Never eat a curry on a Friday night. You get terrible insomnia (is it the caffeine they put in it?) and you wake up at 6.30. Having given up trying to go back to sleep, I went out and attacked the dandelions, who thought they owned the garden. They don't, as they have now discovered.
The fat squirrel has sculpted enormous holes in the earth in the plant pots. Although it's lovely to witness nature's artistry, it's a bit of a disappointment not to have plants there any more and a bit of a headf*ck to wonder what used to be there. However, I will cross it off the stress-list for today. There is enough to do.
I hope to finish the album today by flying in some vocals that I recorded in the reverby kitchen, so long as I've got the right BPMs. I have a thick pile of paper with scribbles on it that I started piling up in May last year when I first started to record, and it would be great to be able to say that the scribbles all make perfect sense and are a secret way of organising the music that Works For Me. Unforchly, they are truly a complete haystack of nonsense, yet stuffing the papers into the bag feels right, as though they are my pals coming along to the studio to help out.
Shola is really pleased with the song that we recorded this week, and so am I, and so is the student who came along to assist. I think I am a music producer, I think, I know. The tech side of it is becoming easier, but it's the sound that's where it's at: living inside it, with the sensation that with each track you are exploring a forest of sound, with each tiny moment a different species of plant to examine.
Wot the hell am I gannin on aboot. Shut up.