I have another academic article to write and I was up with the lark this morning.
This one is for the Oxford Anthology of Punk, and is mostly about violence and music. It's still at the groundwork stage, and I'm plodding through books which are piled up in unruly heaps about the place, open at unspecified pages.
This is the only way that I can do this part of my job. Yesterday was spent on academic planning, with the sunshine thumbing it's nose at me through the window; normally Saturdays are rest days, with not even emails disturbing the blend of crappy crime novels, reading the paper and then watching Come Dine With Me.
A half written song is sitting on the settee, but it's designed itself so that it can be written on the train. It's called The Ginger Line, which is what we call the orange overground line that crosses London from left to right. It has an annoying melody that won't get out of my head, and the words write themselves on my way to work when I'm actually travelling, so I'm looking forward to the journey tomorrow.
Oh well: back to big thick books with my big thick head.....