, because I'm looking forward to all of it. As I wait for the washing machine to stop whining and grining, I've written an extremely detailed lyric over the melody of a song from the Titus Andronicus pantomime that I wrote songs and music for with Dave Jago almost a million years ago. The song was called Thumbs Up, Hands Down and bowls along like a roller-coaster. All it needs now is a crash at the end. Or not.
Sometimes songs really are the only way to say what you really feel.
Some coincidences: Drew Morrison mentioning that he had the Skat version of Femme Fatale in his record collection, then Tim Rippington asking me to record it with the Charlie Tipper Conspiracy. And the woman I happened to be sitting next to a Cultural Traffic a couple of weeks ago starting a conversation with me about football chants (her ringtone was a football chant), and talking about a documentary about Millwall Football Club that she'd watched the night before called No-One Likes Us, We Don't Care. And that being the programme that Lester Square and me did the music for- I went off to the matches and recorded the chants. Another coincidence happened too but that's enough coincidences for one day.